The Boots My Mother Gave Me (33 page)

“Money’s tight around here with your mother walking out on me. I could use some extra cash.”

Then get a job!
I wanted to yell.
If you had a job none of us would be in this mess. You’d have something to occupy your time besides alcohol.
He didn’t need the money. His full intent and purpose was to hurt me, make me feel as rotten as he felt inside. To throw it back in my face, the way he did with everything. I should have known better than to have accepted that money from him.
How stupid can you be, Harley! Did you think he really gave a shit?
Everything my father did came with a price tag. I should have understood that by now.

My grip finally delivered as I refrained from crying momentarily, accommodating my time to retreat. I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to hurt. I just wanted to be free of him. Why did he hate me so?

“It was good to see you, Dad,” I spoke softly, lying, as I made my way out of the barn.

There sat old faithful, Charlene, waiting to pick me up and run away with me. I climbed in, putting her in drive as quickly as I could, the moisture in my eyes starting to collect all over again. I didn’t want to go to Kat’s in my condition. She had high hopes for Dad. I didn’t want to call Mom. She was having the time of her life, and the last thing she needed to hear was this wearisome crap. The one place I wanted to go, I shouldn’t. Maybe he tired of providing everyone’s soft place to fall. He did it so well, effortlessly.

I pulled into the driveway, his Jeep gone. I didn’t know where he was, and it really didn’t matter. I just needed to be close to anything
Jeremiah.
Stepping from Charlene, I hastily pulled my mother’s boots from my feet, throwing them on his front lawn. I should have gone with my initial instincts in the attic years ago, and left those boots right where they belong, in the bottom of a box, shoved away in some corner. I hurriedly made my way to the front door, letting myself in with the key he gave me. The house empty, I continued down the hallway and into the shower, discarding every piece of clothing I had on along the way.

As I sank into Jeremiah’s bed, into the warmth of the sheets carrying his scent, the place I knew he rested, calm was mine to have.

Hours later, after sleep had taken me, I heard the bedroom door as it opened slowly. Jeremiah’s silhouette neared the bed, my eyes gradually focusing.

“Harley-girl,” he whispered. “Why are your boots on the front lawn?”

I smiled at the sound of his voice, soft and low. “I outgrew them,” I said, sitting up, pulling the sheet with me. Apparently coming from work, he wore his uniform. He looked sharp, handsome.

“And your clothes? I found piece after piece coming down the hallway. Is this like a treasure hunt or something?” He smiled, sitting down on the bed beside me.

“Something like that.”

The moonlight shone through the window on my face, causing him to take a closer look at my fatigued eyes. “Would you please stay away from him?” he said, tucking my hair behind my ear with his hand.

“How was work?” I didn’t want to think about nor talk about my father. I was over it, done.

“Just another day,” he answered, less than enthused.

“You miss it...Recon?”

“Every day.”

“Well, how about we role play?” I teased. “May not be quite as good as the real thing, but let’s say you’re Force Recon, and I have something on my person, an item, a matter of national security. You’re the only one privy to this information, so it’s up to you to find it before sunrise, in order to save the country.”

“A matter of national security, huh?” he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Of utmost importance.”

“Well, then I guess I have to accept the mission.”

“Ooh-rah,” I cheered the Marine battle cry, softly. He laughed, low. I moved away from him playfully toward the center of the bed. “Okay, let me think where I’m going to hide it.”

“From what I can tell, you don’t have many options, seeing as the only thing covering you is a sheet.” He stood, removing his shirt, his pants soon to follow, as his eyes grew dark and seductive.

“I’m pretty resourceful.”

“I don’t doubt that,” his voice low and warm as he pulled the sheet back, joining me in the bed. “And let me assure you, this far exceeds the
real thing.”
His mouth found mine soft, playful at first, progressing with firmness, burning desire. I reveled in the familiar, yet timelessly captivating landscape of his body as he took me with raw prowess again, and again. He was a genuine masterpiece, an original, every time as good as the last. He my bounty, my soul found itself paid in full.

M
y father stayed mad for the next three months, hateful, in a haze, mad at Mom, mad at us, mad at the world. I often wondered if he simply enjoyed being mean-spirited, he had done it enough. Did he like tearing people down, watching them hurt? Why else would he do and say the things he said without ever an apology or genuine remorse?

I wrote him letters and poems, thinking maybe I could get through to him with written word. Sometimes the permanency of thoughts on paper resonates better than those passed once or twice in conversation. I reasoned he could pick up the letters and put them down at his own pace, taking from them what he desired. He did not. He burned them, every single one.

Kat had to find out for herself. I tried to reason with her, regardless of how far they had come since Megan was born, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of us. She wouldn’t listen to me, certain I approached him in the wrong manner or said something to set him off. She was thoroughly convinced she could talk with him, make him see. Of course Megan wanted to go see Grampy, so they piled in Kat’s rig, and away they went, chocolate cupcakes in tow.

He met them at the front door. “Get the hell out of here! Get the hell off my property!”

Kat stood motionless at the rage in his eyes, completely confused, tears forming in her own. Megan cried, “You don’t mean it, Grampy. You want us. You don’t really mean it. We even brought you chocolate cupcakes with peanut frosting, your favorite.”

“I don’t want any of ya. Get the hell out of here!”

Kat pulled at Megan’s arm, coaxing her off the porch. “Why would you say that, Grampy? You don’t mean it. We love you, Grampy.” Megan sobbed.

I swear I wanted to beat him within an inch of his life upon seeing them return. Kat put Megan down for a much-needed nap. She was wiped out, her eyes nearly swollen shut from crying so hard. I placed a cool, damp cloth over her forehead as she rested.

“Why aren’t we enough for him?” Kat asked, stroking Megan’s hair. “How could he be so good, so loving at times, and then take it all away, as if it meant nothing? Who does that, Harley? Either you love someone or you don’t, right? Why can’t he love us? Is there something about us so unlovable, unworthy?”

She blew her nose into the tissue in her hand before continuing, “I used to watch those movies,
Father of the Bride,
remember with Steve Martin?” She smiled painfully. “I used to wish Dad could be like that. I don’t need him to be that dad. I don’t need him to be perfect. I would just like to be loved, accepted.” She hid her face in my shoulder.

She stayed away from him thereafter, reasoning she couldn’t expose Megan to him in his current condition. She started falling apart, Kit-Kat. Summer neared its end, mid-August, and she declined to sign up for her last semester of college classes, convinced she needed to spend all the time she could with Joey while he stayed in the area. She quit her job, devoting every single, waking moment to him.

I grew increasingly concerned for her and the direction she headed. If I couldn’t make Dad do what I wanted him to do, how could I make my little sister see the light? I was supposed to keep her, watch over her, protect her, and I couldn’t, not this time. She was searching for something she didn’t get from our father, male love and acceptance, and I could not convince her that Joey Harper was not the place to go looking.

Saturday afternoon, late August, Megan and I barbequed, when Kat stopped by. We prepped in the kitchen, marinating our
juicy-steaks,
as Megan referred to them. Kat charged through the door. She wore some kind of mini-dress, cut down to there and up to here. It sat so high I could nearly see the pulse in her groin. She always wore eye-catching get-ups, but she looked high as a kite, her eyes wigged out, her head ready to spin off any moment.

“Hi, sweetie,” she doted, wrapping her arms around Megan. Megan hugged her, looking to me as if she could detect something askew with her mom. “Do you like Mommy’s dress?” Kat asked, modeling. Megan nodded her head, her hands clasped, and hanging in front of her body. “Your daddy bought it for me. It’s Versace,” she squealed.

“Megan, could you give your mom and me a minute alone?” She couldn’t leave the room fast enough. Once I heard her bedroom door close, I turned to Kat whispering, “What the hell are you on?”

“I’m high on love, Harley, don’t be jealous.” She spun around, her arms out from her sides, smiling. I noticed a bruise, one on each side of the backs of her arms.

I grabbed her hand, stopping her from spinning. “What’s this?” I pointed out the bruises.

“I must have bumped into something,” she said, pulling away from me.

“Is that how he loves you?”

“Sometimes I say things I shouldn’t.” She held her finger up to her lips. “Ssh.” She giggled.

“What is happening to you?” I asked. “Did you forget you have a daughter who depends on you, looks up to you?”

“Oh, don’t get all holier-than-thou, Harley. Megan and I are good. We’re just fine. I depended on you, looked up to you...and you left.”

“So, it’s on me? Whatever this is you’re going through, it’s my fault?”

“Nope. All I’m saying is, you can’t just walk back into my life and tell me how to live it. It’s none of your business, Harley, what I do.” She dug through the cookie jar on the counter for loose cash.

“Are you hungry? Can you stay for dinner?”

“I have a life. Joey’s expecting me. Do you have any cash?” She pulled twenty-five dollars from the jar.

“For what? Joey’s pharmaceuticals?” I asked sarcastically. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody, as long as I have Joey. He’s going to take me and Megan away from all of this, ya know. He’s going to make it all better.” She eyed me challengingly, leaning up against the counter.

“A regular knight in shining armor,” I said. “He’s a piece of trash, Kat. He’s worse than Dad.” I handed her a glass of water.

She pushed the glass away. “Dad? Who’s that? I don’t have a father,” she spoke as if she believed it to be true. “And you’re just jealous because I have Joey, and you have no one.”

“What has he done to you?” I stroked her hair, pushing it off her shoulder, her eyes empty, her face weary, and her body gaunt. She didn’t look like anybody I knew.

“I don’t need your pity. I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel a thing.” She pushed my hand away and walked out.

Later that evening, while tucking Megan in bed, I heard a car pull up in the drive. Hurriedly making my way to the front door, I swung it open, hoping Kat had returned. There stood Cassidy, Tate asleep in her arms.

“Cassidy?” I greeted her, unexpectedly. “Come in.”

She stepped into the living room, laying Tate down on the couch. I covered him with a blanket. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, without just coming right out and saying it,” she prefaced. “Andy, my brother, he went to school with Kat. He was over at
Cabaret’s
on Route Six. Kat’s in there with Joey Harper.”
Cabaret’s,
the local strip club. It amazed me how a town the size of Georgia couldn’t afford to keep businesses open to employ local folks, but it could afford four bars, two liquor stores, and a strip club.

“Yeah, unfortunately they’ve been seeing a lot of each other.”

“Oh, Harley,” she said empathetically. “Andy said she wasn’t just in there with Joey. She was dancing.”

“By dancing...you mean on a pole? My little sister is dancing at
Cabaret’s?”
I asked, trying to wrap my mind around the concept.

Cassidy nodded. “Tate and I’ll stay with Megan.”

I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.

Pulling into
Cabaret’s,
somehow avoiding a speeding ticket and a trail of Pennsylvania’s finest as Charlene fully delivered, transporting me in record time. I slammed her into park, hopping out, seemingly before coming to a full stop.

Talking my way past the bouncer at the front door, I searched frantically for Kat in the dark, seedy environment. Men eyed me as I passed by them. I grew more agitated thinking about Kat in this place, subjected to the surroundings. Objectified by some overweight, middle-aged, balding pervert, whose wife and kids were probably at home, tucked away soundly in their beds, with a perfectly doctored image of their father and husband.

The thought of her ogled by some young frat guys who would surely return to their dormitories later that evening, left to whack off to her image portrayed in their mind, it made me sick to my stomach. Respectable men of the community, young and old, undeniably gross perverts, some very good-looking males, who may otherwise seem quite datable, all lurked around the place, feeding off women of equally varied backgrounds.

Some women considered it a career, enjoyed it, and owned it, completely embracing their inner exhibitionist, loving the power it gave them over men, every man. Others, using it as a means to an end, if only for a while, to pay the bills, support their children, pay for college, until they found something more suitable. There were also those, broken, emotionally void, punishing themselves with the only life they felt they deserved, trying to prove their own worth through their physicality, the ability to feel desired, accepted, loved.

I saw Joey and his gang of gaggles standing around, drinks in hand, smoking big fat cigars, silver and gold flickering off every appendage, as if they owned the place. I made a beeline for Joey, pushing off his chest as I connected with him. He fell back onto the couch behind him.