Page 2 of Gideon

The garish lighting of the sign at the front door promised to intensify the headache that pressed at the back of his skull. He focused on the rutted pavement until he reached the door and pushed it open, only to be met by the sharp scent of stale booze and the moody chords of “Hotel California,” which mingled with the clink of glasses and muffled the conversation.

Gideon scanned the room, almost disregarding the hunched shoulders of a white-haired man hugging a drink at the bar. The wisps of white that stuck out at odd angles, some of it glued to the side of his face from sweat, was a shock.

Seven years ago, his dad had still had most of histhick dark hair. His brother had told him that the stroke had no lasting effects, but a lot had changed. Probably more than he’d feared.

He inhaled sharply and started forward. His dad didn’t move when he reached him, so he slid onto the bar stool beside the shrunken old man.

The bartender, a beefy guy with a pockmarked face and dark, bushy eyebrows, stepped up to him. His hands looked like mallets when he anchored them on either side of the counter. “What’ll you have?”

“Just a coke, thanks.”

A wheezy laugh came from beside him, followed by a hacking cough. The bartender slid a napkin to his dad. “Here you go, Joey.”

Joey nodded thanks and used it to wipe at the side of his face that hung loosely. Gideon looked at him out of the corner of his eye. His sagging lip exposed a stained tooth.

“You can buy a coke from the diner around the corner,” Joey slurred. “In here, we only serve men.” Then, he turned to face Gideon and one eye widened, while the other tried to mirror it but came up short.

“Hi, Dad,” Gideon said, making sure his voice held strong.

Joey shook his head and focused back on his beer. “I only have one son, and he’s in prison. I don’t know who you are.”

“After all these years, that’s your response?”

“Hey—” Joey turned to face him again, this time with surprising speed. “You walked out on me, remember? It’s what you wanted.”

“What I wanted was for you to stop attacking me every time you had too much to drink.”

“You should be thanking me. It’s what made a man out of you. It’s probably what kept you alive. Everything you’ve done in the special forces is down to me.”

“Dad, that’s got nothing to do?—”

“Did I tell you about it, Charlie?” Joey motioned toward the bartender. “Did I tell you about Giddy in the special forces? Top of his class. Only thing that’s made him worth anything.”

“You sure did,” Charlie said, setting the coke in front of Gideon. “This one’s on the house. Thank you for your service.”

“That’s not necessary,” Gideon mumbled, pulling out a few bills and laying them on the counter.

“Too much of a coward to stick around here for long, though,” Joey continued, giving Gideon a sideways glance. “I don’t know how he can handle conflict with strangers but not with his own family. Hey, Giddy, why don’t you lift that shirt and show us your yellow belly?”

Gideon took one sip of his drink, then climbed off the stool. “This was a bad idea,” he said as he limped toward the door.

“What’s with the leg, ya gimp?”

Gideon stopped and closed his eyes. When he was sixteen, he’d taken a swing at his dad, knocking him to the floor. It was the first and last time. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have to control himself almost every time his dad opened his mouth.

He knew the offensive words were said in desperation to stop him from walking out the door. For better orworse, he took a deep breath, unraveling his fingers from their white-knuckled fist before turning. “I was injured.”

“Bullet wound? Bomb? Torture?” Joey said.

This wasn’t the time or place to come clean. Confessions could come later. “No. With one of the vehicles.”

“What’d you do? Get run over by a tank?”

Gideon shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it’s confidential, is it?” Joey swore, then turned to the bartender. “There he goes again. Thinking he’s better than the rest of us. I used to be proud of my son being selected for the special forces. Had I known it would turn him into a pretentious jerk, I wouldn’t have gotten so excited.”

“I never said my injury was confidential.” Gideon sighed, knowing it was pointless to explain.

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