Chapter Twenty-One: Lynette
I turned and walked behind the bar, flicking on the lights as I went. I stopped abruptly and my whole body went cold as I noticed the door of the office was closed. I clearly remembered that I hadn't closed the door that day. I pushed the door open, afraid of finding my father inside.
The office was empty.
My phone sat on the desk next to my keys. I picked them up and turned to leave. My eyes caught the binder on the cot and I went back for it, then turned off the lights.
Gabriel looked up as I approached. He stood and held out his hand. I smiled at him, holding the binder to my chest. I shook my head then looked away so he couldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes.
“I really want to go with you to Maine.”
Confusion spread across his face.
“But?”
“I can’t.”
He touched my face, running his thumb under my bruised eye.
“I can't just leave you. Not now.”
I shook my head.
“You're not leaving me. But you need to go home. And I have to take care of things here. I can't be like Terry. I can't just drop everything and leave on a whim. Life is full of responsibilities that must be taken care of.”
His fingertips trailed down my arm one last time before he let me go. His green eyes were cloudy and dull. I held my own hands clasped in front of me, squeezing my palm to irritate the stitches, using the pain to distract myself from the pain on his face. Keep me from reaching out to him and changing my mind.
He started to walk out and then stopped.
“Come on. I’ll drive you to your apartment.”
Ten minutes later, we walked down the hallway to the apartment and I opened the door.
“Lynette, is that you?” my father bellowed from the kitchen.
I breathed deeply, clutching the binder full of letters to my chest and looked at Gabriel.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m right here behind you.”
“Lynette?” Dad called out as he came down the hall.
His steps were shaky and he used the wall to support himself.
“Where have you been, girl?”
“I was with,” I paused unsure of what to say.
“She was with me, sir,” Gabriel said and stepped forward.
“You,” my father said through clenched teeth. He glared at me. “You brought that crippled boy into my house?”
“Daddy, he’s not crippled. He was injured in the Army.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You're home now and it's time to fix this mess. Hey, what happened to your damn face? Did he hit you? I’ll fucking kill him.”
Dad spoke about Gabriel like he wasn't in the room, and it was both insulting and embarrassing.
“Did you hit my daughter, you piece of shit?”
“No, I didn't. I would never do that. Unlike you. You did that to your daughter. While you’re at it, look at the bruises on her neck where you choked her in a drunken rage.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” Dad snarled.
“Daddy, stop it,” I warned and shot an apologetic glance at Gabriel, but he was too busy concentrating on my father’s every move.
With good reason, because last time they met it wasn't exactly a family get-together. His eyes started to darken again, as they had that night, and I stepped in between them.
“You don't remember what happened?”
Dad shook his head.
“I'm not going to get into your business, but if he's hurting you, you shouldn't keep with him,” Dad said.
I stood in the doorway, staring at him in disbelief.
“You did this to me. You came into the bar and were upset about the foreclosure so you beat me up. Gabriel stopped you. You were choking me and he pulled you off me. You might have killed me if he hadn’t come in.”
He shrugged as if it were nothing.
“I might have slapped you, but I didn't do all of that. I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t. You’re my baby girl. It’s always been you and me since your Mom and Terry left us. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“But you did,” Gabriel snarled behind me and I glanced at him with a pleading look. He immediately backed away and I turned to my father.
“No, Dad. Stop trying to deny it. You did this. Did you fix the window? Lock the place up?”
He nodded.
“Someone had to. You were gone. Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on you. But it will be different now, I'll help out more. I can even cut back on the drinking. If you’ll help me, I can do it. I’m sure.”
I closed my eyes.
This was so fucking hard. How many times had we played this same old song?
He continued, “Is he a friend of your brother? Terry used to send pictures. I knew that boy looked familiar.”
“Terry sent pictures?” I asked, almost not believing what I’d just heard.
“What happened to the money that Terry sent?” Gabriel suddenly asked, giving Dad a hard look.
“Why are you still here, boy? Don’t you have somewhere to be? You need to get the hell out of here and let me talk to my daughter alone.”
“Answer the question, Dad.”
My father's face dropped and then he smiled to cover up the lie he was fixing to tell. I’ve seen the look enough times to tell.
“It was never much, Lynette. Hardly anything. Come on, we can fix this. Call the bank. We can work something out.”
I shook my head and avoided Gabriel’s eyes. I still hadn't told him about the foreclosure, but now he was sure to suspect that I had been keeping it from him.
“Dad, how could you lie like that? All those years.”
My father looked confused.
“Lie about what?”
“You lied about Terry and you lied about hitting me and you've been lying about the bar. You could’ve taken care of all this, but you didn't. You left me to run this mess while you drank yourself into a stupor every chance you got. I've been the one holding this together. I’m done with you.”
The words spilled from my mouth. A ten-year flood of frustrations. I was yelling and crying at the same time. My father frowned at me, unsure if I was serious.
“I’m finished with you and your mess. You don't deserve me as a daughter.”
“No, I deserve much better than you. That’s for damn sure.”
My blood boiled in my veins.
“You’re a piece of shit and you’re the one who should have died instead of Mom. She should’ve been here with me instead of you.”
There, I said it. It took me years to say it, and now I finally did.
For a moment my father looked hurt, but then his eyes caught fire and he marched up to me. I could tell that he wanted to hit me again. The doctor was right. Once that door opened, it never shut again.
“Don’t you ever,” he hissed and pointed his finger at me, “say that again or I will strangle the life out of you, little girl. Do you hear me?”
“Do it,” I challenged him. “If you think you’re man enough, do it.”
By this point, we’ve both forgotten about Gabriel.
It was only Dad and me.
Without any hesitation, he wrapped his hands around my neck, still looking into my eyes. I refused to look away, or even flinch, because that would mean I lost, and I wasn't losing this time.
Fuck him.
“Freeze,” two voices called out behind us. Dad loosened his grip on my throat in surprise.
“Put your hands up,” one of them said and I turned around.
Gabriel stood in the kitchen doorway, flanked by two police officers who had their guns pointed right at Dad.
Everything happened in slow motion. Dad put his hands up, the officers cuffed him, and took him away. One of them drove me and Gabriel to the station where we had our photos taken and they took our statements.
We were taken to separate rooms, but I knew that my injuries and my statement, as well as Gabriel's would be more than enough evidence to have my father locked up for assault.
Afterwards, Gabriel drove me back to the apartment. I couldn't look at him, so I just sat in the car, staring at my hands on my lap. It all seemed like a bad dream that I would wake up from if I sat still and did nothing or spoke.
He reached over to touch my leg.
“Don’t,” I muttered as I pushed his hand away.
“What?” he asked in surprise.
“I can’t believe you called the cops when I told you to not get involved.”
“Are you serious?”
“You can’t fix everything. I told you that.”
“I want to, but you just won’t let me all the way in.”
“I can’t. You wouldn’t understand everything that has been happening in my life.”
“Then tell me,” he said softly. “I want to help you. I can help you if you’ll only give me a chance.”
I shook my head and a tear ran down my cheek.
“I know about the bar,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah, only because Dad mentioned it.”
“No, I’ve known for a while.”
“Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you didn't tell me about it.”
“And what the hell would you have done to fix it? Buy the bar? Go pay off the loan for a rundown dump that was soaking up money?”
“If that’s what it took.”
“When are you going to learn that you can’t save me?”
“You’re right, because only people who want to be saved, can be.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I think you’re perfectly content living this miserable life because it’s all you’ve ever known. You’re too scared to take a chance, even if that means making your life better. You like to wallow in your pit of self-pity, because you feel safe, even if that means being miserable your entire life. It feels comfortable to you.”
“You don’t know a thing about my life and what I had to go through to get where I am now.”
“And where is that? In a beat up apartment with a beat up face, and a beat up life?”
“Fuck you!”
“Right. Screw me. Is this the thanks I get for trying?”
“Are you kidding me? You got my dad arrested.”
“He attacked you, he verbally abused you, and he threatened to kill you. He got himself arrested. My hand was on my cell phone the second we walked into your apartment. The second he made a move toward you, I called the cops. It’s past time you stopped making excuses for him. He’s an abuser, verbally, emotionally and now physically. If you can’t see that, then you need professional help.”
“I guess now I have no one.”
“You had me, but I guess that wasn't good enough for you either.”
“Stop.”
“Why do you do that? Why do you push away the one good thing in your life?”
“Because I know I’m not good enough for you.”
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
“Just go, please. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Dammit,” he said, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.
I opened the door and stepped out, not looking back. Once inside the apartment, tears streamed down my cheeks and I collapsed into a pile of self-loathing.
For hours, I stayed in bed, hidden under the covers.
Then I picked myself up like I always do and went back to work.
The police called me later, to ask more questions about the attack. They wanted to talk to Gabriel again and seemed a bit suspicious that he had abruptly left town. I assured them that he’d gone back to Maine for work.
I didn't care.
It was over.
I called the window repair company and they came sooner than I expected. They replaced the broken window and I cleaned up the bar after they left.
I tried to come to terms that my father was in jail, Gabriel was out of my life, and now I was completely by myself. It was a lot to take in at once, and I found myself fighting back tears as I swept the dusty floor of the bar area. I needed to make some hard decisions. And I needed to do it soon.
I glanced over at the picture frames on the shelf behind the bar and sighed. My favorite was a picture taken when I was nine years old, years before my mother died. My mother and father stood in the forefront with me and Terry, with the bar in the background. The bar was still in good shape then, and Dad looked so proud.
I frowned and wondered where it all went wrong. We were such a happy family. Sure, we weren’t the richest family in the area, but we had everything we needed, and that was enough.
We were happy.
I was happy.
A tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. There were too many things that I needed to do to be spending time crying.
I picked up the phone and sent a text to my two remaining employees.
We're closing. Effective immediately. I'll give you references if you need it.
I hit send. Within five minutes I received texts back from both. Neither of them argued, they just said okay and that was it.
My bar life was over.
I felt numb.