CHAPTER TEN
Caitlin
“We are sepulchered alive in this close world
And want more room.”
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
“Daddy!” Sean dashes across the living room, jumping into Dad’s arms as he enters the kitchen.
“Aw, there’s my big man.” Dad lifts Sean’s feet off the floor, pulling my eight-year-old brother into a bear hug.
For once, Chuck looks relatively presentable. He’s wearing wrinkled, but unstained, khaki shorts, new tennis shoes, and a light blue tee shirt the same color as his eyes that stretches tightly over his belly. His nose is bright red from a combination of sunburn and years of hard drinking, and his thinning salt and pepper hair is sticking up in ten different directions, but he’s pulled together—for Chuck—and the usual cloud of alcohol fumes is noticeably absent.
My father is sober, clean, and has come bearing lollipops for the kids in one meaty hand. I suppose I should be happy he’s making an effort, but I’m not. Chuck is the last person I want to see right now, when I’m so keyed up on impossible hope I can barely stand still.
Chuck is a hope killer, the one person in my life who has let me down more times than the rest of the world combined. He’s been on his best behavior recently—promising to sign over custody of the kids, and part of his VA check, as long as I drop my lawsuit against him—but I still don’t trust him. Years of suffering the slings and arrows of Chuck Cooney’s drunk side, vengeful side, and plain nasty side have left me of the opinion that any day is better simply for not having any Chuck in it.
“What flavor do you want Long Sean Silver?” Dad asks as he sets Sean back on his feet, using one of the ridiculous pet names he has for all of his kids, the ones he thinks are valid substitutes for being a decent parent. “I’ve got three cherry, two blueberry, and a root beer. You gave the first hug, so you get first choice.”
“Root beer!” Sean says before casting an uncertain glance my way. “Is that okay, Caitlin? Can I have it before lunch?”
“Sure.” I force a smile that feels more like a baring of my teeth. “Just eat it at the table, okay?”
“Okay!” Sean runs off, grinning ear to ear, and Ray takes his place, giving Dad a slightly less enthusiastic hug before claiming two cherry lollipops—one for him, and one for Emmie, who he scoops up and settles in her high chair before handing over the candy.
“What about you, Danny Boy?” Dad comes to stand beside me and Sherry in the kitchen, smiling across the counter toward where Danny is slumped on the couch with a scowl on his face. “Cherry or blueberry?”
“No thanks,” Danny grumbles, slouching lower. “I don’t want your candy.”
“Oh, come on,” Chuck says. “You love lollipops.”
“I said, I don’t want your fucking candy!” Danny surges to his feet and bolts for the stairs, taking them two at the time, setting the house to shaking as he thunders up to his room and slams the door.
“Language!” Dad shouts after him, having the balls to put on his “you’d better behave” voice. Like he has the right to critique anyone’s behavior when he’s been drunk and belligerent for the better part of the past decade.
Chuck turns back to me, a concerned expression on his face. “He shouldn’t be talking like that in front of the younger ones.”
“You’re right, Dad,” I say, crossing my arms at my chest. “But I figure a big brother with a potty mouth who helps his little brothers with their homework is less of a problem than a Dad who shows up drunk and pukes on the supper table so…” I lift one shoulder and let it fall, holding my Dad’s stare, even when hurt flickers in his eyes.
“I’m going to go…check on Danny,” Sherry says as she backs out of the kitchen, obviously not inclined to get in the middle of the Cooney family drama.
“I’m not drunk today, Kit Cat,” Dad says in a soft, wounded voice. “Doesn’t seem fair to kick a man when he’s trying his best to do better.”
I suck at my teeth and press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, fighting to keep another smartass remark from my lips. Any man who has hit a twelve-year-old as many times as Dad has backhanded Danny, deserves to be kicked while he’s down, but picking a fight with Chuck won’t help anything. Right now, I need to play nice and get rid of him so I can keep my focus where it belongs—on finding out what happened to Gabe.
“Sorry.” My tone is more begrudging than penitent, but the apology seems to cheer Chuck. The hurt in his eyes fades as he unwraps a cherry lollipop, and holds it up between us. I take it and pop it into my mouth, figuring I can’t say anything I’ll regret if my mouth is full of candy.
“I remember when you were Sean’s age,” Chuck says with a fond smile. “You ate all your Halloween candy in one night and threw it up in the cat’s litter box.”
I scrunch my nose at the memory. “Gross, Dad. I’m eating.”
“You were always eating when you were little,” Chuck says, clearly determined to drag me down memory lane, kicking and screaming. “I used to think you’d end up three hundred pounds with a belly bigger than your old man’s, but you stayed a bitty thing. Cute as a bug’s ear, and nearly as tiny.”
I force a smile and resist the urge to ask him what the fuck he wants. Chuck is rarely sweet when he doesn’t want something. But he is sober, and he did bring candy for the kids. Maybe he’s legitimately trying to be a decent dad and I should give him a chance to prove he isn’t a complete waste.
No sooner has the thought passed through my head than Chuck leans in and says in a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve got something exciting to talk to you about, Kit Cat. A real opportunity. For all of us. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity.”
I groan as I pull the lollipop from my mouth. “No way, Dad. I’m not interested.”
His eyes widen. “You haven’t even heard what I’ve got to say.”
“I don’t need to hear. The answer is no. The last time I let you talk me into one of your ‘opportunities’ I lost three hundred dollars.”
“You didn’t lose it, you invested it,” Chuck says. “And if Dan hadn’t given up two weeks in, we could have made the pyramid work. Those diet patches worked. I lost fifteen pounds without even switching to light beer.”
“Like I said, I’m not interested,” I repeat, the memory of how naïve I’d been, thinking handing money over to Chuck was a decent idea, making my cheeks heat with shame. “But thanks for coming by, and for bringing candy for the kids. That was nice.”
I circle around him, dropping my unfinished lollipop in the trash, no longer able to tolerate the syrupy sweet taste of it any more than I can tolerate my father. I can’t believe he’s trying to sell me on one of his dumb schemes four days after my boyfriend passed away. Chuck doesn’t know that there’s a chance Gabe isn’t dead. He thinks I’ve lost the only boy I ever loved. The note he sent over with Isaac made me think he understood how devastated I am, but apparently not.
Or maybe my dad figured I’d be over it by now. He was sleeping with two different women three days after his wife of sixteen years ran off with her AA sponsor. Maybe he thinks four days is plenty of time to mourn the loss of the love of your life.
“Hold on,” Chuck says, reaching out to snag my elbow as I start into the living room.
I stiffen beneath his touch and am about to jerk my arm away when he releases me, lifting his hands up on either side of his head in a gesture of surrender.
“Don’t be mad, Caity Did,” he says. “I know I haven’t been Father of the Year, but this is a real opportunity. I swear it to you. I just found out Great Aunt Sarah passed away a few months back. It took her attorneys some time to find me, but I got a letter yesterday. Turns out she left me everything.”
“Congratulations,” I say, feeling sorry for Great Aunt Sarah, whoever she is. She must not have known Chuck very well, or she would have realized she was better off flushing her worldly possessions down the toilet than giving them to a man who pours every dime he has into wrecking his liver.
“Congratulations to you,” Chuck says, beaming. “I know I said I’d sign over the house here in Giffney to you, for you and the kids, but what would you say to a cottage on a tropical island, instead? I can keep the house here, and you and the kids can start a brand new adventure in paradise.”
I let out a weary sigh, hoping I’m not going to have to hire a lawyer. I’m sure Gabe’s dad, who was representing me for free, isn’t going to be handling my custody case anymore. Whether Gabe’s mom is lying about his death or not, something strange is going on with the Alexanders, and Deborah made it clear on her front porch the other day that she hates me.
No matter what happens, my days of free representation are over. With Chuck being so cooperative, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to find a new lawyer, but if he’s trying to con me before my boyfriend’s body is even in the ground, I was obviously mistaken.
“I say that sounds too good to be true,” I say, unable to keep the sarcastic note from my voice. “I’m not a dumb kid anymore, Dad. I want what you promised me, and I want the paperwork filed by the end of the week. If you won’t help me make that happen, we can keep the court date, and let the judge decide what’s best for the kids.”
“Now listen, Kit Cat, I—”
“I don’t want to listen,” I snap, temper flaring. “Someone I loved more than anything in the world is dead, Dad. Can’t you give me a break? Just for a few weeks?”
“I’m trying to give you a break. Please, just hear me out,” Dad says, the desperate, pleading expression on his face making me nauseous.
He’s pathetic. He is weak and broken and…rotten beneath the skin. There’s something twisted up and wrong at the core of Chuck. Maybe, if he’d found something he could love more than alcohol, he would have still been a decent father, but he never loved his kids the way children are meant to be loved. He would never allow himself to be inconvenienced for any of us, let alone die for us.
I would give my life for my brothers or Emmie in a heartbeat. I would die for them, and maybe, more importantly, I have lived a life that is far from the life of my dreams because of the love I feel for them. I want them to have it better than I did growing up, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to give them a stable childhood. I’m willing to lie, cheat, and steal; I’m willing to fight to my last breath, and waste precious money from the college fund Gabe helped me build to take my father to court, if that’s what it takes. I’m done letting Chuck roll over me and crush everything good I try to build.
“I’m going to give you five minutes,” I say in a hard voice. “And then I want you to leave. If you refuse, I’m calling the police.”
“All right, if that’s the way you want it,” Chuck says, the anger flashing in his eyes making him look more like the dad I’m used to, the one who is selfish to his last breath, and has no patience for people who refuse to give him what he wants. “I just thought you might be interested in a fresh start in a place where no one knows your dad’s a drunk, your mom ran off, or your big sister was such a whore she had no clue which of the losers she’d slept with knocked her up.”
“Hush,” I hiss, casting a glance across the counter toward the kitchen table, where the kids are finishing up their lollipops. No one looks over, but I know Ray and Sean heard what Dad said, and I know Ray, at least, knows what “whore” means.
Thankfully, nearly three-year-old Emmie is too little to have any idea what Chuck’s saying, and has no memory of her mother. My big sister, Aoife, left when Emmie was barely two months old, and hasn’t sent so much as a Christmas card for her daughter since. For all intents and purposes, Emmie is my daughter, though she calls me Caitlin, like the rest of the kids.
I’ve done everything I can to shield Emmie from the negative parts of our family’s history, but she will hear the gossip eventually. One day, she’ll learn that she’s “Easy Ee-fuh” Cooney’s little girl. Maybe it will happen in elementary school, or maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll stay under the bully radar until middle school. But there will come a day when Emmie will learn that her mom was a drug addict who spread her legs for anyone who promised her the escape she craved. She’ll hear the nasty whispers around town, and probably end up being called a slut long before she has her first kiss, the way I was, simply because she’s a Cooney and the latest in a long line of trash the people in this town expect only the worst from.
I would love to spare Emmie that pain and shame. I would love to give the boys a chance to grow up without the local police watching them like hawks, waiting for them to screw up, like their dad and granddad before them, but I know better than to trust Chuck. No matter how bright a picture he paints, there is always a dark, rancid lining to his shiny silver clouds.
Still, I promised him five minutes, and I do my best to keep my promises, unlike the man who raised me. “Fine, talk,” I say, crossing my arms at my chest. “I’m listening.”
I take the paperwork my father hands over, and give the pictures of the home he inherited from Great Aunt Sarah a cursory glance. The four-bedroom cottage in the tiny village of Haiku, on the island of Maui, is adorable. It has three bedrooms downstairs, and a large loft area overlooking the combination kitchen-and-living-room. It’s situated on a two-acre parcel on a hill overlooking the ocean, and its lush, green yard is dotted with mango, orange, and avocado trees the real estate description promises are very productive.
It is beautiful, the perfect size for our family, and allegedly valued at over six-hundred thousand dollars.