The Boots My Mother Gave Me (32 page)

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replied, as laid back as usual. I heard the front door close. Jeremiah stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Did you get one, too?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve got the only one I plan on having.” He referred to his Marine recon tat on his upper ribs. Trust me, I had memorized every inch of him. He leaned against the door casing, his demeanor soft. “They’re henna, Harley. They’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

“I don’t even remember that part.”

“When we shut the bar down, you two were hell bent on going next-door to the twenty-four-hour tattoo shop. You wanted permanent ones.” He smiled with the memory. “I talked them into henna.”

“How did we end up with
Dirty Harry
and
The Wizard of Oz?”
I chuckled.

“Now, that, I have no idea. You’ll have to consult your subconscious.” He laughed. “You picked them out.”

“Did I do anything else? That I shouldn’t have?” My inflection and facial expression gave away my meaning. Had I slept with him? He looked at me disappointedly, as if I should know the answer, seeing as how I was completely inebriated and should have no doubts how he would handle such a situation.

“What do you think?” he asked flatly. I looked away, slightly embarrassed, not knowing why I asked such a stupid question, maybe wishful thinking. He walked to the linen closet, pulling from it a towel and washcloth, setting them on the end of the bed. “In case you want a shower. There’s t-shirts and sweatpants in the second drawer.” He pointed to the dresser sitting in the corner of his room before walking out, closing the door behind him.

A shower sounded perfect. I walked to the dresser, pulling open the second drawer, flipping through the clothing that found itself lucky enough to embrace his skin. My fingers touched a t-shirt, the feel, cottony smooth, the size, large to fit his substantial frame. I held the fabric to my face, inhaling, my olfactory memory kicking in, as my mind returned to our youth, my first kiss, me and Jeremiah, in the old brown Ford pickup. His t-shirt, the one he wore that day, more than ten years ago, carried the same scent, like clean linen straight off the line.

His closeness, so intense, completely agonizing, I moved into the bathroom, removing my clothes, looking around at everything Jeremiah. His toothbrush, his shaving cream, his razor, his cologne, even the shower he bathed in. Images of his beautifully wet, sculpted, naked flesh barraged my memory. This man, he lingered all around me, locked up in my mind, in the core of my being. I could feel him on my skin even as I stood alone, unclothed.

I turned on the shower, hot as I could stand. Stepping under the steady stream of water, steam clouded around me. Would I ever get him out of my system?

Walking down the hall after a mercifully cleansing shower, I heard chatter coming from the kitchen. I rounded the corner to find Kat and Megan, unexpectedly accompanied by Cassidy and Tate, sitting at the dining table. Jeremiah cooked at the stove, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, a stack of pancakes fresh off the griddle. He brought the hotcakes to the table, setting them beside a heaping spread of eggs and bacon. Taking a seat, he pulled the chair out beside him, a gesture for me to sit down.

“Aunt Harley!” Megan exclaimed, her arms outstretched.

I went to her, giving her a smooch on the mouth, her chocolate milk mustache leaving its taste on my lips. “Hey, sweet thing.” Tate sat beside her. After seeing how I greeted her, he stretched his arms out in kind, puckering up his lips. I looked to Cassidy, who watched him, smiling. She gave me a nod of approval, so I kissed him the same as Megan.

“He thinks he’s quite the ladies man,” Cassidy said.

“He sure is a handsome thing.” I gently rubbed his cheek before sitting down to the table.

“Momma always says I wook just wike my daddy,” Tate said. Cassidy smiled at him, something reminiscent and painful in her eyes. She looked to Jeremiah, he put his hand over hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“Thanks, Miah. This looks so good,” Kat said, digging in, filling Megan’s plate, then her own. We piled the food onto our plates as if we ate our last supper, feeding our hangovers. Kat instructed Megan to help Tate cut his food. She obliged, as he watched her every move, totally enthralled.

“What do you tell Megan,” Cassidy reminded him.

“Fank you, Megan,” he said, grinning at her. The table grew silent, as everyone ate, nothing but the sound of forks against plates.

“Wow, that must have been some night,” Cassidy said.

“Don’t ask those two.” Jeremiah pointed to Kat and me. “They can’t remember anything.” He chuckled.

“If it gives you any idea, I woke up with quotes from the
Wizard of Oz
on my backside,” Kat whispered to her, out of hearing range of Megan and Tate.

Cassidy laughed. “I haven’t had one of those nights in a while.”

“How did we get home exactly?” I asked. Jeremiah gestured to Cassidy.

“You don’t remember singing Gnarls Barkley out the back window of my car the whole way home? I swear if I have to listen to that song one more time, I’m going to be
Crazy!
Every single one of ya, singing at the top of your lungs. I could have been so lucky to have earplugs.” We giggled sympathetically.

“That’s the worst, being around drunk people when you’re sober. What a trooper,” Kat said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I was glad to do it. Besides I owed him one...many.” Cassidy put her hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder.

“Miah takes care of us sometimes, now that Daddy’s gone.” Tate looked affectionately at Jeremiah. “Do you have a daddy?” he asked Megan.

“Tate,” Cassidy scolded.

“It’s okay,” Kat said.

“I do have a dad,” Megan answered. “I don’t see him much, though. But Mom says that will change since he’s moved back to town,” she concluded hopefully.

“My daddy’s never coming back, is he Momma?” Tate asked solemnly.

“No, baby, he’s not,” Cassidy replied. “Out of the mouths of babes.” She wiped her mouth, setting her napkin over her plate, seemingly having lost her appetite. Kat and I looked to one another puzzled, unaware of the facts of the conversation taking place at the table. Jeremiah looked to Cassidy inquisitively, she nodded her head.

“You remember Brandon Lynch, from high school, he went to Fill-more High? He was a running back. He made the all-state team senior year.” Jeremiah jogged my memory.

“I think I do.”

“Kat, you remember. You would have been on the freshman squad,” Cassidy said, as Kat was a cheerleader in high school. “Number fifty-eight, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, tall. We all knew who Brandon Lynch was.”

“Had a younger brother Brody, who played football, too, looked just like him?” Kat spoke, putting the pieces together. She looked at Tate, the same blues eyes staring back at her. Cassidy nodded.

“We ended up in Force Recon together,” Jeremiah began. “He died in Iraq a little over a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kat and I said in unison.

Cassidy’s eyes filled with tears. Kat kneeled in front of her. “Oh, honey, please don’t cry,” she consoled. I handed her a Kleenex, clearing her plate, attempting to give her some room.

“Megan, are you and Tate through with breakfast?” I asked. She nodded, her eyes timidly fixated on Cassidy. “How about you take him out on the front porch and play?” She took Tate’s hand, leading him behind Jeremiah, who accompanied them to the porch.

“I sure know how to clear a room,” Cassidy joked through tears.

Isn’t it strange how the years change social dynamics? In high school, Cassidy and I wouldn’t have given each other the time of day, both belonging to two
all important,
very different cliques. And now, in our late twenties, we found we were not that different at all, really. We were human.

E
ven my dad was human, I guess. Maybe he truly hurt with no craftily planned manipulation involved. Maybe he didn’t deserve the elaborate lecture I gave him weeks before about pulling himself together, or my chastising thoughts because he made no effort to get involved in our lives. Maybe he simply needed me to be there, hear what he had to say, to feel like someone actually gave a damn.

I decided I would stop by and check on him. He was in the barn, replacing the fuel pump on his truck. As I entered the barn, seeing the look on his face, I knew I shouldn’t be there. Even a stray stops coming around if you don’t treat it well. You’d think I would have caught on a long time ago.

“What are doing here?” he asked skeptically.

“Thought I’d see what you’re up to.”

“Changing the fuel pump on the truck. I always put a lot of money and labor into the vehicles around here. Like the four-wheeler I bought for you and Kat, and the vehicles you drove when you lived at home,” he said, implying I owed him for all he had done.

I should have agreed. He sure did do a lot for me. He reminded me how cruel people can be, teaching me never to trust anyone. He showed me love hurts, it’s controlling, manipulative, wavering, and jealous. I held my tongue, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, completely without my armor, and ill-prepared. “I brought you a pan of lasagna. Thought you might want it for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” he dismissed. “I’ve been eating over at Clara’s. She takes pretty good care of me,” he boasted, again fully insinuating Kat and I did not. Aunt Clara, his sister, was peeved at Mom for leaving. We were close to her growing up, with the exception of Dad. He couldn’t stand her. He used to say horrible things about her, but when it served his purpose, he used her, too. And just like the rest of us, she let him, falling for his sporadic attention, hook, line, and sinker.

I didn’t blame her, none of us did. But she ran her mouth all over town about how we were a bunch of liars, how my father never did anything to us. We made it all up, she said. Dad had found someone to replace Mom, someone to allow him to behave in any way he saw fit, and accept it. Aunt Clara justified everything he did.

“That’s good,” I said. “I’m glad she’s here for you. I’ll leave it in the fridge for you anyway. I also brought you a CD. It has a few of our originals on it, from Austin, fully produced.”

“You can keep that, too. I heard it at Clara’s and I don’t care for it. Doesn’t sound like anything I’d listen to.”

That one hurt. I felt a lump building in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard a few times, successfully quenching the tears starting to form in my eyes.
Thank you, almond!
Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much if he hadn’t involved himself in my musical endeavors over the past couple of years, requesting we play and sing together every time I came home. We had built a rapport, so I thought. That one was below the belt.

I rebounded. “Well, not everybody has the same taste in music. I can respect that.”

He looked down at my boots, the ones he bought Mom after they first married. “I see you’re still wearing your mother’s shoes,” he said with disdain, attempting to shine a flashlight down through the box of the truck while maneuvering a tool. I tried to help by holding the flashlight for him so he would have a free hand, but he pulled it away from me, clearly dismissing my attempt.

I stepped away from him, reminding myself maybe he was hurting, simply lashing out. “They make me feel closer to you guys. Kind of like that
Footprints in the Sand
poem. Maybe when I need a little extra guidance and support, you guys could carry me through, and maybe I could do the same for you.” He said nothing.

“The barn looks good,” I continued. He had cleaned up around the place. It actually looked like someone took up residence.

“I worked for everything I have. I might as well take care of it. Nobody ever gave me nothing,” his tone calloused, as he leaned over the tailgate of the pickup, eyeing me as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me, the huge disappointment I was.

I could tell this conversation was going nowhere in a hurry. I walked around to the other side of the truck, trying to find calm. The sliding door on the far end of barn wide open, I went to it, looking out into the hay field, literally biting my bottom lip. He was intentionally chipping away at me, one comment at a time. I chewed at the bit to do a little chipping of my own.

Get a grip, Harley. You’ve been here before. It’s nothing but a thing,
I dismissed. The whole time I’m thinking to myself,
what do you mean, you never had anybody to help you? Mom took your shit for years. We all did. We tried to love you, and it seems like it only made you hate us more. What about all the times the three of us, Mom, Kat, and me, stayed over here in the barn, the barn that you wanted, doing the chores because you sat in a bar somewhere, or over at the house drunk off your ass playing with guns?

What about Mom, who worked on the farm alongside you and always kept another job, providing extra income, because the farm didn’t make enough? What about the three square meals you ate every day? All the laundry, and cleaning, she took care of us, your children, every day, while she had to take care of your sorry ass, too!

What about all the birthdays and Father’s Days Kat and I spent with you? Even when I moved away, I sent you a card, a gift, something. I called you every Father’s Day, every birthday, every holiday. And how many times did you call me? Not one. Not one single time. Even now, when Kat and I should wash our hands of you, we’re still trying, both of us, continuing to come around like a couple of punching bags. What do you want from me!

“Remember the time I sent you that tuition money,” his voice interrupted my thoughts. And there it was. He was going there, with a wrecking ball. “That was a lot of money, Harley.”

And that did it. My tears rolled like rain. I couldn’t make them stop. I kept my back turned to him, controlling my voice, disguising my waterworks. “That was the coolest thing you ever did for me.”

“Well it’d be
cool
to have that money back.”

You should have thought about that before you claimed me on your taxes when I wasn’t even living here,
I wanted to say.
Or maybe you should remember when I asked what that money represented, you said, a gift, something you wanted to do for me.
It shouldn’t surprise me he wanted to take it back. He took back everything he ever gave away. I couldn’t reply my vocal chords completely locked up.