Page 69 of Barbed Wire Fences
“Here’s what’s left. His wishes were that any remaining money to his name be split between the two of you.”
I look down at the check and can’t help the laugh that escapes from my mouth.Ten dollars.Tenfuckingdollars.
Sure, I wasn’t expecting anything, but the fact that a man in his late fifties had a mere twenty dollars to his name upon his deathbed is both sad and unsurprising.
I don’t even hesitate before turning to my mother and handing her the check.
“You can have it. I don’t want anything from him.”
Even if it was a thousand dollars, I’d give it to her. I’m annoyed that he included me in his will. Annoyed that he thought this would somehow make up for all the pain he caused. My dad never gave me anything of value when he was alive, why should he start now?
Turning back to Mr. Gibson, I ask, “Is there anything else we need to do to settle his affairs?”
“Um, yes,” he says, nervously, taken aback by my reaction. He shuffles his paperwork to distract himself until he finds what he’s looking for. “He also left one of these for both of you.”
He pulls out two white envelopes, one addressed to my mother and the other to me in my father’s same, slanted, sloppy handwriting. My mother eagerly grabs hers, tearing it open as she read the contents, her eyes welling up with tears. When she finishes, she folds the letter and stuffs it back into the envelope before shifting to look at me with expecting eyes.
I take the letter off Mr. Gibson’s desk tentatively, contemplating whether to give it to my mother or toss it in the trash bin.
“Well?” she probes.
“I don’t care about what he had to say.”
“Jael, you owe him this.”
Do I, though? My father hadn’t been a father to me, and opening the letter feels like giving in to another one of his demands. I can picture him sitting smugly beyond the grave, pleased that he left me ten dollars and a letter, getting the last word.
When I left town, I felt like I’d stopped owing him in every way. I found myself and though I’ve struggled not having parents in my life even as an adult, I’m proud of what I’ve become apart from them, even if I’m still a little broken.
Sighing, I dig my nail into the edge and open it slowly to read his final words to me.
???
Jael,
I know that I wasn’t always the most present father, and for that, I’m sorry.
I hope that you’ll always remember the good times we had and realize that everything I did was for you.
I always loved you in my own special way.
Your Dad
???
Are you fucking kidding me? Everything he did was for me.
Was the abuse for me? Was the way that he spent all our money so that there was none left for my mom to buy groceries, leaving me hungry every nightfor metoo?
I’m an adult now, and I understand that addiction is a disease, but even as a child I knew that if someone loved you, they wouldn’t lay their hands on you. Even before my father started drinking, he wasn’t present. Whether it was gambling, or working late, I don’t have any good memories to think on.
I drop the letter to my lap in shock at those being the words he chose to leave me from beyond.
My mom snatches the note from my hand to read it as Mr. Gibson's eyes shift nervously between us.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Um, well, that’s it. Everything else has been settled.”
“Great,” I snap, standing abruptly, ready to leave this office, this town, all this shit behind.
