Page 93 of The Heart We Guard
“Greer,” he says. He’s obviously just home from work at the tire shop. He’s wearing the familiar pale denim shirt that says Trusty’s Tires on it, and there is a streak of dirt across his face.
Knowing what he’s about to ask, I get there first. “I got fired,” I say, resting my phone on my knee so I can see my father’s face.
His thick moustache curves up at the edges as he takes a seat at the old kitchen table. Maybe if he’d been a better man, the table would have the imprint of my science homework etched into the wood from the time I wrote on a single sheet of paper with a ball point pen. Maybe I’d be over at his tonight, enjoying a meal with him and Mom.
“What do you mean?” There is no concern in his voice. Just panic. Which tells me I was right, that whatever he wants from me can be expressed with dollar signs and decimal places.
Silence blankets us. It feels like it drags on for an age.
Despite everything, I’m reduced to wishing I’d been a different child, a better daughter. Someone he wanted to keep instead of handing me to foster care. I’m nervous telling him, even as I know I owe him no explanation. Even as I know I was never the one truly at fault.
I hate that there’s a piece of me still waiting for him to want me. To have not given me up all those years ago.
“I’m also pregnant. And it’s a good thing, Dad. Took me a minute to get there because it was such a surprise. I’ve had time to get my head around it. I thought through all the options, not going to lie. But I’ve made my peace with my decision to have this baby and love it to death.”
“You’re foolish if you think so.” There’s laughter in my father’s voice. Like he knows a secret I don’t. “And the father? Is he in the picture, or…?” Dad’s words trail off.
“Nolan knows.” I decide to spin a little story to make the idea of Nolan a little more palatable. If I tell him Butcher’s a member of a motorcycle club, I’m not sure what he’ll do. When Eli died, Dad made an appearance at the funeral but never cried. He didn’t even look sad. Worse, he looked relieved. But for some reason, I just keep running my mouth. “We’re very early on in our relationship, but we’re both in agreement that we want to keep the baby. We’re going to always be co-parents, but we’re going to continue dating each other to see where this goes.”
“You’re ruining your life,” my father says bluntly. And I’m immediately hurt for Pooks, that they won’t be loved by a grandparent the way they deserve.
I look up at the sky and wonder why I keep up the pretense of talking with them. “I refuse to believe that. I’m pregnant. This is not world-shattering news. And I’m staying in medicine, just in a different way.”
Dad looks up at me suddenly. “So, does this mean you won’t be able to loan me a few hundred dollars until pay day?”
That’s all I am to him. An ATM. A cash cow.
I huff at the wordloan. He hasn’t paid me back a penny.
Ever.
And yet, I hand over cash because the little girl in me is simply waiting for her father to be proud of her.
“I don’t have good cash flow right now,” I say. It’s a lie. I have savings, but I might need them for what I’m planning to do.
Dad huffs. “Then, call me back when you do.”
The screen goes black as Butcher walks around the side of the house, headed straight for me. The sight of him causes a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. He’s wearing a baseball cap and one of those sherpa-lined denim jackets over a plaid shirt. There’s such a confidence in his walk, such a surety of his place in the world.
“You okay?” he asks.
He moves around me, then sits on the step up from me, putting his long legs on either side of mine, and encourages me to lean back against him.
In moments like this, I can see how the rest of our life could be.
A life with a child in a beautiful location like this. Clean air. Warm sunshine and bitter winters.
“Mmm,” I say, as I snuggle into the warmth he provides. “I just told my dad about the baby.”
Butcher kisses the top of my head. “You did?”
I nod and look up at him. “I was still figuring out my own feelings on the situation. And I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”
“Was he happy? I got the impression, seeing you mentioned foster parents, that your dad was gone.”
“My parents were flawed and broken people who ended up being lousy parents. They chose to put me and Eli into foster care. Now, all they want is money.”
He massages my shoulders and I roll my neck from left to right, sighing as he digs his thumb into my tight muscles. “You still paying him?”
