Page 48 of Good and Gone

I wait for her breathing to even out, for her to fall into a deep sleep, and then I kiss her forehead and leave. I know just who I have to go and see.

34

Tyler

The drive out to my father’s place is long, and it gives me a lot of time to think. This is the first time I’ve seen him since the night I punched him in the mouth. But he was glad to hear from me when I called. He must have known from the sound of my voice that I needed him.

I hadn't wanted to hit my father all those years ago. A discussion about my daughter had turned heated, like most discussions with my old man did. I had mentioned the trouble we were having getting a proper diagnosis for Lily, and I was still deep in the thick of coming to terms with why we couldn't have just had a child who was normal.

The thing about my father is that I can never win. The last thing he wants is for me to be like him, but at the same time, that's also exactly what he wants. It made growing up in his shadow difficult, to say the least.

My dad was a war vet, though he never talked about his time in the service. He didn't have to. It ruined every relationship he ever had, including ours.

He wanted me to get an education, so I did. Then, when I decided I wanted to become a pharmacist, he accused me of selling out to Big Pharma. The day I got my acceptance letter, I called him. He didn’t congratulate me like most fathers would or tell me he was proud. He said: “Well, I guess we all sell our souls somehow.”

Like I said, I can never win.

Except when I married Hailey. My old man has always adored her. From day one. He's always said marrying her was the best thing I ever did. And that is, perhaps, the only thing he and I can agree on.

He reached out after she went missing. Offered to help, offered to call in a few of his “buddies,” but I brushed him off. I had enough going on. I didn't want to add another contentious relationship to the mix. Edward Adams doesn't get along with anyone, least of all the authorities.

"Well, well," he says, eyeing me standing on the bottom step of his rundown porch. "I guess you needed my help after all."

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

The screen door opens and my father walks out, wearing a dirty undershirt and a pair of old jeans. He looks about as bad as my mom did the night she left him.

"I'm sorry," I say.

He just looks me up and down. "For what?" he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I shouldn't have hit you," I say. "I was angry. And for not calling you back."

"Oh that," he says. "That's all water under the bridge."

I don't know what to say. I figured my old man would get me in a headlock and we would be at each other again in another heartbeat.

Instead, he's welcoming me in.

"You want a beer?" he asks. "I've still got a few in the fridge."

"Thanks, but no," I tell him. He's still got the same grizzled military look to him. His hair, never particularly thick, has thinned some. He wears a thick, bushy beard. He always said it was because he didn't want to look like a grandpa. That, and he reckoned it made him look more intimidating. It did, but not in the way he wanted.

The house hasn't changed much, but I can tell it's also aged a lot since I was here last.

"I need your help," I say.

"Of course you do. Why else would you have come?"

I weigh my options. I could go through the same song and dance with him again. But I've done that way too many times. "Hailey's pregnant. And it isn't mine."

"I heard."

"How?"

"Probably the same way as everyone else," he says, pointing to the old television in the corner. "That idiot box over there."

"It was on the news?"

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