CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Theresa’s father didn’t look good. Pasty. Circles under his eyes. He’d lost weight. Still, his gaze was clear, and he met hers unflinchingly as she took the seat across from him at the coffee-shop table. She hadn’t hugged him when she came in.
“It’s good to see you, Ter.”
Her father was the only one who’d ever called her that, and she’d never liked it much. Theresa flashed back to how different it had felt when Babulya had called her Titi, an endearment, a nickname born of affection and not simply a truncating of her name for the sake of convenience. She’d never told her dad not to call her that, though, so it was her own fault that he still did.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
Her dad looked faintly surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
The last time she’d seen him had been at Babulya’s funeral, when it would’ve been out of line for her to cause a scene. Before that, though, the last time had been brutal. Her father had wept in a way she hadn’t seen him do since Jenni’s funeral. It had been one of the ugliest moments of her life, and although she doubted there were many people who would have blamed her for the things she said, guilt still managed to linger with her.
“I need to talk to you about . . . what happened,” Theresa began, and held up her hand to silence him before he could speak. “I need you to sit there and listen, Dad. I’m not in the mood for your excuses.”
He nodded, leaning back in the chair, and gave her his silence.
“I’m going into business with Ilya Stern.” Again, she waved at him to be quiet when he opened his mouth to speak. “We’re buying Zimmerman’s Diner together. I’ve already told him I can’t cosign anything with him, that I’m going to be a liability and not an asset. I have some cash I can put up toward the down payment, and we’re working out the details of what that all means. I have a friend who’s a lawyer, and it looks like we’re going to be putting together something similar to a rent-to-own agreement. I’ll promise to make payments toward my share of the property, along with some other things, and eventually I’ll be a part owner. But I need to know from you, Dad, that everything’s on track with you. So that I don’t end up in the same situation I did last year.”
He frowned. “This doesn’t sound like a good idea, Ter. Ilya Stern? Rent to own?”
“It’s unconventional, but it allows us both to participate in the project without my full initial financial contribution. Something I can’t possibly make,” she added sharply, “because you’ve basically put me into debt and ruined my credit.”
“Believe me, honey, I never meant to put you in that situation,” her father began, but trailed off, perhaps at the sight of her expression.
She lifted her chin, lips pressing together, not caring if she looked pissed off. “You didn’t mean to, but you did. And it’s going to take a long, long time to get out of it.”
“I understand.”
She was not convinced he did. Her father had not seemed to understand much beyond himself, his needs. His addictions. What he understood was that he’d been caught.
“How’s it going in the program?” she asked.
Ah. There it was. The first cut of his gaze. The shift in his chair. Her father coughed into his hand.
“Good, good,” he said.
“You haven’t been going,” she countered flatly. Not a question.
He licked his lips. “I missed a few meetings. No big deal. I’m not using, Ter. I promise you that.”
“You seemed out of control at the Sterns’, after Babulya’s funeral. You want to tell me that you weren’t even drinking?” She wished she’d grabbed a coffee before this all began, if only so she’d have something to do with her hands. She put them on the table, fingers linked, to keep herself from twisting them in her lap.
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“You know that doesn’t matter. You’re not supposed to be using anything while you’re in the program. You promised me you’d clean yourself up. It was our agreement.”
So that she wouldn’t take this to the police. That he wouldn’t be arrested for identity theft. So they could both pretend they were able to maintain a semblance of a relationship with each other, no matter how strained and terrible it might be.
His gaze turned steely, his jaw clenched, and that old familiar expression settled on his face. “Missing a meeting or two isn’t going to make a difference, Ter. I’m on track. I’m in a good place. I got a new job. It’s a shitty job, but it’s better than going to jail, I guess, huh?”
She didn’t laugh at this attempt at what she assumed was humor. “Where?”
“Doing janitorial for the school district. It’s at night, which is why it’s been hard for me to make the meetings. The ones I started off with are all in the evening, and sometimes I sleep through the ones in the morning.” He shrugged. “It happens. I’m doing the best I can. You don’t have to beat me up over it.”
There were so many harsher ways she could’ve responded to him, but his defensiveness was typical. She wished she could stop letting it bother her, that niggling sense of doubt, like she was the one in the wrong. Like she was making it somehow hard for him.
“You promised me, Dad.” She did not enjoy the way this simple statement seemed to break him, but she fought against feeling bad about it.
“I know I did. And I told you I’m doing the best I can. Okay?” His tone softened, his expression shifting to match. He reached across the table to cover her hand with his, an embrace she allowed for a few seconds before she pulled away. “I’ve told you I’m sorry.”
He had, indeed. Made amends, early on, when he’d begun working the steps. As far as Theresa was concerned, it had placed the onus of forgiveness on her without any real signs of changes in his behavior. Her father had apologized to her plenty of times over the years, in many ways. Then he’d ended up taking out a dozen different credit cards in her name and racking up thousands upon thousands of dollars in debt.
“I want to know that you’re on track,” she repeated, stone-voiced. “Before I commit to this project, I need to be sure that I’m not going to end up fending off collection agencies or trying to get an apartment or a new car only to discover that my credit rating is so low again that I can’t get approved for anything. You promised me you’d quit the pills, you’d get some kind of help, and that you would never, never—”
“I told you I’d never do that again, and I won’t! Okay?” He ran both his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “I’m getting help.”
“Maybe you need rehab,” she told him. “Instead of convincing yourself that none of this was really your fault, and it’s all going to be okay so long as you say you’re sorry.”
“How would you expect me to pay for it?” her father shot back.
“Right,” Theresa said. “Because unless you’re using my name to run up your bills, you have no way to pay for anything.”
Too far.
She got up. “I want this to work out for me, Dad. I have the chance to be part of something fun that I also feel will be successful—”
That earned a caustic laugh from him. “Right. With Ilya Stern? That kid isn’t going to make anything work.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s almost forty years old.”
“He had that dive shop for years and barely managed to make a go of it. What makes you think he could do any better with this?”
“Because I’m involved,” Theresa said evenly, “and I do know how to make things work. I can be a success. I . . . Dad, I just need this chance to get back on my feet.”
“And you think that somehow I’m going to mess it up for you?” He sounded weary. Resigned. Yet also a little resentful.
“You did mess things up for me,” she said.
“You act like I ruined your entire life.”
She felt like crying but would not do that here. They’d already earned enough attention from the people at the tables around them. More than that, she’d decided long ago not to waste her tears on him.
“I’m going,” she said. “You’ve been late on the past two payments to me. I need to know that I can count on you to come through.”
He shook his head. “I got a little behind. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t pay my bills.”
Again, she’d been too harsh. Too fierce. And again, Theresa fought not to feel bad about this. He didn’t deserve softness from her, not after everything he’d done.
“You never lacked for anything, Theresa. You know that? You had a roof over your head. Clothes on your back. You never went hungry. And I was there for you,” her father said. Affronted. Desperate. Throwing stones.
“And I ended up sleeping in my car!” She spat the words, hating the taste of them, a secret she’d been determined she would keep from him. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from taking a sick and twisted joy in the surprise on his face, or the dismay in his expression a few seconds after that.
“Why didn’t you come home, Ter? You could’ve just come home. I’d always make a place for you. You know that.”
“You made me a promise,” was all she said again. “I need you to keep it. For once, Dad. Just keep the promise.”
She walked out on him without another word.