bony shoulder and say, “She loved you so much, Georgie Pa. And so do I.”
He slowl y turns back to me, tears dribbling down the deep grooves in his cheeks. “You are so much like her, you know,” he whispers as his cold, shaky hand cups my face.
“How?” I ask with a small smile , already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from him again.
“You’re f eisty,” he says, and we both chuckle. “And you have her lovely amber eyes.” He sighs and lowers his head. “So much more she could have shared with me, if only I had let her,” he sniffles, sadly shaking his head. “All of those extraordinary lives she has lived, I could have heard about from her, instead of through the pages of the old journals she left for me to find. But, it took for someone to permanently close those beautiful eyes of hers for me to finally open mine. And by that time, I was so lost, so angry, so...unprepared, I did all I could to go back to being blind, and the drink, well, it helped me with that.” His chin drops all the way to his chest. “I’m so sorry, for everything, Serenay, love.”
I hold him as he trembles and sobs, telling me over and over again how sorry he is, until a knock at Georgie Pa’s bedroom door breaks us apart. “Just a minute,” he loudly croaks, fossicking around in his jacket pocket to find a hanky to dry his face. God forbid he was going to let a young buck like Mike or Uncle Craig see him cry.
I roll my eyes at Georgie Pa and his old fashioned notion that a bloke can’t cry in front of another bloke because he’ll be seen to be as “weak as piss” as he would say. I hope that during his time at St. Vincent’s he’ll finally grow to understand that we’d all prefer a crying Georgie Pa over a drunken one.
He clears his throat. “Come in,” he calls out.
“All go od in here?” Aunt Romey asks, poking her head around the door.
I jump up and run over to her. “I’m sorry,” I say, throwing my arms around her neck.
She hugs me back. “Honestly, Renay. You’re so damn impulsive. You’ve got to learn to get the facts before you go off the way you do,” she scoffs, but her stern look says that she’s not joking. She looks over at Georgie Pa, reaffirming that I’m not her primary concern at the minute, but we both know she’ll tear shreds off me about it later. “I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s time to go,” she says.
I race over to Georgie Pa’s mess of a suitcase to repack what I pulled apart.
xxXxx
We all walk Georgie Pa to the front door. I help him into his hound’s-tooth sports jacket, and dust off his favourite slate-grey day hat and place it on his balding head. He bends down so I can wrap my arms around his neck and I give him a big hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Georgie Pa,” I whisper in his ear, “I love you.”
“L ove you too, kid,” he says as he tentatively takes his first step out onto the front porch. Once he’s standing outside on his own two feet, he stops, closes his eyes and lifts his face to the morning sun. He grips onto the wooden railing he built with his own two hands, turns his head and says over his shoulder, “I want so much to help - to help you, Romey and Rhoda, but to do that I need to get well,” reaffirming his reasons for leaving his safe house to himself and to all of us. “Take good care of our little Chip off the old block,” he says, looking down at the small mottled dog suspiciously circling his ankles.
Aunt Romey picks up our nervous puppy and hands him to me. “We’ll admit Georgie Pa and then we’ll be straight back,” she says as her and Uncle Craig start to help Georgie Pa down the porch steps.
As Georgie Pa shuffles down the front path, Chip starts wailing, wanting out of my arms to get to him. I gently shush him. “Don’t worry little Chippa. Georgie Pa is coming back. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I croon, giving him a tight cuddle and a kiss on the head, hoping Mike
He slowl y turns back to me, tears dribbling down the deep grooves in his cheeks. “You are so much like her, you know,” he whispers as his cold, shaky hand cups my face.
“How?” I ask with a small smile , already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from him again.
“You’re f eisty,” he says, and we both chuckle. “And you have her lovely amber eyes.” He sighs and lowers his head. “So much more she could have shared with me, if only I had let her,” he sniffles, sadly shaking his head. “All of those extraordinary lives she has lived, I could have heard about from her, instead of through the pages of the old journals she left for me to find. But, it took for someone to permanently close those beautiful eyes of hers for me to finally open mine. And by that time, I was so lost, so angry, so...unprepared, I did all I could to go back to being blind, and the drink, well, it helped me with that.” His chin drops all the way to his chest. “I’m so sorry, for everything, Serenay, love.”
I hold him as he trembles and sobs, telling me over and over again how sorry he is, until a knock at Georgie Pa’s bedroom door breaks us apart. “Just a minute,” he loudly croaks, fossicking around in his jacket pocket to find a hanky to dry his face. God forbid he was going to let a young buck like Mike or Uncle Craig see him cry.
I roll my eyes at Georgie Pa and his old fashioned notion that a bloke can’t cry in front of another bloke because he’ll be seen to be as “weak as piss” as he would say. I hope that during his time at St. Vincent’s he’ll finally grow to understand that we’d all prefer a crying Georgie Pa over a drunken one.
He clears his throat. “Come in,” he calls out.
“All go od in here?” Aunt Romey asks, poking her head around the door.
I jump up and run over to her. “I’m sorry,” I say, throwing my arms around her neck.
She hugs me back. “Honestly, Renay. You’re so damn impulsive. You’ve got to learn to get the facts before you go off the way you do,” she scoffs, but her stern look says that she’s not joking. She looks over at Georgie Pa, reaffirming that I’m not her primary concern at the minute, but we both know she’ll tear shreds off me about it later. “I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s time to go,” she says.
I race over to Georgie Pa’s mess of a suitcase to repack what I pulled apart.
xxXxx
We all walk Georgie Pa to the front door. I help him into his hound’s-tooth sports jacket, and dust off his favourite slate-grey day hat and place it on his balding head. He bends down so I can wrap my arms around his neck and I give him a big hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Georgie Pa,” I whisper in his ear, “I love you.”
“L ove you too, kid,” he says as he tentatively takes his first step out onto the front porch. Once he’s standing outside on his own two feet, he stops, closes his eyes and lifts his face to the morning sun. He grips onto the wooden railing he built with his own two hands, turns his head and says over his shoulder, “I want so much to help - to help you, Romey and Rhoda, but to do that I need to get well,” reaffirming his reasons for leaving his safe house to himself and to all of us. “Take good care of our little Chip off the old block,” he says, looking down at the small mottled dog suspiciously circling his ankles.
Aunt Romey picks up our nervous puppy and hands him to me. “We’ll admit Georgie Pa and then we’ll be straight back,” she says as her and Uncle Craig start to help Georgie Pa down the porch steps.
As Georgie Pa shuffles down the front path, Chip starts wailing, wanting out of my arms to get to him. I gently shush him. “Don’t worry little Chippa. Georgie Pa is coming back. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I croon, giving him a tight cuddle and a kiss on the head, hoping Mike
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