Tessa
I never thought I’d be standing in front of this trailer again, but here I am. It looms before me, the chipped siding and sunken porch evidence that the man living inside couldn’t be bothered to care whether the place lives or dies.
Just like he can’t be bothered to care whether his only daughter does the same.
This is a bad idea. The thought has been the only thing on my mind since he called me two hours ago. Stomach in knots, I’m too afraid to take that next step.
Forgiveness. I’m supposed to forgive, right? Isn’t that what we’re called to do as Christians? And if he wants to make amends, then I should be open to that, right? My stomach churns, and a voice in my head keeps telling me to turn around.
To leave.
Forgiveness. I can do that. I take a step forward, then another, until I’m climbing up the creaking porch steps and raising my fist to knock on the door. Before I do, though, it opens, and my dad is standing on the other side, a smile on his face. It looks out of place, though, forced, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s not as nervous as I am.
He glances around me. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. This doesn’t have anything to do with Zane, so I thought it best if we spoke alone.” And he wouldn’t have let me come. Forgiveness or not, there is so much bad blood between my dad and Zane that I can’t trust the two men not to kill each other.
“I couldn’t agree more. Come in, come in.” He ushers me inside, but I remain near the door even as he closes it. “Would you like some water?”
The stench that I attributed to this place is milder tonight, though I imagine that’s due to the candles burning. Candles. My dad never had candles. He never cared what this place smelled like. Probably because he was always too drunk to notice.
“No, thank you.”
“Of course.” My dad’s hands remain at his sides, and I keep my attention on them even though I meet his gaze. A childhood of abuse has made me painfully aware of the location of those hands.
“The place looks nice.”
“Thanks. I cleaned. Amazing what you can get done when you’re not drunk,” he says nervously.
“That’s really great, Dad,” I say, feeling a bit of my nerves easing. Tears burn in the corners of my eyes. He’s sober? That’s a huge step. My dad hasn’t been sober since—well—at least since I was born.
“Yeah, I thought so. You walking out was the wake-up call I needed.” He grins and takes a step closer.
Run. Danger. Those two words scream in my mind, but I remain rooted in my spot. He’s changed. Sobriety is proof of that. And even if he backslides on his way out of the pit, we can work on it together.
I can bring him to Jesus, and in doing that, we can finally be a family.
“I don’t want to lose you to him,” he says. “I know that you’re getting married, and the idea of my only daughter walking down the aisle makes me sick.” He smiles, and while his words don’t entirely make sense, I know that it’s likely just the nerves.
“I want you there, too, Dad. We can get through this. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “Is that all?”
I nod. “I want you to be a part of our lives. You’re the only parent I have.”
His smile widens. “That’s true, isn’t it? You’re my only daughter, too. I guess we’re all each other has.” The words take on a tone that has those warning bells turning into a full-blown screeching alarm.
I retreat a step, but he takes another forward.
“I really should get some sleep, but you can—” I broke rule number one because I let myself be so distracted that I wasn’t paying attention to his fists.
I didn’t even see it coming.
Pain radiates through the side of my face, and I slam into the wall, hitting it with such force that the paneling cracks beneath my body. Whimpering, I try to scramble away, but a meaty hand grips my ankle and rips me backward.
“Please, stop!”
“The alcohol was never the problem, girl. It was always you. Zane will thank me someday for saving him from a life with trash like you.”
