“No, you don’t,” he says tersely. “Not all of it.” A wheeze shakes his chest for a moment, then hecontinues. “I wasn’t a good husband. Probably not a good father, even at that time. I had other women. I drank too much. I loved your mother—I adored her—but I couldn’t seem to stop doing the selfish things that hurt her. Finally, she left me. She took your brothers to her parents’ house, and she wasn’t going to come back.”
He’s right. I haven’t heard this part. It’s not a conversation I want to have right now, when all I want to be doing is turning over every rock in the city until I uncover Evelyn’s stalker. But the old man keeps talking, as if he needs to get it off his chest.
“She forgave me, thank God. Her forgiveness has been the biggest miracle of my life. And I never strayed again. Sometimes, though, I think she shouldn’t have come back. She deserved someone who had never hurt her, who would never let her down. Your brothers would’ve been upset if I’d gone, but they would’ve survived. But you, Gabe? You deserved to have a better father than me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was a weak man. A failure as a husband. A poor example of a father. And every time I looked at you, I saw a mirror that reflected all of those shortcomings back at me. You were supposed to be a new beginning for your mom and me. Our angel baby, she used to call you. But all I could see was a daily reminder of that lowest point in my life. When I looked at you, I didn’t see a new beginning. I saw another possibility that I would ruin something good.”
I frown, shaking my head. Trying to understand. “That’s why you’ve hated me all my life?”
“Hated you?” His mottled brow furrows. “I never hated you, Gabriel.”
“That’s not what it sounded like the other night.” I say the words carefully, refusing to let him see how deeply he’d wounded me. Maybe we both wounded each other. “You mocked me. You said you had me pegged right along, that I always thought I was better than you.”
“You were better, Gabe. Youarebetter, in all the ways it matters, even then.” He looks at his hands, a tendon ticking in his sagging cheek. “I didn’t know how to be a father to you. You were always bright and curious, independent. Hell, you were a defiant little shit from the moment we brought you home.”
He chuckles—actually chuckles, the first time I can recall seeing him express any joy when talking about me. My chest constricts, but my guard is still up. He’s taught me well, after all.
He looks up at me again, sobering. “The only kinds of kids I knew how to raise were obedient little soldiers. That’s how my father did it, and his father before him. But their methods didn’t work on you. Instead of falling in line, you pushed back. You challenged me at every turn, always ready to lock horns. Unlike your brothers, you never needed my approval.”
“That’s not true.” I shake my head, incredulous that he could think as much. “I did need it. But you never gave it.”
A sound seems to strangle in his throat as he stares at me. He glances away and doesn’t look back, not for a very long time. When he finally does, his eyes are glassy and wet. “Do you blame me, Son?” He swallows hard and tries again. “Do you blame me for what happened to you in the war?”
His guilt clings to the humid air in the room. His remorse stuns me. I’ve never heard the emotion in hisvoice before.
“An IED took my leg, not you. It was an unlucky stretch of road on an unlucky day. So, no. I don’t blame you, Pop.”
He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer. His gaze stays rooted on mine, his mouth trembling. “I didn’t want you to join the army. I told you that.” He smiles ruefully. “I demanded you didn’t join, as I recall. I thought you enlisted just to spite me.”
I shrug, unable to hold back my smirk. “I did.”
His barrel chest shakes with his laugh, but there are tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. When he’s quieted, he reaches for my hand, which I realize only now is gripped on the rail of the bed like a vise. “I should’ve come to see you in the hospital. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to face you, realizing what my failure as a father had cost you.”
I exhale, and it’s as if every last particle of air leaves my lungs. “That’s why you never showed up there?”
“I’m sorry, Gabe.” His fingers curl around mine on the bed rail. “I’m so very sorry. After you came home, I felt ashamed for staying away. I didn’t want to hear you say you hated me, even though I knew you must. How could you not?”
“I didn’t.” My voice is choked. “Ah, fuck, Dad. I never hated you. Not even the other night. I’m sorry too.”
He pats my hand and rolls his head away again, staring at the wall. I can hear his quiet sobs, the thickness of his throat working.
When I feel I have control enough of my own voice, I ask, “Why are you telling me all of this now?”
“Because I heard you talking with Jacob.” He looks at me, his gaze studying me, probably seeing all of my misery. God knows I’m too split open to hide it, even from him. “I heard you talking about the woman you care for. Evelyn. And because your mother told me the other night that it was obvious the two of you are in love.”
I shake my head. “I screwed up with her. I broke her trust. She feels betrayed, and I wasn’t able to convince her that it won’t happen again.”
“Will it?”
“No. Never. I don’t know if she’ll ever believe that. Right now, I’m not even sure she can forgive me.”
“But what if she can, Son? If she loves you, then you haven’t lost her yet.”
I stare at him, measuring his advice, another gift he’s never given me until this very moment. But I hold on to it now. If my father never gives me another word of encouragement, it will be worth it for the hope he’s instilling in me now.
“Go after her, Gabriel. Maybe you’re due for a miracle too.”
