How I was so scared to meet him that first time, and how he smiled all that day, and how I didn’t realize how much I needed all of those smiles.
How he sat and talked to me after I got beat up in eighth grade, even though I have no recollection of what he said. I just remember that he was there.
How he taught me to drive when I was fifteen, and when he put his cufflinks on me before I left for prom—the ones his father gave him. He just stared at my sleeves as he worked. Wouldn’t even look me in the eye, because he was probably afraid I’d be embarrassed by the pride on his face and the love he had for me.
The pride…
If only he knew.
I unclench my hands, liquid heat spreading across my chest as I throw off the sheet and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I drop my elbows to my knees and squeeze my eyes shut as I run a hand through my hair.Fuck.
Picking up the compass from the bedside table, I flip it open and point the needle, my head following just slightly to the right, finding north-northwest.
It points out of the house, to the street, beyond the old neighborhood, toward the deserted country road, and into the woods. Toward the one thing I always point it.
Snapping it shut again, I set it on the table and wipe off the sweat on the back of my neck, my palms gritty with grime that’s not really there anymore.The little things…
The grandfather clock downstairs chimes three, and I rise. I won’t get back to sleep.
Descending the stairs of my mom’s old house, I leave the lights off and head into the kitchen, past the emptyliving room and the boxes of photo albums from the closet. I fill a glass with water and swallow it down, filling it again.
And as I turn north-northwest, I pause for a moment, feeling the tug of that invisible string. I know if I walk forward—across the kitchen, through the wall, past the fence—and straight for six miles, from this spot, I can put an end to it. I can stop dreading the disappointment I’ll cause and start enduring it.
Instead, I drift into the living room, the hardwood floors glowing in the moonlight streaming through the bare windows. The cleaners left the house in immaculate condition yesterday, and aside from a few remaining belongings to dump into storage, the house is ready to be put on the market. My mother left two months ago, thriving in a senior community in Arizona, but she made sure to leave behind the one remnant of our family that she knew I’d never let movers or some realtor throw into the garbage. It was her way of forcing me home. After eight years.
I smile at my father, gazing into his gray eyes. “I’m taller than you now,” I tell him.
His Coast Guard dress jacket and cap hang on the bracket where the curtains were attached. His favorite chair that they used to hang on sits in the storage unit I rented yesterday. I haven’t decided where I wanted the coat and hat yet. Take it with me back to Dubai or leave it in storage here? I’m still deciding.
“Nothing has changed, though,” I continue. “Just like you said it wouldn’t. I knew you were right.”
I swallow hard, staring down at my glass of water. His eyes burn into me, and I almost shrink.
“I’m still not telling anyone, though.” I swirl the water. “And I’m still going to leave in a few days.”
My dad was a lot like Madoc. But my dad is dead, so he never has to be ashamed.
Flicking my eyes back up to his picture on the wall, I study the cap over his light hair and the smile of a hero that makes him look so much younger than me, even though he was the same age as I am now when he died. He smiled a lot too. Just like Madoc.
I loved playing racquetball with him today.
And seeing Quinn.Jesus.The way she looked up at me from under the bill of that hat, the same big eyes... I noticed that about her a long time ago. It was the way she looked only at me. As if waiting for something.
A painful swell fills my chest. “God, I miss them, Dad.”
All of them.
And I can’t wait to leave. I’d forgotten how small this town is, how everyone notices everything, and how slowly things move. I like the city. The busyness of Dubai is addicting. There’s always someone to meet. Things to see. Places to be. Food, music, work…
Shelburne Falls is a fucking fish bowl.
My dad stares at me but says nothing. He stopped speaking to me years ago.
Setting my water down, I climb the stairs, throw on some joggers, sneakers, and the white hoodie from the gym last night. In a minute, I have my earbuds in and my phone snug in the pocket of my pant leg, playing “Bother” as I lock up and leave the house.
I scan the street. Empty, except for an old, white Malibu that’s been sitting there since I was in college. Most of the houses are dark aside from a couple of porch lights. I look around again, awareness rising up the back of my neck, before jogging down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
