Dad lets out a gusty sigh. “You’re clearly emotional. Let’s talk when you’ve calmed down.”
An intensity swirls inside my chest and then… clicks off. Detaches. Goes numb. It’s a particular feeling where I’m eerily calm. I can barely feel my heart beating.
“I want to know why you needed the money,” I say, my voice monotone. I feel like a zombie as I move from one end of the kitchen to the other to toss the ends of the onions and tomatoes into the trash.
“Why does it matter so much to you?”
“I want to know what’s more important than your daughter.”
“Oh, come on with that crap,” Dad says.
I detour to the other side of the counter, marching up to him. “No. What’s more important than me?” I repeat, choking out the words. “Tell me.”
Dad takes a step back.
“Tell me,” I say more forcefully.
He heads toward the couch, waving his hand dismissively. “Jerry needed help.”
My voice dies in my throat. There are a few seconds of dead air until I find it again. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Jerry needed help,” Dad repeats, rubbing his forehead. “I can’t catch a break.”
I see dark spots in my periphery. “You needed money… for Jerry?”
“What was I supposed to do? He sprained his ankles. Hospital bills aren’t cheap,” Dad says, laughing bitterly under his breath. “And you don’t think I do anything.”
“He didn’t sprain his ankles, Dad. He broke his legs.”
Or wait.
“He didn’t, did he?” I ask.
This is going to be expensive.Those were Jerry’s exact words. Forty-five-thousand-dollars expensive.
I huff out a sound of disbelief. I knew it. I fucking knew it.
“Igave Jerry the money for his legs,” I say quietly.
Dad just stares at the TV and says nothing.
After a long minute, I speak again. “You took out way more than what Jerry would’ve needed.”
More silence follows. Dad gets up from the couch and moves to the corner of the living room. I follow his gaze out the window. He’s looking out at the dock where Logan’s on all fours investigating the missing planks.
“Sometimes when we’re in a hole so deep, the only thing we know how to do is to keep digging,” Dad says. The smell of burning meat snaps him out of whatever he’s thinking about. He rushes to the stove and slides the pan off the heat.
Slowly, the pieces click into place.
Lucky people listen to their intuition, Maxwell had said.
When it comes to Dad and Jerry, I should’ve trusted my gut.
I don’t know how to process any of this.
So I don’t.
The game goes to halftime, and the Giants make only one touchdown.
