His hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he keeps his eyes trained on the road. “It wasn’t working out. So, I made the decision for us. I removed myself from the situation. It seems like y’all came out okay without me.” He nods decisively as if the conversation is over. “I knew what was best for everyone.”
A sick recognition twists in my stomach at his words. My anger shifts into something else. Shame.I knew what was best for everyone.
We sit in silence for the rest of the drive home.
When we pull into the driveway, my dad mutters something about needing to chop more wood for the stove if Finn and I are going to spend the night on the pullout, so I jump atthe excuse to do something with myself. I can’t stand sitting still in this discomfort for a second longer.
“I’ll do it,” I say, opening the door before he’s even pulled to a stop and slamming it behind me. I have so much pent-up energy from my one-sided fight with Dad that I’m itching to burn through it all. Normally, I’d run until my brain turned off and the fatigue in my body broke down all my feelings into simple square blocks that I could compartmentalize somewhere in the back of my brain. But the only shoes I have are the stilettos I bought in Vegas and the flip-flops I’d slipped on to go to the spa.
“Great,” Dad says. “Woodpile’s around back. So’s the ax.”
In the scrubby little backyard, I can hear the faint sound of running water coming from the open bathroom window. Finn must be in the shower, and I’m grateful that at least I don’t have to make any excuses to him too. I can’t believe I thought this eleventh-hour plan to finally get closure with my dad—to break down the wall between us and have him actuallyhearme—would make me feel better. All I feel is sadness and anger and regret swirling around inside me. And worst of all is the realization that even with the miles of distance my dad forced between us, I still grew up just like him. Someone who thinks she knows better than everyone else. Someone who tries to control uncomfortable situations instead of letting herself feel. Who leaves before she can get left. Who ends up all alone.
I grab the ax and place the first log on the stump. Swinging the ax behind me, I stare at the wood… but what I see is the back of the Wagoneer. What I see is That Day.
The memory of my dad driving away.
We were all gathered outside the house, standing still as statues like it was some sort of ceremony. Dad had squeezed my shoulder like he was prepping me for a softball game, not a fatherless childhood.Be good, Emmie Girlwas all he said.
I heave the ax behind me and smash it through the first piece of wood.Thwack.I swung so hard, the ax is embedded in the chopping block. My palm stings as I twist it free with a crack.
For years I’ve been angry that he couldn’t even give me a hug goodbye. If he had, I would have clung onto him hard enough that he couldn’t leave, but he twisted away from reach, nodding once toward my mom holding Liz on her hip. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t cry, but I could feel the anger coming off her in waves as he flung his duffel bag into the back seat of the Wagoneer, and I could sense this wasn’t normal. I wanted to believe my dad was just leaving for a few days, like on one of the business trips he’d occasionally taken before. But there was something so sudden, yet so definite, in every movement. In the tone of their arguing earlier that day. In the stoic look on my mom’s face. He waved to me one last time through the windshield and crunched out of the driveway to the end of our cul-de-sac.
Now, in Dad’s backyard, the June sun is directly above the fence, beating into my face like it has a pulse.Thwack.The next log splits easily, but there’s a twinge in my lower back. I ignore it and reach for the next log. The memories are harder to ignore.
In my mind’s eye, I can see the Wagoneer pulling away. The stillness that had come over me That Day broke, and I bolted after the truck, waving my arms and screaming, “Dad!Daddy! Daddy!” I heard my mom call for me, but I put on an extra burst of speed as the truck turned left, tearing down our little street toward the main road, where Dad’s truck was almost out of sight. I would have kept running except that my flip-flop caught on the edge of a pothole and I slammed into the ground. My screams cut off as I sucked in air trying to regain the wind that had gotten knocked out of me.
Thwack.My breath now is getting shorter as I work up a sweat. It beads at my brow and drips into my eyes. The skin on my hands burns as I wipe away the liquid. They’re raw from the rough handle of the ax. I put another log on the chopping block.
After I fell, my mom was beside me in an instant, Liz still clinging to her side. She wrapped us both in a hug. “It’s going to be okay, girls. We’ve got each other.”
There’s a familiar ringing in my ears, but I push past it.Thwack.
Liz, only a toddler, also sensed that something was wrong, and she started crying. My breath was returning to normal, and all I wanted to do was go back to screaming for my dad. But Liz’s cries ratcheted up even further, and I realized that only one of us could cry. One of us needed to find the pacifier and keep Liz calm while Mom cooked dinner. One of us needed to be strong. Good. Quiet. I stuffed down my scream and let my mother lead me back to the porch.
Thwack.
“Let’s go inside, baby.”
“No, I’m going to wait for Daddy to come back.” It made no sense; he’d packed a bag. He wasn’t coming back, certainly not right away. But I was stuck on this irrational hope that he’dsimply forgotten we had plans. He’d remember, and turn around. “We’re supposed to go to a movie,” I explained to her. We’d been past the theater together and spontaneously got the tickets for the new Disney movie. For That Day at 5:00 p.m. I pulled the ticket out of my pocket. I had told a friend we were going to see it.
Thwack.
I pulled my little scraped-up knees into my chest and rested my chin between them. My eyes never left the end of our block. My mom hadn’t cried when my dad drove away, but now she let out a small sob.
She bent down to my level. “Baby, he’s not going to make the movie.”
Thwack.The ringing in my ears is louder now, and blood rushes to my face, pulsing along with the heat of the sun, as my vision shrinks.
“He will.”
“I’d go with you, but someone’s got to watch Liz.”
Thwack.
“I’m going withhim!” I shouted. Maybe the louder I said it, the more power I’d have to make it true.
She sat beside me for almost half an hour, but Liz began to fuss again.
