Chapter Twenty

I tap Hayes on the shoulder and gesture for him to go down the ladder to the landing so I can pass him. It will mean he needs to move closer to my dad. Hayes widens his eyes and shakes his head—the universal signal for no friggin’ way. But with a quick nostril flare, he smooths a hand through his hair and heads down ahead of me.

When he reaches the catwalk, my dad turns, so the two of them are looking eye to eye. Dad gives him an up-and-down look that would have most guys wetting their pants, but Hayes doesn’t flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” he says. “But it had to be done.”

Dad looks back up at the lion as I reach the bottom of the ladder. “It was all my idea. Honestly, Daddy. Please don’t arrest anyone else.”

He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now I’m Daddy?”

I hear Scott give a soft, “Oh shit,” under his breath, and my dad must hear him too, because he looks over his way.

“Little Scotty Tomlinson? Is that you?”

Scott tries to hide his face too late. “Hey, Sergeant Capers,” he says in defeat.

Dad looks at Kat next and says, “From Danny’s, right?”

Ken stands up straight and moves his body so it’s covering most of Kat’s. “I’m the manager there, sir. And I assure you, Kat and Rory are outstanding employees.”

My dad gives a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure they are. Just outstanding.”

Ken starts shifting his weight from side to side until Kat reaches over to put an arm around him and stops his rocking.

Dad turns his attention back to me, inspecting the can of spray paint in my hands. If it wasn’t empty, I’d consider using it on him like a can of mace and yelling for everyone to run. Except that Dad’s the one who taught me how to effectively mace an attacker, so it wouldn’t really seem all that fair.

Plus, like I said, the can is empty.

After what feels like three eternities, he calls out, “Have any of you chuckleheads been drinking tonight?”

We all mumble assorted versions of no and no way and we’re not crazy.

Dad leans into my personal space and gives my breath an obvious sniff. Leaning back, he says, “So those garbage bags are filled with empty spray paint cans only?”

Everyone nods enthusiastically, and I feel a wave of annoyance at the way my dad is toying with us. “You can’t arrest any of them. They were all just supporting me.” I point my thumb at Hayes. “And Hayes shouldn’t be accused of violating his probation just because he was doing me a favor.”

Hayes moves closer and hisses in my ear, “I don’t think you’re exactly helping things here.”

“Honestly, Dad. You know this is between you and me. Please let my friends go.”

Dad looks around, considering each person in turn.

Finally, he calls out, “Okay. This is what is going to happen. I’m ordering each of you sixty hours of community service. It can be whatever you like, working with stray dogs or picking up garbage. Hell, I don’t care if you’re all helping at the blood drive. You will get your hours documented, and you will report them directly to me. I see no reason to involve the courts, unless any one of you should choose to not comply.”

The collective exhale is audible.

We give one another smiles and nods. None of us will let the others down.

Dad goes on in his commanding voice. “Now I need you all to climb yourselves very carefully back down this ladder and clear off this property. Bring the cans with you.”

I can’t believe he’s really letting us off.

We all start to move slowly toward the exit, afraid to make a sound and blow our good fortune. As I pass my dad on the catwalk, he gives an eerie chuckle.

“Rory?” he says in a voice so low I feel a tiny bit of pee come out. “You’re staying.”

Everyone looks to me with traumatized expressions.

My voice cracks a little when I tell them, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” They all stay frozen until I add, “You guys had better go, or it will just make things worse.”

This gets the gang moving toward the ladder with a chorus of sorrys and halfhearted good luck, Rorys.

Hayes widens his eyes at me, giving my arm a squeeze as he goes past.

“Nice knowing you,” I tell him under my breath.

Scott gives me a salute from across the catwalk and grabs one of the garbage bags on his way down. Kat rubs Ken’s back as he straps one of the empty backpacks on his chest and haltingly disappears below the catwalk. Kat throws an empty backpack over each shoulder and follows him down the rungs.

Hayes looks like he wants to say something as he swings the final two garbage bags clanking with empties over one shoulder. He stands with the sacks, sliding his gaze back and forth between my dad and me. Finally, he gives a firm nod before disappearing.

I turn and lean over the railing, watching my crew make their way back down the ladder. Scott has nearly disappeared into the darkness, and Hayes has already caught up to Ken and Kat, who are moving slowly downward.

We should not be acting this defeated.

“Hey, guys!” I call down, and all four faces turn up toward me. I punch a fist in the air. “We fucking did it!”

“Yes!” Kat calls out. “We kicked ass!”

Hayes gives an earsplitting whistle, and Ken and Scott whoop and woot in response.

“You about finished?” Dad’s voice is like cold water thrown over my head, but it can’t stop me from grinning over our victory.

“Yeah, I’m done. What now? Boarding school? Lifetime grounding? Women’s prison?”

He moves to stand beside me and rests his elbows on the railing, looking off into the still-dark sky.

My dad stands there a long time. Long enough that I can hear the garbage bags clatter loudly into the back of Kat’s pickup truck. After an extended pause, I hear the truck doors slam and the engine start up, and I listen to it slowly pull away.

I imagine Kat will give Scott and Hayes a ride home before finding some way to reward Ken for the tremendous bravery he showed tonight. Nerd love at its finest.

It’s so quiet, I can hear the crickets chirping far below.

Finally, Dad says, “You know I’m angry with her too.” He doesn’t need to tell me he is talking about Mom.

“We don’t have to do this, Dad. Honestly, this was my final project anyway.” I look over at him in the moonlight. “Were you surprised when you followed my phone here?”

Dad shrugs. “I already knew you were the one painting the lions.”

“What?” I think back to the time my phone beeped while I was working late at night. “You locked in that phone trace to my cabin?”

He looks at me. “You have a cabin?”

Shit. “Oh, I mean…” I cover my eyes with my hand. “Walked right into that one. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

Dad gives a chuckle. “I won’t reveal my sources.”

“Wait. Did Scott tip you off?” I dig through my mind and hit on a devastating thought. “Was it Hayes?”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t one of your hoodlum boyfriends, Rory.”

“Well, I’ve been super careful. Did you have one of your officers tailing me or something? GPS tracker on my car?”

“Relax, sweetheart. I found one of your designs crumpled up in the trash. It was just a sketch, but the look of your lions is so distinct, I knew it immediately.”

I knock on the side of my head with my fist. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Once I realized, I went out this past week and I visited a few of the lions around town.” He stands up straight and puts his hands on his hips. “Studying your work, I think I figured something out.”

I pray that what he figured out isn’t that I deserve to face felony charges.

He turns and looks at me a moment before going on. “I was afraid that you being an artist meant you’d be traveling down the same crazy track your mom laid. Like it was all just waiting for you. You’d never be satisfied with life.”

I drop my head and consider the delicate catwalk running between our feet. I know what he means. But it’s almost as if the nozzle of my spray can was spraying some of my own darkness along with the black paint tonight. Now there’s less of it inside me.

“Before we painted this tower, I was afraid of the same thing,” I confess.

“But looking at your lions, I could see it. I just knew.” Dad guides me gently by my shoulders until we’re both turned around and facing the water tower. The lion’s fresh paint still glistens in places. Dad hugs one arm around me, and I allow my eyes to climb up the painting.

I meet the lion’s fierce gaze, and it frightens me.

“Just look at that strength, Rory.” Dad turns me so that I’m facing him now. “Your drive and determination. That fight in you? I realize now that has nothing to do with your mother. That’s what you get from me.”

He and I look at each other, and I feel the connection of our flimsy string bridge running between us.

“You are so much stronger than your mother could ever hope to be,” he tells me. “All I had to do was compare your work to see it. Her art was so much more delicate and detailed.”

I consider the contrast between her fine blown-glass sculptures and my rough and wild lions and laugh. “Well, she was a bit more of a perfectionist.”

His expression stays serious. “But you also used your art to bring others around you.” He gestures to the ladder where my friends descended. “Rory, you proved art doesn’t need to cause isolation.”

It feels good to finally have everything out in the open. “I know that me being an artist scares you,” I say. “It was the one thing that bound me and Mom together.” I feel the tears starting in my chest. “I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too.” Dad’s glistening eyes search the sky. “And I’ll be in love with her for the rest of my life.”

Swinging around so I’m leaning over the thin railing, I look toward the moonlit valley.

I imagine each lion I’ve painted turning its head upward, looking back at me. Waiting.

Holding my breath, I envision them opening their mouths and beginning to roar all at once. In my mind, they are so loud the whole town of New Paltz starts to quake.

The air is filled with the sound of all my anger and confusion and pain. And rage.

Finally, I let it explode out of me with the loudest “RAAARRR!” I can manage. The next thing I know, I am screaming and yelling and roaring into the night.

A treeful of birds alights from below, looking for a quieter neighborhood.

My snarling voice echoes over the valley, rolling back toward me, hitting my face, and flowing straight through my chest. I roar and scream again and again, until all the lions are overcome by my passion.

They roll over and submit, showing their soft bellies and whimpering at my torment. I am the only lion now. Even the towering one behind me bends down to nuzzle my cheek.

Comforting me.

My voice breaks, and the tears start. I bend forward, clinging to the bar.

Dad has stiffened beside me, and I’m sure I’ll be getting a psych evaluation in the very near future. Or maybe I’m going straight to a padded room in jail.

Either way, I’m definitely heading someplace with a lock on the door.

Dad wants to leave now. I can sense it. But I can’t move.

Clearing his throat, he throws his head back and lets loose with an earsplitting, all-out, “RAAAHGH!”

I’m so startled I stop crying. Swiping at the tears on my cheeks, I take a shaky breath and call out again. “Aaaaagh!” It’s practically a scream ringing over the valley and harmonizing with Dad’s deep, thundering howls.

He and I go back and forth like that for a time, taking turns roaring, releasing so much pain and anger into the cool night air, it’s amazing we don’t set the pine trees on fire.

Our roars grow more and more hoarse until I’m wrapped in giant, soft paws, held still. I am spent and realize Dad and I are hugging each other while crying. The roaring has silenced into sobs. From both of us.

We stay like that for a long time. Everything is quiet.

Maybe the two of us are huggy people after all. Finally, Dad asks, “You ready to head home?”

“I hate that place,” I confess. “It’s like Mom is everywhere.”

Dad kisses the top of my head. “And here I thought you were the one who didn’t want to leave. I was planning on selling that house the day after you go to college.” He looks at me. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“You just want me to help you move all your crap,” I say.

He tousles the top of my dreads. “See that? I told you the two of us were alike. We even think the same.”

I reach over and tousle his hair right back.

He laughs. “Come on, let’s call it a night before the cops show up.”

“Wait, so you’re going to just pretend you still don’t know who’s painting all the graffiti?”

Dad looks up at the lion and shrugs. “I never thought that ad was in the best interest of our town anyway. Your public form of peaceful protest is duly noted. Now let’s get the hell off this tower.”

He heads for the stairs, and I pause, looking into my lion’s eyes. It has resumed its position, sitting up and roaring intensely over the valley.

I search in my chest for that familiar cocktail of rage and pain and grief, and find that the texture of it has changed. It still feels tender and enormous and beyond my control, but the edges are more defined. The size and weight and density of it all, somehow…bearable.

I don’t know if this means I’m done painting lions or if it means I’m done painting altogether, but either way, I want to have a life. I don’t need to be tortured or isolated or any of the things Mom taught me a true artist needs to be.

Dad has already disappeared down the ladder, and I move to follow slowly after him.

I’m ready to get back to work on my true masterpiece. The one titled My Life. And I’m thinking it’s an even more expansive piece than what I’d first envisioned.

In fact, this project is going to be boundless.