Chapter Twelve
Kane
“What the hell do you mean you’re kicking him out?” I asked incredulously.
The social worker, head nurse, and center administrator were looking at me. Their faces were identically set to the same apologetic, understanding expression. Mine was not. I was glaring, staring back and forth from one to the other of them.
“No,” I said adamantly. “You can’t do this. The man had a stroke. He’s not able to take care of himself—”
“Actually, he’s faring well in terms of self-care skills. It’s just—”
“No,” I said again. “Just because the man can get a spoon to his mouth and shit on his own does not mean he can manage himself.”
“Mr. Thorson,” the administrator said. “We’re simply not equipped to handle his needs. Your father is very … difficult.”
I stared at the floor. Of course my father was difficult. He was naturally an asshole, and the stroke he’d had a few months before had exacerbated his assholiness. It didn’t mean he could manage himself¸ much less that I could handle the man. I couldn’t handle anything about the man.
“I would recommend you reach out to Medicare. You need to—”
“Have you ever dealt with Medicare?” I asked angrily.
“We can provide you with some resources—the disability application is a good place to start. That’s the first step in getting him on Medicaid, and you might have better luck getting him placed—”
“What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime?”
“You have thirty days to decide. We’re putting you on notice now. If Medicare will cover a psychiatric unit placement, that might be a good option.”
“Ah, Jesus Christ, lady,” I snapped. “Medicare’s not even covering his expenses now. He’s too high functioning to qualify, remember?”
“When we release him, if he’s being … unmanageable, you take him to the emergency room. That’s the best step to getting him placed appropriately in a psych ward or a care center that has a secure ward. But there is simply nothing we can do for you here. He’s too big of a liability to our staff. Your father is uncooperative, and furthermore, he’s violent. We understand this is likely related to the brain trauma of his recent stroke, and I—”
“No, it’s not,” I muttered as I stood up. I walked out of the room without saying anything further.
The women stared at me as I left. They thought I was as big of an asshole as my dad. I likely was. When I wandered down the hall to his room, I glanced in other rooms along the way. It was a depressing thing being in one of these places. It smelled disgusting and weird, and the odd occasional groan made me feel like I was walking through a fluorescently lit haunted house. I didn’t like this place.
My father’s room was the last room at the end of the corridor, and when I approached, my gate slowed. It was dread. I didn’t like seeing my father. That had never bothered me before, because my dad didn’t care to see me any more than I cared to see him. But now, I felt almost compelled to at least occasionally stop in.
“Hi, Dad,” I said as I walked in.
He slowly moved his head to watch me as I crossed the room. He moaned one of those ghostly wailing moans out of the side of his half paralyzed mouth, but his eyes were still cruel, and his expression was still hateful. I sat in the only chair in the room, and he turned his head away from me to stare out the window.
“I’ve been working on the house. It’s coming along slowly, but I think once I’m done, it’s going to really increase the sale value. That should help secure you financially.” I had no idea why I was talking to him as though he cared at all what I was saying.
I sat in silence for a while, and soon, his breathing slowed, and I could tell he’d fallen asleep.
“But then I think it’s going to be time for me to finally end this nightmare,” I whispered. The thought was painful—saying goodbye to Helene again. “Too many mistakes in my past,” I mumbled as I let my head drop to my hands.
My dad groaned quietly in his sleep, and I finally stood. I stared down at him. His skin hung on his bones like a sheet draped over hard sharp angles. He’d lost weight, and too many cigarettes had aged him beyond his years. The whiskers on his face were patchy and gray, and his hair was an unkempt mess. His mouth hung open as he slept, and his breathing was loud and gurgling.
It was almost hard to believe the man lying in this bed used to terrify me. He could beat the shit out of me faster than most people could change their shoes. Don’t get me wrong, I deserved it. I was a shit growing up, and my attitude was certainly challenging for even the most patient, but that man… He’d knocked the smart-ass out of me just for looking at him wrong.
I took my time wandering out to the parking lot, and when I climbed in dad’s old rusted out truck with a muffler as loud as a jet engine, I let my head drop to the steering wheel. It was Friday—two days after I fucked up with Hell. And that fuck up was a bad one. Touching her where I had no business touching probably wasn’t the best way to get back in her good graces after she bailed me out of jail. Licking, sucking, and kissing her neck without doubt made it worse. She was frigid after all—at least if her ex-boyfriend’s email was the least accurate. But then throwing the ever-bubbly and immature Tia in her face who outed what I’d been doing in a bar other than fighting total strangers… Well that deserved a disaster gold star.
When I pulled up in the driveway, the electrician was just walking out of the front door. The man blew out an exasperated sigh, and I rolled my eyes.
“What?” I said rather than greeting him.
He shrugged, shaking his head. “It ain’t pretty. To get this place up to code—”
“How about if I don’t care about code?” I asked, not letting him get any further.
The man chuckled. “You wanna sell this house? What do you think happens when you get a home inspector in here?”
“So what is it?” My jaw clenched tight as I waited for it.
“Your main isn’t grounded. That’s a problem. It was likely grounded through a metal plumbing pipe a long time ago, but it’s not now. Your panel is overwired. Some of your receptacles are backstabbed. And you’re underamped. I’m not going to lie…”
I walked into the house, ignoring him.
“…I’d tear this to shreds on a home inspection, Kane.” The man followed me into the house even as I refused to communicate with him.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge, and when the guy started talking again, I set the beer down, reaching for the Jameson on top of the fridge instead.
“Like I was saying…”
“How about you get to the bottom line.”
The man went silent for a moment.
“Five … maybe six.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. I threw back a shot of the whiskey, and the moment it singed my throat, I poured another and threw it back before the burn of the first shot died down. “Do it.” I walked away toward the small bedroom at the front of the house that had been mine since the day I was born.
The last I caught of the electrician was a nervous, “Yeah… Okay, yeah…” and then I closed the bedroom door and flopped down on the double mattress that sat on the floor, just as it always had. The paint was crackled on the walls, and it was a dingy blue color. I’d not bothered to do anything in this room yet, and I hated every inch of this space—the worn hardwoods on the floor, the old dresser that was missing half its knobs, the amber glass light fixture circa 1970.
When I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do with it—only that I needed to do something. I pulled up my text messages, and I stared at the one I’d typed out two nights prior without ever sending.
I’m sorry. Are you okay?
My thumb paused over the send button. I’d not managed to hit that damn button in the two days since I’d typed the message out to Hell. I once again closed my text messages, leaving the message unsent. I pulled up my call history instead, and I found another number.
“Well if it isn’t Kane himself,” Lisa said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I smirked. “Just called to see what you were up to tonight.”
She chuckled this warm laugh. “Jake’s out of town. You must have read my mind. You know, I’ve been thinking about you,” she said seductively.
“Is that so? You missed my charms did you?”
She laughed again. “No, darlin’. I missed that nice big cock of yours.”
It was my turn to laugh, and I did, closing my eyes to the ugly world around me with its bad memories and stale smells. “You gonna let me fuck you with it tonight?”
“I want to go out first,” she said a bit childishly, like she might pout if I turned her down. “New seafood restaurant on Broad. You need to take me. We’ll eat the oysters. You know they’re an aphrodisiac.”
“I know they taste like something that belongs in someone’s nose. No thanks,” I said. “When have we ever needed an aphrodisiac? Isn’t that why you like me so much? How about you shove the oysters down your husband’s throat.”
She hummed. “I still want to go.” She was definitely pouting at that point.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll meet you there in two hours.”
When I hung up, I pulled up the unsent message to Helene again, and I erased it. Everything I did hurt her in some way. That’s all I was capable of with her, and every compulsive need I had to reach out to her, touch her, smell her, taste her, hell, just be near her, brought me one second closer to inflicting more pain on her. And for what? Hazleton was not a permanent stop on my journey.
“I’m sorry, Helene,” I whispered, and then I closed my eyes and fell asleep.