Page 26 of These Family Ties

“Then you shouldn’t have left! You can’t come back and expect everything to return to normal.” Peeking around the corner, Mom has her arms crossed over her chest with her lips pressed in a tight line. She’s not the one throwing stuff? Nope. Dad’s the one swatting at anything within reach. A glass shattering on the linoleum makes that one less decent piece of crockery in this shithole.

He looks pissed. Her words are the same ones I was thinking when he came back in from running the party off last night. Now, he finally gets to hear what we are all feeling. He left us. What did he expect? He thought he could come back, and everything would be rainbows and unicorn poop? I wish Mom had done better, but this is where we are. This is the shit storm we’re left with.

“What about Swayze? Huh? Did you think about her in all of this?” He throws his hand in the direction of my room, not realizing he’s pointing right at me.

But to answer his question, no. And I wondered why she didn’t every time one of her guy friends snuck into my room. I knew Mom was hurting, but what about me?

Mom focuses her sights on me, and I know what she’s thinking before she even opens her mouth. “You little bitch, did you throw another party last night? I warned you…”

Before she finishes that statement, I sprint out the door, down the gravel path, and through the woods near our trailer park. Once I’m a good enough distance away that I know they won’t come after me, I slow down.

I don’t need to hear Mom’s answer to Dad’s last question. Or maybe I’m too scared to hear it because I’m fairly certain the answer is… I never thought about Swayze. If there’s one thing she’s taught me, it’s how to avoid, and that’s what I’m doing now. I don’t know any other way.

Picturing my mom and dad peacefully sitting around the kitchen table, calmly discussing their problems and parenting issues, has me snickering. There’d be no point anyway. You can’t solve a problem if it’s happened in the past. My kind of problems will never get solved. There’s no turning back time.

Chapter Six

Dominic

As I argue with Mer, I can’t see the woman I grew to love fifteen years ago. This isn’t her. I know I’ve fucked up. However, I thought we were clear on what was at stake.

“You knew the risks. You loved the money and wanted me to climb that ladder.” I slap the countertop in frustration. “You wanted me to keep moving up the chain of command so you could keep getting my money.”

Her eyes well with unshed tears. Unshed tears for the money, but none for Swayze? Whose care did I leave my little girl in?

“Where did all the money go, Mer?” She quickly looks away but not fast enough for me to not see the gears turning in her eyes.

“You don’t know how much money it takes to raise a kid. That shit goes quick,” she hisses with indignation.

I know she’s lying, but I try to keep to the point, preventing her from veering off the subject. “Well, that’s something you don’t have to worry about now. Things will change around here.”

First, is her having a job? This is something my colleague forgot to include in all of my updates. I guess not everyone is as thorough as they should be. Is that why she had to repeat her junior year? Because she had to work so much?

She scoffs, turning toward the sink to fill a glass with water. “Why is everything always about that girl? You were never concerned about me. If you had to choose, it would only be her. Fuck me, right?”

“Her, meaning our daughter?” I ask because there’s no way she’s saying this to me.

She faces me with dead eyes. “No, I mean your daughter. She’s no daughter of mine.” Then she stomps past me toward the bathroom. “But I kept your dirty little secret. She still believes I pushed her out of my cunt.” She continues to fire shots at me in her retreat. I rub my hand over my aching heart. It feels like I’ve been shot by Merideth’s words.

Yet another thing she’s going back on. She treated Swayze like her own and promised to keep doing so while I was locked up. What happened to change all that?

Mer pauses at the bathroom door to give me a glare. “She’s at the diner on Greenfield and Main. Why don’t you do something useful and give her a ride home? It’d be nice, for once, if my food was hot when she brought it home.” With her hand on the knob, she adds, “And fill my fucking gas tank,” before slamming the door.

***

After this morning’s hellstorm, I spent the day riding around in the trash bucket that’s Mer’s ride and connecting with old contacts. I planned on picking Swayze up after learning she had to walk to work, which had to be at least two miles. This isn’t how her life was supposed to turn out.

I moved up in the ranks while in prison. When you work with the drug lords and the mafia, your obligations don’t go away because you’re behind bars. There’s always someone to be threatened. Someone to be killed. I’m no stranger to violence. It was part of the reason my sentence was extended. I never got caught for anything on the outside, even murder. Consequences are for men who don’t think ahead. Between the money I received for the jailhouse hits and the large sum Archie gave me for taking the blame, Mer and Swayze should be living comfortably in a lovely little house with a white picket fence and whatever else fucking suburbanites need to keep up with the Joneses. Regardless, Swayze’s not going to be living with Mer anymore. After Mer stopped visiting me in jail, I had one of my trusted colleagues purchase a home for me and Swayze. He’s keeping it in his name until I give Mer the divorce papers.

The sky is getting swallowed by the horizon, and I know Swayze will be getting off work soon, so I turn the wheel in the direction of the diner. The ride was short since I was already in town. When I pull up to the small diner, I see her. Even through the large dirty window, her smile is radiant, and her ponytail gives her a playful air compared to the hardened woman I saw last night. Cutting the engine, I stride inside the building, hoping to sit in her section.

The red and white checkered floors bring back the memories of when I was young and would stop by after school for root beer floats. Sitting on one of the plastic red bar stools, I grab a laminated menu from its holder.

“Wow, I didn't expect to see you here. What’s it been eight… nine years?” I peer up to see Emily Hazel. I haven’t seen her since high school. She looks different now, but I’m sure I do, too.

“About twenty-five years, actually,” I correct, smothering a smirk.

“Way to make me feel old,” she huffs, but there’s a shit-eating grin on her ruby-red painted lips.

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