#scenebreak
A couple of hours later, Dad and I lounged in the swimming pool with beers. A sign on the patio door read: “No aunts or sisters allowed.”
I slugged my Shiner. “So. . . Dr. Mike, huh? Looking pretty serious. PDA and everything.”
He splashed me. “We’re hitting it off all right.”
“I hear he has a nice couch in his office. Leather.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to go there?”
I thought about it. “I’m not sure. Maybe. In small doses.” A beach ball floated past and I tossed it at him. “I mean, the jokes at the gym were one thing, you know? Ever since you dropped the bomb that you know I’ve been ‘deflowered,’ I’ve been thinking about that whole topic of conversation.”
“And?” He tossed the beach ball at me.
So it was time to see where we stood.
“I really hated there was something we couldn’t talk about.” I let the beach ball drift and leaned against the side of the pool. “Everything in Austin was horrible enough as it was, but. . . you were my only friend then, and it was like I lost you the same time we lost everything else.” I sipped beer. “I don’t want that to happen again.”
“You have other friends now.”
I smiled. “I do, and it’s cool. . . but you’re my dad. I know you were trying to protect me from the shit you were going through, but it backfired. Hiding it from me just made everything worse.”
Guilt wrote itself across his face.
“I get it,” I told him. “I’m your kid, but I’m almost an adult now, too. I want you to be able to talk to me like an adult.”
“I thought I did.”
“Most of the time, yeah. But for six months, there was this huge thing we couldn’t talk about because you thought I was too young to handle it.” I shrugged. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. I’d like to start trying. . . in small doses.”
“Small doses, eh?” He grinned.
I prepared for the worst.
“So I shouldn’t just haul off and tell you. . .”
Yeah. . . whatever he said, I blocked it forever from my memory.
I drank my beer. “Maybe we could start a little smaller than that.”
His next response? Also eradicated.
“Well, you did bring Mike up,” he told me.
“I thought that was your job.”
He raised his beer bottle in salute. “Okay. . . that’s a start.”
So that thing we didn’t talk about?
“I was the one who threw the punch, Ethan.” He leaned against the side of the pool and took a swig of his beer. “I’ll never really get past that.” Another swig. “I ended his life before it’d begun. I get now it wasn’t really my. . . fault, maybe. But he still died in my arms.” He met my eyes. “And I wanted to fight it for your sake. I did.” He looked at the water. “But I couldn’t. They lost their son. I couldn’t stop thinking how I’d feel if it’d been you who died. I wouldn’t be able to work. Or function. I’d need that insurance money to get by.”
I didn’t say a word.
“But now I can’t stop thinking about how I fucked everything up for you.”
I started to speak, but stopped myself.
He noticed. “It took me a while to figure out you were never mad at me about the accident. You were pissed I let them win.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t stop wondering what your life would be like this year. . .”
I wanted to tell him how much better my life was, but again kept my mouth shut.
“I even wondered if I should’ve let Mac have you to begin with.” He sipped his beer. “If I should’ve let her take you when Megan died. . .”
“Why didn’t you?” I whispered. We’d never talked about it.
“She was in the middle of a divorce.” He shook his head in tiny movements. “She was already a wreck, and she took your mom’s death really hard.”
“There wasn’t anyone else?”
We were so still the stars reflected in the water. He ran a hand across the surface and set the stars to dancing. “The truth?” He smiled. “You were this incredible, amazing thing. This. . . little guy.” He looked at me. “You were only six months old, but you were already you. You were smart and you laughed and you were a sneaky little shit.” He smiled. “I used to tell Karl, ‘Look out for this one when he’s a teenager. He’s going to be smarter than you.’”
He looked me square in the eyes. “I took you because I wanted you, because I loved you from the day you were born, and I was convinced that I’d give you the best life anyone could.” He spoke more quickly. “I took you away from here because it wasn’t my home anymore and because I knew that’s what Karl and Megan wanted for you, to have a better life than we’d had growing up.” He looked away. “And I ruined it all by—”
“Dad. . .” I cupped my hands in the water and ran it over my face. Deep breath. “How many seventeen-year-old guys go swimming in the middle of the night and drink beer with their dad?” I chose my next words carefully. “I know my biological parents were great people, and I’m sure they’d have been great parents and maybe Auntie Mac or someone would’ve been fine, too. . . but I’ll never know. . . and I don’t care. I would never ever wish for anyone other than you for my dad. Please don’t ever forget that.”
He raised his bottle. “I am one lucky son of a bitch.”
“Yes, you are.” I clinked his bottle. “So am I.”
The excitement continues in Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
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You should also read the short stories in Stretches.
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acknowledgements
A huge shout out to Ryan, Hope and the B-boys, Blake and Byron, for putting a roof over my head and adopting me into their family. Big kiss. Many thanks to my editor, Lauran Strait, who can spot the difference between an emdash and an endash at thirty paces. Any errors you find were not her fault, but are the result of good advice foolishly rejected. Gratitude to Michael Khandelwal of the Muse writing center in Norfolk. Thanks for helping me into your workshops and for all the good advice. Thanks also to his many students and their valuable opinions. A massive gracias to the ladies of my morning critique group: Nancy, Jan, Mary, Donna, Lisa, Cecelia and Jean. Hugs to Candance, Glenn and Ramona for critiquing the entire thing. Extra hugs to Amber Dawn Bell for helping me work through the early stages of brainstorming. (I finally snuck a witch in there!) A special nod goes to Caren Bevill (C.L. Bevil) for her sage advice regarding mysteries. A firm handshake to Jeff Andrews and Dawn Dowdle for time and advice. Kudos to the Hampton Roads Writers, a wonderful and welcoming organization. Go to their annual conference. It rocks. Fist bumps forever to Kevin Maurer for doing me a solid. And thanks to Sarah and Dan for being awesome.
Mrs. Barbara Roloff: you taught me that the writing of a sixteen-year-old freak is just as valuable as any classic. I can’t thank you enough.
Finally, serious freakin’ gratitude to my beta-testers.
Seriously. Thanks.
Without y’all, this book would be lame.
about the author
John Robert Mack grew up in Wisconsin, fled the snow to Texas and has moved to Virginia on a writing sabbatical. He taught dance full time for twenty years, published the short story “Jonny Hates Jazz” and self-published the inspirational book KEEP BREATHING: Zen and the Art of Social Dance. For two years, he wrote the column “Dancing the Rainbow” in the Texas periodical Dancer’s Guide. He has written twelve novel manuscripts as well as six full length plays (one on commission) and ten screenplays. He hopes to see them all published/produced. By the time you read this, John could be living just about anywhere.
For more info, visit: johnrobertmack.com.
Stalk him at: facebook.com/johnrobertmack.
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