Page 96 of Versions Of Us

“I didn’t say you paid for them,” he snorts.

Fantastic. Yet another reason for Dylan to write me off. I’m starting to think that leaving town again isn’t such a bad option. Maybe it would be best for me to find a place where I can start all over again.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, trying to redirect the attention back onto him. “Why are you always here?”

Old Tommy’s face slackens, the smirk disappearing from his mouth. “I don’t have anywhere better to be.”

“That can’t be true,” I say.

“Sorry to disappoint you boy, but it is true. There’s no one out there waiting for me.” He takes a long sip of his beer, then sets it down again in front of him.

“You don’t have a family? A wife?” My anger has dissipated now. I’m generally curious to hear his answer.

“I did. Once.”

He sighs and his eyes fill with sadness. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a tattered old photograph, handing it to me between wrinkled fingers.

A woman beams back at me from the picture. She looks like she couldn’t be more than thirty years old here. A toddler rests on her lap. A girl with big, bright blue eyes, cherry red lips and a mass of blonde curls.

“This is your family?”

“Was.” Old Tommy doesn’t look up from his beer.

“What happened?” I know it isn’t my business, that after the way I’ve treated this old man I don’t really deserve to know, but I hope he’ll tell me anyway.

“They died. Car collided with a truck. It was my fault.” His gaze drifts out the window to the sidewalk where a young mother has stopped to check on her baby, bending over the pram with an adoring smile on her face. “I was driving.”

“How old were you?” I ask.

“Twenty-nine. My baby girl was barely three years old.”

I pass the photograph back to him, noticing now the way his hand tremors as he collects it. “How was it your fault?”

His bottom lip quivers as his eyes mist over. “I was speeding. I was imprisoned for ten years.”

I’m stunned into silence, my mouth gaping like a complete dumbass. I’ve given this man shit almost every day that he’s come in here. I’d written him off as the town drunk, as someone who selfishly drinks himself into oblivion. I’d carelessly assumed that this man would rather down bourbon than pay attention to his family somewhere. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined he did it to escape a life of shame and suffering.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, kid.” He shakes his head and places his beer down with a clunk. “I’m more than happy to wear the full force of the blame.”

“You’re punishing yourself,” I say.

Old Tommy shrugs. “I thought that if I could just move to a new town, find a place where nobody knew my name, maybe I could leave it all behind. But that’s the thing about guilt. It stays with you.”

“So you come here every day and you drink yourself stupid because you don’t think you’re worthy of anything else?”

“If you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you?”

I can’t answer that. I have no idea what it would be like to live with the guilt of taking the lives of the two most important people in my life. But everyone has their cross to bear, and I’m no exception.

“You made a stupid mistake a long time ago,” I tell him. “I’m not saying it would be easy to forgive yourself. But while you’re taking up space on this earth, shouldn’t you find a way to make it count? Give yourself a chance to do something special with the time you have left?”

“Wise words, kid. Do you have the guts to take your own advice?” Old Tommy raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet mine. “What ever happened to that girl that was always here with you? Watching you play the drums and hanging on your every word.”

“Hanging on my every word?” I question him dubiously. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“No. I remember her.” Old Tommy shakes his head. “The one who was always smitten with you. Long brown hair, killer curves. You know who I mean.”

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