CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Hawk
I was trying to figure out how in the space of a week my life could have gone from joyous to a living hell. Typically, I looked for someone to blame and typically, my father won that honor. I couldn’t heap it on him completely — not this time. My hands were soiled as much as his.
I tried to recall the conversation that terrible afternoon at Mom’s. I struggled to remember if there had been any kind words at all in Mark’s presence, but could think of none. Everything said had been poisonous and intentionally hurtful — his side and mine. The three LaViere men had taken one another on, and now one of their lives was uncertain.
Liane, although sensitive to my maelstrom of emotions, knew she was needed more by my mother’s side. Someone had to take charge, and no one else was stepping up. The vicar had come out, but Mom had been sleeping and Father was missing most of the time, or so Liane told me. He extended his sympathies to Marga and Letty before coming up to see me.
We sat next to one another on the patio. I noticed suddenly how the blades of grass bent in the breeze and in the distance, the redwing blackbirds rode the tips of swaying tall grasses seemingly without any support. He patted my shoulder and gave his sympathies, but he knew that was just a formality. He knew there was a deep, deep rift in my soul and it would not heal anytime soon.
“You expect others to heal your hurt for you, Hawk,” the vicar said.
“Ben, I don’t expect anything from anyone,” I spat back at him, then immediately apologized.
“Oh, but you do. You feel wounded, and you have a right to, but you keep pouring salt into those open wounds. Hate is that salt, my son.”
He was right, I knew it, but I didn’t know how to stop. When I asked him how, he shared one word, “Forgiveness.”
I scoffed. “They don’t deserve my forgiveness.”
He simply nodded. “Maybe not, but you do.”
Surprised, I jerked my head toward him. “What do you mean?”
“My son, forgiveness is never for those who have hurt you. Forgiveness is the key in which you unlock the door to your self-imposed prison. You can release the hate you feel with three words—I forgive you.”
Hate curled its fist around my heart. “Forgive my mother and father for sending me away? Forgive my brother and sister for taking what was mine? Impossible.”
Ben sighed deeply. “Then maybe you should begin by forgiving yourself.”
I stared at him and heat burned behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly and turned my head away.
“How badly do you hate the young boy you once were?” he continued. “The hellion who did those terrible things?”
“I was just a boy,” I defended myself.
“Yes. So forgive that boy. Forgive the boy who screamed those terrible things, did those terrible things. Killed your uncle. Threatened your siblings. Scared your mother. Emasculated your father.”
Fury rose inside me. “Emasculated my father? How can you say that? I was a boy; he was a grown man.”
He frowned at me. “Your father has never been a grown man. He still isn’t to this day. He was abused as a child, Hawk. Horribly abused, emotionally and physically from what I understand. No matter the education he’s received or how hard he has tried to be the better man, he still carries the weight of that abuse with him. He still strives to protect himself at all costs first. Abused children often do that.”
He was right. A deep part of me knew that. But a deeper part wasn’t ready to let go of the anger. Not yet.
“Forgiveness is a process, son, one that doesn’t happen overnight as much as people want to believe. The day you become grateful for the lesson you received is the day the healing really begins.”
I shook my head. “Grateful for the lesson. What do you mean?”
“Well, what are some of the positives that have occurred in your life because your parents sent you away?”
I gritted my teeth. “Well, I’m not a spoiled rotten little shit like Mark and Marga, that’s for sure.”
The vicar nodded. “So, because you were sent away, you’re grateful that you learned to be independent and work for what you have?”
Damn it. I walked right into that trap. “I suppose.”
“Hawk, you are or you aren’t. Which is it?”
Blowing out a deep breath, I answered, “I am. I just wish I could have had parents who loved me enough to help me become the man I am now rather than it having come to me the hard way.”
“Yes. And I’m sure your father wishes he had a father who loved him. I’m sure your mother wishes she had a mother who loved her. I’m sure they both desperately wish they could have a do-over and make different choices and be different people than the ones they’ve become. But it isn’t possible. What’s done is done.”
I scoffed. “So I should just forgive and forget?”
“No. Just forgive. Always remember the lesson. Let it help you become the father you didn’t have.”
He had left me then and Liane had taken his place, and I pulled her into my lap, needing her close.
“You okay?” she asked me and I placed a hand on her stomach.
“I am now.”
She kissed my forehead and snuggled closer. “Nice chat with Dad?”
I snorted and she laughed. “Yeah, I felt the conflict in you.”
That surprised me. I’d expected her to feel my anger. But conflict? I gave it some thought and realized it was true. I was conflicted. I wanted my parent’s love as much as I wanted to hold onto the hate. I wanted to be a big brother as much as I wanted to despise my siblings.
“Which will bring you more joy in the end?” she asked me, reading my mind. “Which legacy do you want to leave our child?”
I rested my head on her chest, listening to her wise heart pulse beneath my ear. I already knew the answer to her question. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
***
Later that night, Liane came back from visiting my mother, distraught and looking so exhausted that I became concerned. “Your mother is beside herself. Worth has disappeared, and no one can find him. Hawk, she needs you. She needs a strong man beside her. You’ve got to find him. Forget what happened between you. You’ve got to find him and bring him home.”
I reluctantly agreed and had there been anyone at all who could have taken the responsibility, I would have shifted it immediately. But there was no one but me. I made a few phone calls first, and no one could give me any information. I checked the clinic and called hotels. Nothing. It was getting very late, and the town had shut down for the night.
I finally got into my car and decided to simply drive the roads. I looked by the river and went by the old LaViere farm. He was nowhere to be found. On the way back home, I passed by the road on which Mark had nearly lost his life. On a whim, I made a U-turn and turned onto the road. Sure enough, it was by that tree that I found Father. He was asleep, lying on the grass with his arms outstretched.
I climbed out and bent over him. He’d been drinking heavily. I woke him and dragged him to an upright position. Despite the alcohol, he was coherent. He said nothing. He just looked at me, then folded his arms around me and began to cry.
We sat that way for a long time, and I patted him on the back until at last he quieted. I helped him into my car and drove him to my house. There I made him a pot of black coffee and helped him shower. He borrowed some clothes from my closet and finally presented himself in the living room.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t,” I responded, the conflict still running through me. “Just don’t. Mother is beside herself and needs you. That’s the only reason I came looking for you.”
“Hawk, let’s not do this.”
“Do what, Father? Don’t pretend, not with me. It’s happened again, don’t you see? It’s the same story all over again.”
He looked at me, his eyes narrowed, trying to comprehend my words. “What story?”
“You know the one. It’s a classic around these parts. The good son is in an accident at the tender age of sixteen, and the bad son goes on to reproduce more bad seed.”
Realization hit him, I saw it in his eyes the moment it did. He took a step backwards, then another until his hand was on the doorknob. “No, son. History tried to repeat itself, but it failed this time. The good son will live.” He opened the door and took a step out. “And the bad one…”
He shook his head wearily and closed the door behind him. He never completed the sentence.