"Him? The man you threw into the trash after I told you I lied to him? After I told you I loved him? After I told you I wanted to go defend him in court? The man you are afraid to be around for a reason we all know—"
"You wanted to defend me in court?" Raine asks. He sounds surprised to hear this, which makes my heart hurt. Does he honestly think I would willingly sit at home while he was thrown into prison for something I caused?
"Of course I did. This asshole wouldn't let me leave the house. He had security surrounding the courthouse too, ready to drag me away the second I showed up. Because…trust me, I tried."
Raine's hand trembles lightly against mine.
"I'm not afraid to be around this—this animal," Dad says, his lip curling with disgust as he looks Raine up and down.
"You should be," Raine corrects him. "There was no debt in my granddad's name. The state's pocket, where this debt was supposed to go, was apparently your wallet. I have proof." Raine doesn’t even blink while saying all of this, and I know he doesn't have proof, but he's playing his cards with a poker face I wouldn't want to go up against.
"Do you now?" Dad asks with unease. "I'd like to see this proof of yours."
Ignoring Dad's request, Raine continues, "I also know about Mr. Baker." This particular statement surprisingly makes dad's face turn pale.
"So, here's what I'm going to do, Frederick. I'm going to give you a week to get your shit together, get out of my house, return every single penny you owe me, or—"
Thinking quickly, I interrupt and add my own threat to the mix. "I will announce my statement to this town, publicly. Then, I will give them details that couldn't possibly be made up. Lastly, I will tell them where we lived before we suddenly acquired the largest house in this upper-class town after being just days away from filing for bankruptcy." The pain I just caused him is clearer than a cloudless day, and I'm having trouble seeing Dad for the man he once was.
I wish I could remember him—the man who struggled to put food on the table; the man who was tired after a long day at work and only wanted me to sit on his lap and fall asleep while we watched static TV; the man who would take me fishing every weekend with stale bread attached to our homemade fishing poles; the man who taught me to toss stones into the pond in such a way that they would dance like weightless bubbles along the water's top before soundlessly plummeting toward the sandy bottom; and the man who tucked me in every night and kneeled down beside my bed to say a prayer with me, thanking God for the love we had in our life…because it was all we really needed.That man died when he stole his first dollar.
"How could you do such a heartless thing to your own father?" Dad asks. "Accusing me of this?"
"How could you do such a cruel thing to a helpless child?" I ask him. "What you did to Raine was far worse than what Raine and I did together. At least I consented." I wait for any kind of response, but Dad just appears dumbfounded. "You violated him, taking everything he had, and for that, you should have been the one to rot in prison."
Dad's eyes are wide and covered with red veins as reality sets in—knowing, understanding, and now living with the consequence of his stupid actions. "Haven—" he begins, but stops there. I assume he just realized he has no words good enough to follow what I’ve said.
"It wasn't just me you stole from," Raine adds in. "Lenore had given up her life to care for me while she cared for her thirty-year-old disabled daughter who would always need care. You stole from a woman with Down syndrome, and continued to push on with your life, as if you had done nothing wrong, without regard for those whose lives you had ruined."
I'm not sure which of the words spoken in the last five minutes was the straw to break the camel's back, but there are tears in Dad's eyes. This isn't the man he was born to be. He became this monster out of desperation. He allowed desperation to make him do ugly things without regard for others, but those ugly things became a disease that consumed him, rotting all that was good in him, turning him into someone else entirely, and now he is just a shell of the man he once was.
"Give it all back to him, Dad, and pray for forgiveness before it's too late." Mom is looking through Dad with glassy eyes, assumedly debating what he should do.Is there seriously a need to question this?
"Do you love your daughter?" Raine asks.
"Of course we do," Dad answers immediately.
"Did you know she's been sleeping at a motel? Did you know I found her ready to fall asleep on the front steps of The Motel two nights ago? Did you know she's about to become homeless?" Raine's words plunge into the depths of my own heart. I knew this was where I was headed, but I never said those words to myself. This is who I was always meant to be, though—someone who needs to struggle and work hard to survive. I was never supposed to be handed anything.
"That's ridiculous. We would never let that happen," Mom says.
"I would never willingly live here again, knowing this money belongs to a man you put in prison just to cover your tracks," I tell them both. "I would rather be homeless than live as a thief like you two do."
"If I gave you the money you think belongs to you, we'd have nothing," Dad says. "Is that what you want?"
"What is worth more, Mr. Leigh? Your integrity, or your money?" The anger resurfaces within Dad's eyes, understanding he will have to give up one of them, if not both.
"Fine, your mother and I will go live on the street, just like you want," Dad says to me, trying his hand at guilt. Except, thatiswhat I want. It's what they deserve. They're horrible people who should be behind bars or worse.
"There's a difference between you and me, Frederick," Raine says. "I don't need four million dollars to make me happy." Raine looks back and forth between Mom and Dad, apparently making sure his words come across clear to both of them. "I feel sorry for you—your marriage and your family that needed an artificial form of joy to keep you all together."
"Are you saying you aren't threatening me for all of that money?" Dad asks with a glimmer of hope in his voice.
Raine laughs, a laugh I haven't heard before. One that may scare me in any other situation. "Oh, Frederick, I don't mean I'd give you any of the money. However, I would give to those who are less fortunate becausethatwould make me happy. Being such a good friend of my granddad's, I'm sure you know how he felt about charity—seeing as you were his charity."
Dad begins to pace in the small area we all seem confined to. "There are no poor people in this town anymore," Dad says, pausing for a moment. "I am responsible for that. I've done good for this community, and now I'm being made out to be some kind of demon."
Raine scratches at his cheek, creating the appearance of deep thought. "Well, that wouldn't be the case if the taxes were lowered and we reopened the shelter in the center of town. Am I correct?"
