Page 30 of Really Truly Yours
“Probably a little less.”
“And why’d you leave that time?”
“Violated my parole six ways from Sunday.” He laughs without humor. “The next time I went home, they told me she was gone. And you and Tripp was too.
The conversation is only about my mother in tangential ways, but I suppose I should hear it eventually. Need to hear it.
“Then what? Did you try to find me?”
He presses his thumb into an indistinguishable tat on the top of one hand. “No.”
Shoot. Is this where I’m allowed to swear? I think the situation warrants, if any out there does.
“I couldn’t take care of no kid. And then…then they found me, the court people, and asked me to relinquish my rights.”
My fingers dig into the tops of my thighs.
His eyes plead. “You been better off without me, son.”
“Don’t.” I cut my own thoughts off and pace across the room.
He couldn’t take care of no kid.
His own flesh and blood.
Did he even want to?
His indifference set the ball in motion, the one that knocked me and my brother apart for twenty years. I remember, yes I do, being inconsolable for a near-eternity. I went through two foster homes right off the bat because they couldn’t handle the sobs. And then Mom and Dad came along.
But I never forgot. “I’ve got to go.”
“Son.”
I wheel on him, finger jabbing the musty air. “Do not call me that. For the record, I have a father. I have a daddy. And it is not you!”
His gaunt face shatters. I rattle the joke of a foundation with two long strides.
“Wait! I gotta tell you something!”
“I’ve heard enough.” The knob stays put this time and I nearly unhinge the front door. “Enjoy the ice cream, old man. It’s all you’re ever getting from me.”
I stalk across the lawn and keep going. At the stop sign, I do an about-face. Am I proud of shredding a dying man’s hopes?
He had it coming.
“Grayson!”
My name called out registers. I blink in the dusky light. Sydnee, back in that absurd sweater, stands at the end of her driveway. I close the two-house gap.
A faint smile plays around her mouth. “I guess I won’t ask how things went.”
I stab a finger toward the sagging house across the street. “He—” I rake my hand through my hair, tugging on the tufts at the end.
So much I need to say, no voice to say it. I pace away.
“I’m sorry, Grayson. But please don’t tear out of here again.”
I spin. “What’s it matter to you?”