Page 127 of Damnation
Then the door opens, and my father appears in the doorway. For a second, I can’t breathe. He seems bewildered. I know I’ve changed since he saw me last. I was smaller; my hair was still my natural color and a lot longer than it is now. Plus, I’m sure that of all the people in the world, I’m the last one he expected to find on his doorstep. The moment he registers that the face in front of him belongs to his daughter, he grabs onto the doorjamb like he’s about to faint.
“Vanessa…” he whispers, his voice barely audible.
“In the flesh,” I breathe.
“What…what are you doing here?” I watch him swallow hard.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other,” I babble through an arid throat, wringing my hands. “I thought it was time that I pay you a visit.”
The shock on his face slowly turns into a frown. He sticks his head out the door, checking down one side of the street and then the other. “You’re alone?”
I nod.
“How did you get this address?” he asks, even more shocked.
“Mrs. Gorman. The woman who lives in your old house,” I stammer, wondering why he didn’t invite me inside. He didn’t ask how I was either. Or any one of the many goddamned things you should ask your daughter who you haven’t seen in three and half years.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” I prod him hesitantly.
He rubs his forehead, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s struggling. Maybe he’s even embarrassed.
“Look, this isn’t a good time,” he whispers, casting several glances over his shoulder. Probably worried that Bethany’s going to spot me. “If you had called or told me you were coming, I could have—”
I interrupt him, scowling. “How?”
He looks at me like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “What?”
“How could I have possibly told you? I haven’t heard from you in years. And your old phone number hasn’t worked since you left.”
He rubs his thumb along his eyebrow, thicker and whiter now. Just like his hair, which is thinning a bit at the temples. In all other respects, he looks like the man I remember, the one who was my hero. Maybe with a few more wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. Broad shoulders, a bit of a belly, and his usual casual clothes: a flannel shirt and worn, baggy jeans. Yet, I can’t feel that bond that once tied us together—that made us inseparable.
My father opens his mouth to answer me, but Bethany gets there first, her disembodied voice making him jump. “Peter, who’s at the door?”
He turns suddenly and, breathing rapidly, answers, “Uh, um, no one, sweetie. Just the neighborhood kids asking me to help shovel.” Then he steps out, quickly shutting the door behind him.
“The neighborhood kids?” I repeat to myself, disturbed. I’m his daughter. The daughter who he abandoned without looking back. The daughter he seems to have forgotten about entirely. I came hundreds of miles to see him, and he’s hiding me from her like I’m some kind of monster.
I can’t believe it. It feels like I’ve traveled back in time. Back to when he walked out and picked that woman over me. And even though I’m older now, it hurts just like it did the first time.
I stare down at my snow-sodden Converse, feeling like a fool for hoping that this encounter would go any other way. For hoping that he might welcome me with open arms. Or that he might be even a little happy to see me again after all this time. For a moment, I even stupidly deluded myself into imagining that he was behind the anonymous check sent to pay for my tuition. I let myself be tricked by the fantasy that, despite all this time and distance, he still wanted to be around me.
“I pictured this differently.” Now my voice is a barely audible murmur.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
I raise my head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, convincingmyself that coming to see you was the right thing to do.” The bitterness in my voice is palpable. “Pretend I didn’t do this. Pretend I was never here.” I turn my back to him and start to walk away without another word.
“No, no, hold on. Please,” he begs, wrapping his big hand around my forearm. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry, but I need time to process this. I’m not asking you to leave, but right now, I can’t give you the time I would like to. But tomorrow I can, any time you want; you can pick. But you have to give me a chance to prepare my family for your arrival first.”
His family.
Another punch to the gut.
I give him a look full of resentment. “I am also your family.”
He’s struck speechless. “Of course you are. But Bethany…she, well, I’m not sure she would understand. Not right away, at least.”
Before I knocked on his door, I felt uncertain and afraid; now, I just feel blood-boiling rage. “What is there to understand? I’m your daughter. It’s not up to her to decide whether or not I can see you. I didn’t come all this way for Bethany; I came here to see my dad. Instead, I’ve found a person without an iota of backbone or human empathy!” I pull out of his grasp and head down the driveway.
