Page 42 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

It didn’t make her dread the day any less, though.

She and Garrett spent the bulk of the day at a builder’s warehouse in Manchester, where he made suggestions about the types of products she should buy, and she took almost all of them. She chose lots of creamy whites and pale grays, which would contrast nicely with the finish she’d chosen for the hardwood floors. When the house was completed, it would look bright and fresh and new. Some buyer was going to pay a premium for it.

“You’re really good at this remodeling thing.” They’d just left Manchester and were on the interstate that would take them north into the mountains. To her surprise, Aspen had enjoyed every minute of the day. “How’d you learn it?”

“My uncle. He and my Aunt Deborah took me in when I was fourteen.”

“What happened to your parents?”

Garrett didn’t glance her way. “They still live in the house I grew up in, happier now that I’m gone.”

She detected only the slightest bitterness in his tone. “I assume there’s a story there.”

“There is.” A moment passed, and he said, “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“If you don’t mind sharing, I’d love to.”

“My father never liked me,” Garrett said. “When I was a kid, I thought there was something wrong with me. I could never do anything right. He hated the way I dressed. He hated my friends. If I made straight A’s, he criticized me for not being involved in more activities. He ridiculed me for not being a starting player on my Pee Wee football team like he was.”

“Oh, Garrett, that’s awful.” Aspen couldn’t imagine growing up in a household like that.

“When I was young, my entire life was consumed with trying to make him proud. I asked for a BMX bike for my twelfth birthday. My father thought it was stupid, but Mom bought it for me anyway. I spent the first week I had it learning to do tricks on that thing. I was pretty good at it, too. I mastered the bunny hop—which is basically just like it sounds. You just yank back on the handles while you lift the bike and get it in the air.”

“Sounds scary.”

“Nah. It’s pretty easy. Anyway, I mastered that, and then I used the trick to ride over a picnic table we had in the backyard. It was a pretty cool stunt, and I couldn’t wait to show my father. Deep down, I thought I’d finally found something that would make him proud.”

She had a bad feeling about where this story was going.

“He got home from work, and I pestered him until he went outside with me. Then I got on my bike, and I hopped up onthe picnic table and rode across it and then landed back on the ground. It was flawless.”

“There’s not going to be a happy ending to this story, is there?”

He glanced her direction and smiled. “Very insightful.” The smile shifted into a grimace. “He said, ‘That’s it? All those hours you’ve been on that stupid bike, and that’s all you can do?’ He decided the BMX was a waste of time, thatsomeone like meought to spend all his time improving himself.”

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Dad thought I was fundamentally flawed.”

“Based on what?”

Garrett shrugged. “I never knew, but that was the day I realized I would never be able to make my father happy. So I quit trying. I started getting into trouble, and by the time I was fourteen, I’d traveled pretty far down a dark road. I ended up getting arrested for breaking and entering, and only because the judge had pity on me, did I escape going to juvie. Dad was done with me by then. He enrolled me in a boarding school.”

“What did your mom think about that?”

One side of Garrett’s mouth tipped up. “Mom could never stand up to him. She never defended me or protected me, but not because she didn’t love me. Dad’s got a stubborn streak, and Mom’s never been strong enough to fight him. That time she did the best thing she could have done. She called her brother.”

“Your uncle Dean?”

“He and Aunt Deborah took me in. Uncle Dean taught me what a father’s love should look like. They changed my life.”

“So your mother came through in the end.”

“She did. I have a decent relationship with her. Dad and I are civil to each other, but I doubt it’ll ever be more than that.

“As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that Dad’s issues were never about me. He hates himself. I have no idea what happenedto make him that way. But he hates himself, and he thinks I’m like him, so he hates me. It’s that simple.”

“And it’s that awful,” Aspen said. “Would that he knew who he was in Christ. Would that he knew how God sees him.”

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