Chapter Ten - Luke
I skip out on work and spend the day walking through the mall. First floor, round the loop, up to the second floor, then the third. It helps calm my mind for some reason. Normally, I’d just call one of my usuals and blow off steam. That usually does the trick. But today, Emma will be there and I don’t want to face her after this morning. Not yet.
I glance at my phone. My ex has texted me: “You remember what’s happening this afternoon, right?”
I text back, “Yes,” then hurry outside to my car. I’ll have to pick up Parker soon.
My ex has some banquet thing she’s going to this afternoon, so she’s having me take him. Sure, I help her out way more than she helps me out, but a few extra hours out of my week to pacify the crazy woman is fine with me. Besides, I have big plans for Parker and I today.
At school, Parker is pleasantly surprised to see me. “Dad!” he whoops.
His smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning too. This is just what I need. Once we get home, I tell him.
“We’re going to fly a kite in the park today.”
Another one of those endearing whoops, then, suddenly, his face goes solemn. “Can Emma come?”
Of course, at the worst possible time, Emma walks into the kitchen.
“Emma! Emma!” Parker cries, tugging at her bare arm. “Come fly a kite with us!”
Emma still looks sleepy – a bit confused. She shoots me a questioning look, and I shrug. “Sure,” she says, “Just let me get some proper clothes on.”
As Parker cheers, I can’t help but notice how her little tank top and boxers are struggling to contain her curves. Maybe her coming isn’t such a bad thing after all.
A few minutes later, we’re all packed up in the car, driving to the park.
“Have you ever flown a kite before, Emma?” Parker asks.
“No,” Emma says. “My Mom and Dad, I . . . we didn’t do much together when I was a kid.” Her voice has a sad tone to it, but when I turn to look at her, she’s turned away from me, looking out the window.
The park is thankfully pretty empty. The sun is out and the wind is considerable. It’s a perfect kite-flying day, essentially. So, I unfurl the rainbow kite I got from Costco, pass the handle to Parker, and we get going. At first, it’s tricky, getting the wind to pick up the colorful piece of canvas, but once it’s up, man is it up. Parker races back and forth, laughing and beaming and whooping while the kite whooshes all around. Emma and I can’t help but laugh at the sight of my giddy son racing every which way, his head craned back so far it looks like he might topple over.
After about an hour of this, Emma and I have settled on the ground while Parker has all but worn himself out. Coming to a stop in front of us, he says, “Dad, I’m tired.”
“Ok,” I say, getting up and hugging him, “You want a break?”
Sagging onto the ground, he responds. “I’m hungry.”
So, I pick the little tired-out kid up and we set off for the car, Emma not far behind.
The drive home is nice. The radio’s on, Parker and Emma are chatting in the back, and my window’s open. As we drive along, the sky is going gray, the clouds blocking out the sun. Suddenly, the song changes to rap, gunshots and all. Before I know it, I’m back there.
We hear far-off gunfire. Not aimed at us. They’re running, looking every which way, seeing nothing. Carl steps on it first. It’s quiet, the explosion. One minute he’s there, the next he’s torn to bits and pieces. Raoul is next. His face is already twisted with the knowledge of what’s coming: fear. Then, he, too, is nothing but ash.
My foot is slamming on the brakes. My hand is twisting the wheel to the side.
“LUKE! LUKE!”
I’m back in the car. It’s Emma who’s yelling. The car is off on the shoulder of the road. I pulled over this time, at least.
“Luke, are you ok?” Emma’s asking. She opens the car door.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Get back in the car.”
She does so and Parker groans. “Not again, daaaad.”
I force a laugh, turn to smile at my little boy. “Sorry, buddy. Dad missed his appointment today, but we’ll get back home just fine.”
The rest of the ride home is silent. Even the few minutes waiting for Parker’s mom to pick him up are unbearably quiet, then tense. When she does finally come and he runs off with a hug and a wave, all that’s left is what’s unsaid.
“Do you want some time alone?” Emma asks.
I shake my head. Some time alone is the last thing I want.
We go to the family room and sit down on the couch as if everything’s normal. I can’t think of anything to say but the thing itself, so I do.
“I have PTSD.”
“Oh,” Emma says, and I continue.
“I’ve had it since I got back. Nightmares – flashbacks to when my friends blew up. I can’t get it out of my had. The doc says to give it time, but I’ve given it time. Girls, sex . . . It all helps.” I avoid her gaze, immediately regretting everything I just said. As if living with her hasn’t been awkward enough, now I had to go and randomly spill my guts.
“My mom’s an alcoholic,” Emma says quietly. “And I don’t know what to do.” Her words are teary and her hands are clenched into tiny fists. “She keeps getting worse and worse and . . . I’ve tried helping. I keep on saving her, but . . .”
Her gaze flicks to me, and she looks so miserable, I can’t help but throw my arms around her, hold her. “You can’t save someone who wants to die,” she states sadly.
I rub her back, nodding. “That’s what happened to my dad. He killed himself. After my mom ran off, he couldn’t take it. He drank and smoked and drank. One day, that wasn’t enough. He took a handful pills, went to sleep, and never woke up. I don’t know what happened to my mom.”
And, just as I’m cursing myself for this admission, Emma’s pulling back, staring into my face. “I . . . I always thought I was alone – some sort of freak for having such a messed-up family. For having a dad who abandoned us and a mom who couldn’t take it. Dad’s tried to patch things up over these past few years, but it can’t be done. He just wants to be left alone with Margot. I can see it every other time I visit.”
I shake my head. “Emma, your dad does care about you. I can see it – he looks out for you.”
Now Emma pulls away, shaking her head fiercely. “I don’t want him to look out for me. I want him to be there for me. And he hasn’t been – not for years.”
The silence is heavy with what we’ve revealed, and yet strangely clear at the same time. I feel lighter.
Emma is slumped into me. She looks so sad, so vulnerable – I could take her right then. And yet, after what we’ve just told each other, it doesn’t seem right somehow. Not now. Not yet.