CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Preppy

It was eight in the morning. Kevin took Bo back home with him under the strict guidelines of keeping an eye on him at all times and instructions to ‘keep him away from the kitchen knives or anything sharp’. At least until I had a chance to have a real talk with him about the pros and cons of becoming a real life axe murderer. King and Bear had a body to dispose of. Ray and Thia were with the kids but they both called to tell me they’d be by later on in the day.

I was sitting out in the hallway so Dre’s dad could visit with her alone. When he came back out he told me she’d finally fallen asleep and plopped down across the hall from me on the only other chair. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, making the bags under his eyes look just as bad as mine probably did.

“You gonna tell me, son?” Mr. Capulet asked, leaning forward.

“She didn’t tell you what happened?”

“No, I didn’t want to discuss that with her, not now while she’s still in rough shape, but that’s not what I’m asking you either, not now anyway. I don’t want you to tell me about tonight or about the last time.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “I want you to tell me more about YOU. I think that talk is long overdue, don’t you?”

I’d never cared what anyone thought of me, but Dre cared about her father and his opinion, which made me wary of telling him anything because I didn’t want his opinion of me to change from tolerant to WTF.

“So? Go on,” he prompted.

“Now?”

“She’s sleeping. I’m too tired and wired to do the same and from the looks of it you’re in the same boat. We got time and there’s no time like the present,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

I blew out a long breath. “I don’t even know what Dre’s already told you about me,” I started, rubbing my weary eyes.

“She’s told me some things, but I have a feeling there’s a lot more.” He rested his elbows on his knees and pointed at me. “So why don’t you tell me? Tell me who you are so I know who it is my daughter’s so in love with. Go on, son.” It was the first time the use of the word son didn’t make me cringe.

“You won’t like it,” I said flatly.

“Guarantee I won’t. But why don’t you just tell me anyway,” he said, raising his eyebrows. 

I glanced at Dre through the glass and checked the steady rhythm of the monitor above her bed before turning back to face her dad and gave him the honesty he wanted, but after I was done I would be pretty sure it would be added to his list of life regrets. “I’m everything you shouldn’t want for your daughter. Loud. Rude. Crude. I’m sure this is the part where I’m supposed to confess to you that I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but that’s the thing, I’m pretty fucking proud of everything I’ve done. The good. The bad. The bloody. The only thing I ever did that I regretted was pushing Dre away and now I’m regretting bringing her back to this town because then maybe she wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Go on,” he said, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee. “I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and figured the man had a right to know exactly who I was. Figured it was like ripping off a Band-Aid, so I decided that direct and fast was the best way to go about this little getting-to-know-you session. “I’m just me. Samuel Clearwater. I was born in this shit hole town.”

“You don’t like Logan’s Beach?” he asked, sounding confused.

“No! I fucking love this town. Doesn’t mean it’s not a shit hole,” I clarified.

“Continue.”

“My favorite word is any variation of FUCK. I like my whiskey with a side of blow and maybe a little weed. I have a running theme song in my head for pretty much every occasion and I like to sing it at the top of my lungs, regardless of who is around or where I am. One of my most favorite things to do in this life is to give my friend Bear shit ‘cause the look on his face is fucking priceless. I love all kinds of movies and I cried like a little bitch during the entire two hours of PS I Love You. I dig all kinds music. Country. Folk. Pop. Blues. Rap. Everything from Tupac to Taylor Swift. I have an unnatural obsession with making perfect pancakes.” I lowered my gaze to the floor and dug deeper. “Before Dre, there were a lot of girls. A lot. I partied hard. Watched a shit ton of porn, the crazier shit the better. Fucked around with anyone willing, and some who weren’t. I didn’t care about the consequences when I did things to them they never asked for. Sometimes I hurt them pretty bad. Looking back, I think I was just punishing them. Taking my shit out on them I couldn’t take out on my mom. I wanted to hurt them because I wanted to hurt her. For running out on me and making me think she was dead when she wasn’t. For making me care when I shouldn’t have fucking cared. For leaving me with my shit bag stepdad who must have taken a master class in pedophilia because after my mom left...” I looked up to Dre’s dad who had an unreadable expression on his face. “He liked to switch between beating me and raping me,” I clarified. “Guess it kept shit interesting for him. I don’t want sympathy. Never have,” I said.

“Good. Because I ain’t giving you any,” Dre’s dad said. When I looked at him again there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And?”

“And... and I grow weed in the guest bedrooms of elderly women’s houses in exchange for helping them with their mortgage payments. And honestly? Those ladies are some of the coolest chicks I know. Florida just legalized medical marijuana, we might never legalize it recreationally because we’re some pretty backward ass folk down here, but I’ve already purchased the fields and a warehouse for the medical part. Got a doctor ready to back it and the business licenses and corporation paperwork have already been filed. Should be in production within a few months. Also, I died at one point. Thought I did anyway because I was kept in a hole below the ground by a lunatic who tortured me day in and day out for the sole reason because he could.” I looked up at Mr. Capulet. “How am I doing so far?”

“So far I want to shove my foot up your ass, but part of me wants to give you a hug, and since that’s not happening, by all means, continue.” He waved me on.

“You sure? ‘Cause this next part...” I grimaced.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go on,” he ordered.

“You remember Conner?”

He nodded. “Of course. He and Andrea went off the rails together after my stepdaughter died.”

“You know what happened to him?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Went missing, probably OD’d somewhere. That’s what we assumed anyway.”

“It’s a good assumption. I mean, that’s probably what WOULD have happened to him...had I not shot and killed him first.”

I felt him freeze. He uncrossed his legs and planted them firmly on the floor.

“You see,” I scratched my chin beneath my beard, “Conner stole from me, which is only done if you are really wanting a bullet hole in your body. He was going to die anyway, but the dumb shit decided to give me more reasons to take him out when I found him in a dirty motel room about to rape your daughter.” The words made my stomach turn to say them, never mind remember seeing him stand over her, trying to pull her panties down her lifeless limbs.

Dre’s dad’s mouth dropped open. “So I dragged him into the bathroom and we had a conversation that ended in him pissing himself and me putting a bullet in his brain. Honestly? I’d do it all over again, especially after I found out that Conner and his buddy Eric decided that a nice gang bang against her will would be a super fun way to steal Dre’s virginity.”

Mr. Capulet paled.

“Last night it was Eric. We thought he was dead but he was the one responsible for what happened tonight. He got himself clean. Found Jesus, and took everything that was fucked up in his life out on Dre, but it was me he wanted to get to for killing Conner. Revenge and all that. Dre was just a tool to get to me,” I said, feeling spent, emotionally and physically. I leaned back in my chair, propped my elbow on the armrest and dropped my forehead onto my fist.

“Where is Eric now?” he asked, like if he wasn’t dead he’d bring him back to life and kill him all over again.

Our eyes locked. “Hell.”

He coughed and covered his mouth with his closed fist. “Andrea knows all this? About Eric, about you?”

“Every damn thing. And the thing is that she’s never asked me to change or be anyone else other than exactly who I am. Which is good because in some ways I’ll always be the same, but in other ways I see things differently. Clearer. And I think it’s all because of her. It’s funny. I changed not because she wanted me to, but...”

“Because she didn’t need you to,” Mr. Capulet finished for me.

He didn’t react. Didn’t say a word. He glanced from floor to ceiling. From Dre to me, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

The silence between us seemed to go on forever.

The beeping of the monitors and the occasional footsteps of passing hospital staff were the only sounds echoing throughout the tiny hospital room.

I must have drifted off because when I opened my eyes I was still in the hospital. Dre was still in the bed. The only thing that had changed was that Mr. Capulet was now standing above my chair, looking down at me with a pained expression on his face.

Without saying a word, he pulled me up into a forceful hug. One so hard it was almost like he was kicking my ass and embracing me at the same time. He finally let me go and sat back down.

“I totally get it if you fucking hate me. I failed her.” I lowered my face into my hands and spoke through my fingers. “More than once. I should have just let her go. Let her stay and have a normal life. Find a normal guy,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth they felt wrong. She was mine. Even if she’d left and found a normal guy, she would still be mine. 

“You didn’t fail me or her, son. Quite the opposite,” Mr. Capulet said.

“How can you say that?” I glanced up. “This is all my fault. I’m the reason she’s in this place. I’m the reason she’s in a world of hurt. I’m the reason why she wound up in the hospital the first time. I’m even the reason why she can’t get...why we can’t...” I stopped and clenched my fists.

“Why she can’t get pregnant?”

“Yeah,” I said softly.

He shook his head. “No son, you’re not the reason, although I still owe you a swift kick to the nuts for knocking up my daughter, I truly believe everything happens for a reason. If it wasn’t for that incident. That moment in her life. If you would never have met her and she never lost the baby, she might never have gotten clean. Plus, she’s told me what you’ve done for her. How you saved her on more than one occasion. And I don’t hate you, son. I far from hate you. Andrea and I spoke a lot while she was back home. She’s a strong girl and she’s capable of making her own choices. She chose you for a reason. I’m not saying there is an excuse for what she’s done in the past. I don’t even think being an addict is really a proper term to describe her.”

“What word would you use?” I asked, because I’d often thought the same thing.

Mr. Capulet smiled. “Human.”

“Still. She’s given me so much. I haven’t given her shit.”

“I wouldn’t say that, son. You’ve given her more than you know.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“You said she knows all of it, right? Everything?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered. “She does.”

“Well then you’ve given her you. There isn’t much more to give her than that.”

“Sometimes I wonder what good am I?”

“To her? You’re priceless.”

I looked back over to my wife. Who was going to live and I finally felt like some of the weight bearing down on my soul was starting to lift.

“You’ve also given her something I never could,” he added.

I spun around. “Yeah? What’s that?”

His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Happiness, son. Happiness.” He pinched his nose and wiped his eyes, changing the subject. “You know, you should write your story down someday. Write your memoirs. You’ve got some interesting stuff there.”

I scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, and what would I call it? Alive Preppy, Dead Preppy?”

He set his hand on my shoulder. “I have a good title.”

It would never happen. My life was too all over the place. It couldn’t be contained inside of a book, but even I had to admit, the name he suggested had a certain ring to it.

The Life and Death of Samuel Clearwater.

Dre

A nurse woke me up at one point while Preppy was sleeping to draw some blood and she confirmed that despite my injuries, the baby growing inside of me was still there. Safe and sound.

I drifted off and when I woke again I was not met with just one, but two smiling faces.

One little. One big.

Both mine.

I have to tell you something, Bo signed to me.

“Bo, we can all talk later. You don’t have to tell her now,” Preppy started.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “What do you want to tell me, Bo?”

He surprised me by crawling onto the bed and wrapping his arms around my neck in a tight hug, his head on my non-injured shoulder. I looked at Preppy and smiled, happy to be with my boys again. “A hug is definitely telling me something my beautiful boy,” I said, kissing his temple.

Bo shook his head against me.

“No? That’s not it?” I asked. I released my hold on him so he could sit up to sign to me, but he only snuggled into me further. “Bo, what is it you wanted to...” I started, but I didn’t finish because the most beautiful little voice interrupted me when it began to whisper in my ear.

“I love you, Mommy.”

My soul and heart leapt together and high-fived. I have something to tell you too,” I said. I looked right at Preppy when I whispered to Bo. “Mommy’s going to have a baby.”