Page 57 of As the Rain Falls
PEPÉ-THE-DOG
Beckett
OCTOBER, 2016
I get a textfrom my father early in the morning.
I’m at the airport. Come pick me up.
- Gregory
Picking him up takes up the rest of my day because of traffic.When we finally get home, my father immediately drops his suitcase in the middle of our kitchen, stares into the fridge for a little more than a minute, then walks away, leaving the door wide open.
I move quickly to close it and take off my t-shirt, feeling the urge to scratch at the tattoo on my chest. The black lines forming Lucia’s name written over my skin are thin and delicate, a perfect tracing of her cursive handwriting.
The idea came to me after finding a letter she wrote to Santa Klaus back when we were kids. Her biggest wish at the time had been Pepé, but we only managed to get the dog a year after that. Mom wouldn’t allow her to adopt a pet if she wasn’t serious about taking care of it, and I…
I really hated the idea of a dog. Dogs can be incredibly overbearing. It took me a while to come around.
“Where’s the orange soda?” Gregory asks, half-expecting a glass to appear out of thin air.
God, I sometimes wish I had a camera recording all the dumb shit people like to say to me. Why would I buy something I don’t even like to drink?
My father might have spent his early years in life as a skin-and-bones boy from a middle class-family, but he hasn’t bothered checking his bank account in over two decades. Marrying my mother wasn’t just a fresh start; it was a way to bury the past and take a chance at a life he always thought he deserved.
He is by far the most entitled person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.
“I don’t like orange soda.” I close the fridge, swallowing down my annoyance. “But there’s orange juice if you want.”
“Who doesn’t like orange soda?”
I stare at him, answering dryly, “Me.”
He rolls the long sleeves of his suit up with precision, taking the time to wash his hands before shooting me a long look. The water is warm enough to create some steam. It rises from the sink, floating in the air.
“At what time are we seeing the detective?”
“Monday at eight.”
“Right.” He dries his hands with a napkin, glaring at the dog when Pepé tries to sniff his feet. “Let’s hope this is a one-and-done type of thing.”
“It will be.”
My father spits out, “I already don’t like his face.”
“I don’t either, but I think it’ll be pretty quick,” I reassure him, taking Pepé by the collar and pulling him towards me instead. “They just want to close the case.”
“I told you trusting these people was useless, Beckett. They don’t care about her reputation.” He glares at me, and with the sunlight coming from the window reflecting on his face, his blue eyes seem brighter. “But you’re just so stubborn, you never listen to me.”
“Don’t act like I wasn’t doing a good thing.” I open the back door to let Pepé outside. He hesitates before leaving, as if sensing the tension in the room. “I was only looking out for Lou.”
Dad’s mouth twists downwards, his disapproval still apparent. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”
I watch Lucia’s dog run into our yard. Pepé stops around our pool, trying to catch a fallen leaf that’s just above the surface.
“I guess you’re right. The whole thing was pointless,” I answer with a shrug, trying not to let his words get to me too much. “They couldn’t find any other leads.”
Gregory sighs, still staring at me with the kind of exasperation I’ve gotten used to. Coming from my father, this is normal treatment.
