Raabe, not me. I knew everyone liked to tell
their little love story, but you know, thanks but no thanks.
"She came back later. She was sitting on the
hood of her car when I came out. Wow. Just sitting there looking at me." He
shook his head at the memory. He seemed lost in it. I wondered if he
109
had forgotten I was there. "And then I went
over to her and she just... she took my hand. Traveled it up underneath her..."
He started to laugh.
I was sure I didn't want to hear now. I
wondered if I should remind him I was his daughter. That I shouldn't be told
these things.
"Shirt," he said. "Her shirt. And then she
said, and it was something I will never forget, she said, 'I chose you.' Just
that. 'I chose you.' Jesus, a man like me."
"Oh, Dad, come on. God, I'm sorry, but this is
making me sick. This is a bunch of crap. And you hurt Bonnie. You treated Bonnie
like shit. You're acting crazy. Stealing that from their house. Ripping it up
like that. That's angry, Dad. An angry thing to do. Crazy." I twirled my finger
around by my head in case he was in doubt about what I meant.
"Bonnie," he said. He was suddenly angry. He
spit the words. "I've had a hundred Bonnies! I'm sick to death of Bonnies. My
whole life has been Bonnies. I'm tired of being safe. I don't want to be safe
anymore. Forget it. Just forget it," he said. "Forget this whole conversation."
His face got red. That scarf he had on in the middle of summer couldn't have
helped matters.
"I thought you were sleeping at your mom's
tonight," he said. For a moment he was just Dad again. Normal Dad. Ha, ha. Just
normal Dad.
"It's not that cold out," I said.
110
"What?" he said.
"It's not that cold out. For a scarf." I mean,
it was ridiculous. He had this muffler wrapped around his neck and tucked into
his coat like we were expecting a blizzard. "Look outside." I pointed out the
living-room window. I realized I was still clutching the pieces of that awful
photograph. I had made his damage worse; I had crumpled them in my hand. I let
them drop to the floor.
"You don't need this," I said. I grabbed a
pinch of the scarf.
"Don't." He shrugged off my hand.
"Come on, it's like seventy degrees." I took
hold of the scarf again. Tried to pull.
"Knock it off, Jordan." He pulled
back.
"What?"
"I said stop it."
"What are you hiding?" Shit. Shit, now
what?
"Nothing."
"I want to see."
"Goddamn it, Jordan. I said stop."
I kept pulling. He grabbed my wrist. He took
hold of my wrist and squeezed hard. He had never touched me before in anger. But
now he was bending my wrist a little. My hand actually twisted
around.
"Jesus, Dad. You're hurting me."
His eyes looked shocked. He dropped his own
hand from mine. I was still pulling on that
111
goddamned scarf. It dropped from his fist. It
fell loose; an almost elegant slip from his collar. "Oh my God," I
said.
"Goddamn it, Jordan!" He put his hands to his
neck.
"Oh my God!"
His hands could not cover the endless red marks
that snaked around his neck, disappeared down into his shirt. My mind provided
the image: her mouth bent to him, sucking hard. His neck arched for
more.
"That is so sick!" I shrieked.
"Sick!"
He eyed the closed door nervously. "Shut up,
Jordan. Jesus."
"What the hell are you doing?" I
cried.
"I'm late," he said. "Don't you understand? I'm late."
"This is crazy."
"I mean it, Jordan, I've had enough of this!"
He yanked open the front door.
"What is she doing to you?"
"God." He sighed. "Never love anyone this
much."
He put his head down, strode to his car, and
got in. He gave the car too much gas, and it almost stalled. The engine ground
as he turned the ignition again.
Pieces of Wes D'Angelo's wedding photo were
scattered around my feet. The scarf just lay there on the floor, a red woolen
puddle.
112
Chapter Six
I followed him. I'm not even sure exactly why;
my first feeling was of such disgust I would have been happy if I never saw him
again for
their little love story, but you know, thanks but no thanks.
"She came back later. She was sitting on the
hood of her car when I came out. Wow. Just sitting there looking at me." He
shook his head at the memory. He seemed lost in it. I wondered if he
109
had forgotten I was there. "And then I went
over to her and she just... she took my hand. Traveled it up underneath her..."
He started to laugh.
I was sure I didn't want to hear now. I
wondered if I should remind him I was his daughter. That I shouldn't be told
these things.
"Shirt," he said. "Her shirt. And then she
said, and it was something I will never forget, she said, 'I chose you.' Just
that. 'I chose you.' Jesus, a man like me."
"Oh, Dad, come on. God, I'm sorry, but this is
making me sick. This is a bunch of crap. And you hurt Bonnie. You treated Bonnie
like shit. You're acting crazy. Stealing that from their house. Ripping it up
like that. That's angry, Dad. An angry thing to do. Crazy." I twirled my finger
around by my head in case he was in doubt about what I meant.
"Bonnie," he said. He was suddenly angry. He
spit the words. "I've had a hundred Bonnies! I'm sick to death of Bonnies. My
whole life has been Bonnies. I'm tired of being safe. I don't want to be safe
anymore. Forget it. Just forget it," he said. "Forget this whole conversation."
His face got red. That scarf he had on in the middle of summer couldn't have
helped matters.
"I thought you were sleeping at your mom's
tonight," he said. For a moment he was just Dad again. Normal Dad. Ha, ha. Just
normal Dad.
"It's not that cold out," I said.
110
"What?" he said.
"It's not that cold out. For a scarf." I mean,
it was ridiculous. He had this muffler wrapped around his neck and tucked into
his coat like we were expecting a blizzard. "Look outside." I pointed out the
living-room window. I realized I was still clutching the pieces of that awful
photograph. I had made his damage worse; I had crumpled them in my hand. I let
them drop to the floor.
"You don't need this," I said. I grabbed a
pinch of the scarf.
"Don't." He shrugged off my hand.
"Come on, it's like seventy degrees." I took
hold of the scarf again. Tried to pull.
"Knock it off, Jordan." He pulled
back.
"What?"
"I said stop it."
"What are you hiding?" Shit. Shit, now
what?
"Nothing."
"I want to see."
"Goddamn it, Jordan. I said stop."
I kept pulling. He grabbed my wrist. He took
hold of my wrist and squeezed hard. He had never touched me before in anger. But
now he was bending my wrist a little. My hand actually twisted
around.
"Jesus, Dad. You're hurting me."
His eyes looked shocked. He dropped his own
hand from mine. I was still pulling on that
111
goddamned scarf. It dropped from his fist. It
fell loose; an almost elegant slip from his collar. "Oh my God," I
said.
"Goddamn it, Jordan!" He put his hands to his
neck.
"Oh my God!"
His hands could not cover the endless red marks
that snaked around his neck, disappeared down into his shirt. My mind provided
the image: her mouth bent to him, sucking hard. His neck arched for
more.
"That is so sick!" I shrieked.
"Sick!"
He eyed the closed door nervously. "Shut up,
Jordan. Jesus."
"What the hell are you doing?" I
cried.
"I'm late," he said. "Don't you understand? I'm late."
"This is crazy."
"I mean it, Jordan, I've had enough of this!"
He yanked open the front door.
"What is she doing to you?"
"God." He sighed. "Never love anyone this
much."
He put his head down, strode to his car, and
got in. He gave the car too much gas, and it almost stalled. The engine ground
as he turned the ignition again.
Pieces of Wes D'Angelo's wedding photo were
scattered around my feet. The scarf just lay there on the floor, a red woolen
puddle.
112
Chapter Six
I followed him. I'm not even sure exactly why;
my first feeling was of such disgust I would have been happy if I never saw him
again for
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