Page 55 of Crossroads
He wants to travel and take pictures. Share it with the world.
I think it’s a beautiful dream, but it’s not like it spells out a future for us. I’m a farm boy, through and through. The thought of flying around the world makes me itch. I wouldn’t mind a road trip, here and there, but traveling all over the world for the rest of my life?
Could I do that?
For Emerson?
Shit. I don’t know. Maybe I could because the thought of losing him is starting to make me sick.
“Honey?” I look at my mom. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I stand up from the table. “I’m going to go play with Logan and then see if Dad needs my help with anything before I leave.”
“You just got here. I was going to make some breakfast.”
“I already ate,” I lie, and I hate myself for it, but I can’t stay here. I rush off to find my little brother playing in his room before she can say anything back to me that will shred my heart with guilt.
I told her I moved out because it would be convenient. I’d already be at work when I woke up, and while that’s true, I couldn’t wait to move out and get far away from here.
Which isn’t fair because my parents gave me everything. They’ve always been there for me, and I couldn’t stay even another minute past my eighteenth birthday to be there for them.
Logan shows me some of his new toys, and I play with him for a while, actually relaxing because I enjoy spending time with my brother. But then I hear a loud crash and quickly make my way out of his room.
I find my dad on the floor. My heart clenches in my chest, and my knees feel like they might give out, seeing him lying helplessly there like that, the anger palpable on his face. “Dad.”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, and Logan cries from behind me. My mother joins us in the living room, gasping. “Don’t,” my dad snaps at her, and she stops before she can reach him. “I said I’m fine.”
But he’s not fine. He’s in pain, and he’s on the ground. I’m sure he can’t get up by himself or he would have already. And if he just waits until the pain isn’t so great, it’ll be hours ofhim just sitting on the floor. Or he’ll push through it and hurt himself even more. “Mom, can you please take Logan outside?” I keep my tone level but lock eyes with her, trying to convey the importance of Logan not being here right now.
He knows our dad is in pain. He knows our dad gets angry sometimes when he’s frustrated, but I don’t need him about to witness what I’m sure is about to happen. I don’t really want my mom to see it either.
She guides him out to the backyard, and I look at my father, his angry face still a shock to my system. I’m not used to seeing him this way. “Please let me help you.”
“I said no. I’m fine,” he says, his tone cold and bitter as he looks away from me. I know he feels shame, and I’d give anything to take it away from him. I want to tell him that he’s my hero. That no matter what, he’s still the strongest man I’ve ever known. That it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. But I know it won’t go over well.
I don’t ask again. I just move to position myself behind him, grasping him under his arms. “I. Said. No.” He starts to struggle and pushes me away.
I stumble back a little, but at this point, I’m pissed off too. I’m angry this is where we are now. I’m mad that he had to hurt himself. That he didn’t just have a desk job or something safe. It’s not logical, but it’s real. I’m angry that I miss my dad so much, even though he’s right here.
I go for him again, and this time, I don’t give him any time to fight me. I lift him up and walk him over to the couch to sit him down as quickly as I can to cause him less pain.
He shoves me away again before I can get back away from him on my own. “I told you I’m fine. You don’t listen. I’m the grown-up, and I don’t need anyone babying me.”
“I’m sor?—”
“Get out,” he snaps at me, his words dripping with venom.
“Dad—” I start, but he cuts me off again with another angry snarl.
“Get. Out. Now,” he says fiercely, his jaw clenched tightly, and he looks away from me.
I haven’t cried in front of my dad since I was a little kid—hell, I’m not sure I’ve cried at all since I was a little kid—but I can feel the tears forming in my eyes now. I quickly turn away and rush out the door before they start to fall.
I don’t know how we got here. We were such a happy family once.
I don’t want to see anyone, so I get in my truck, and I drive out to the football field. I find a bottle of vodka left over from some bonfire I went to months ago and walk out onto the field.
I look around at the high school football stadium, and I swear I can still hear the sound of the crowd—the most prominent voices were my mother and father’s. Though they stopped coming after his accident, so it was mostly my junior high games, but it doesn’t matter.
