boys. She’s going to like the wrong sort of boy sometimes. You, of all
people, should know what a guy like that can do…”
“Don’t you ever compare me to that scum, Jillian. I
might have had a rough side when you met me, but…”
“A rough side? Honey, you better make an appointment
to be checked for early dementia. If I recall, you spent the better part of
junior year in a cloud of smoke…and most of senior year in the drunk tank!”
“This isn’t about me, Jillian! This is about our daughter making eyes with some biker trash ! And not just any biker trash, the fucking son of the man who…”
“How old do you think that boy was, huh? Do you really think he even knew what was
happening then?”
“Well, he’s old enough now to know to stay the hell
away from good girls like Samantha!”
“Okay, okay, I’m not saying I’m crazy about the idea
either, honey, but you can’t blame her. Or him! Boys like girls! He followed
her all the way from Vegas! I mean, does that sound like a guy who wants to
throw Samantha away like a used Kleenex?”
“I don’t care what he wants to do with Samantha; he’s never going to have anything to do with
her ever again!”
“Stop!” I finally said, my heart beating fast. The
voices stopped. I tip-toed down the stairs, which was silly, since they
obviously knew I was there, but I felt like I was an intruder in my own home,
breaking and entering their conversation. “Please, just stop.”
Mom and Dad stared at me at the bottom of the stairs,
mingled expressions of confusion and concern on their faces. I stared back, trying
to look grown up, trying to look like I could handle it.
“Just…please, tell me. I…I need to know. I’m afraid,
Daddy,” I said, stuttering over my words, making eye contact with my father. I
needed him to know how important this was to me, that it wasn’t just some crush
gone wrong. I knew that telling him I was afraid (which I was) was my best shot
at getting him to talk. Daddy could never let me go around feeling scared. And
this time, he knew, telling me that he would “take care of everything” wasn’t
going to cut it.
I was too old for that now.
I think, now, when I look back on it, that moment was
all about that one realization: I was too old for a lot of things. I was too
old to be kept in the dark. I was too old to not take risks. I was too old to
entrust my safety with just my parents. I was growing up. I was making my own
mistakes. A look of sadness came over my father’s face as he seemed to
contemplate all this. Then he nodded.
“You’re right, Samantha. You deserve to know what that
was all about,” he said, glancing at my mother, who gave him an encouraging
look.
“Come,” he said, gesturing to the living room. We
filed in and sat down, Mom and Dad on the couch, me on the loveseat facing
them. I twiddled my fingers in my lap. I wanted to hear, I didn’t want to hear.
It didn’t matter what I wanted anymore.
“Ten years ago…geeze, Samantha, you were eight. Ten years. How did…” Dad got a
glassy look in his eyes, his sentence trailing off. Mom coughed, bringing him
back on track. I knew that part of it was for show, just Dad stalling telling
me the story. Dad sighed.
“Ten years ago, I was a police officer, just a regular
cop. There was a fellow on the force with me, named Giordino. Danny Giordino.
He was a good guy. We never talked much, weren’t close, but you know. Cops are
family. He bought rounds at the bar. He had a wife, no kids. Young, same age as
me. A whole world in front of him…”
Dad seemed to get lost in the story again, in his
memories.
“He coulda been Sheriff, I guess,” he finally said
after a long moment. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, he
continued in a no-nonsense tone.
“We had some trouble back then with a group of bikers
who’d rented out one of the
people, should know what a guy like that can do…”
“Don’t you ever compare me to that scum, Jillian. I
might have had a rough side when you met me, but…”
“A rough side? Honey, you better make an appointment
to be checked for early dementia. If I recall, you spent the better part of
junior year in a cloud of smoke…and most of senior year in the drunk tank!”
“This isn’t about me, Jillian! This is about our daughter making eyes with some biker trash ! And not just any biker trash, the fucking son of the man who…”
“How old do you think that boy was, huh? Do you really think he even knew what was
happening then?”
“Well, he’s old enough now to know to stay the hell
away from good girls like Samantha!”
“Okay, okay, I’m not saying I’m crazy about the idea
either, honey, but you can’t blame her. Or him! Boys like girls! He followed
her all the way from Vegas! I mean, does that sound like a guy who wants to
throw Samantha away like a used Kleenex?”
“I don’t care what he wants to do with Samantha; he’s never going to have anything to do with
her ever again!”
“Stop!” I finally said, my heart beating fast. The
voices stopped. I tip-toed down the stairs, which was silly, since they
obviously knew I was there, but I felt like I was an intruder in my own home,
breaking and entering their conversation. “Please, just stop.”
Mom and Dad stared at me at the bottom of the stairs,
mingled expressions of confusion and concern on their faces. I stared back, trying
to look grown up, trying to look like I could handle it.
“Just…please, tell me. I…I need to know. I’m afraid,
Daddy,” I said, stuttering over my words, making eye contact with my father. I
needed him to know how important this was to me, that it wasn’t just some crush
gone wrong. I knew that telling him I was afraid (which I was) was my best shot
at getting him to talk. Daddy could never let me go around feeling scared. And
this time, he knew, telling me that he would “take care of everything” wasn’t
going to cut it.
I was too old for that now.
I think, now, when I look back on it, that moment was
all about that one realization: I was too old for a lot of things. I was too
old to be kept in the dark. I was too old to not take risks. I was too old to
entrust my safety with just my parents. I was growing up. I was making my own
mistakes. A look of sadness came over my father’s face as he seemed to
contemplate all this. Then he nodded.
“You’re right, Samantha. You deserve to know what that
was all about,” he said, glancing at my mother, who gave him an encouraging
look.
“Come,” he said, gesturing to the living room. We
filed in and sat down, Mom and Dad on the couch, me on the loveseat facing
them. I twiddled my fingers in my lap. I wanted to hear, I didn’t want to hear.
It didn’t matter what I wanted anymore.
“Ten years ago…geeze, Samantha, you were eight. Ten years. How did…” Dad got a
glassy look in his eyes, his sentence trailing off. Mom coughed, bringing him
back on track. I knew that part of it was for show, just Dad stalling telling
me the story. Dad sighed.
“Ten years ago, I was a police officer, just a regular
cop. There was a fellow on the force with me, named Giordino. Danny Giordino.
He was a good guy. We never talked much, weren’t close, but you know. Cops are
family. He bought rounds at the bar. He had a wife, no kids. Young, same age as
me. A whole world in front of him…”
Dad seemed to get lost in the story again, in his
memories.
“He coulda been Sheriff, I guess,” he finally said
after a long moment. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, he
continued in a no-nonsense tone.
“We had some trouble back then with a group of bikers
who’d rented out one of the
Similar Books
