Chapter 25

Dash

I couldn’t believe I agreed to this. I hadn’t seen another person other than Imogen and the delivery guys in over a year. Something had clicked over in my brain and suddenly I couldn’t stand the cabin. I needed to get out and get away from the pain and the horrible memories my incarceration had brought me.

Imogen was right; I could fight these men. I had the law on my side and I’d lawyer up so hard there wouldn’t know what hit them. Mark had taken everything from me and was constantly threatening the last thing I had left: my cure. But somewhere in a hospital sat a little girl or boy fighting to stay alive one more day; I needed to live for that child. In my own home, were two children who were forgetting their father; I needed to live for them. And I had an unborn child who just might have a chance at a normal life; I needed to live for that child too, but most importantly I needed to live for me. But first steps had to be baby steps. I took a deep breath of cold mountain air and braced myself to meet Imogen’s grand people.

“You ready for this?” she asked as she grabbed my hand.

“As I’ll ever be.” While my mind was resolved, my body shook a little at the thought of actually doing this.

Imogen knocked on the door and a large, gray-haired woman answered it with an enormous smile.

“Jeni, dear,” her puffy arms wrapped around Imogen in what I assumed was their customary greeting.

“I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend along for dinner. He’s a colleague of mine,” Imogen explained as Lydia’s face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Why of course, the more the merrier,” Lydia said with a lilt in her voice. “Good thing I made my famous pot roast tonight; there’s always tons left over,” she said as she waddled into the house.

“Who is it?” Gramps yelled from his chair in the corner.

He was covered with a blanket and looked small and frail, but his spirit seemed as big as life. He was one to watch out for.

“It’s a friend Jeni brought over,” Lydia yelled back.

“See, people call me Jeni, because it’s my name, Dashell,” she said, giving me crazy eyes.

I just laughed. I guess I’d hate it if someone insisted on calling me Dashell, touché… but I wasn’t going to stop. Imogen was a beautiful, spirited woman who I was falling in love with. Jeni was the girl next door and Imogen was no girl next door, that’s for sure.

“Looks like a homeless guy, kick him out,” her grandfather said as he went back to watching football on the massive flat screen TV.

“Sorry,” Imogen winced.

“No worries, we’re interrupting his game,” I nodded to the TV.

“Football is his thing, I think he spent his entire retirement fund on that TV,” she smiled her gorgeous smile.

“Well, dinner is almost ready. Can I interest you in a glass of white zinfandel or a wine cooler?” Lydia asked. Oh, my.

“Lydia, remember I bought that case of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay for Gramps’ ninetieth birthday party, do you still have that in the garage fridge?” Imogen to the rescue.

“Sure, I think we have at least four or five bottles in there. Liam and I never drink the stuff.” Lydia remarked as she pulled a pot roast out of the oven that was so big it could’ve fed a family of twelve. No wonder there were always so many leftovers.

The aromas filling the house smelled so good. It was a home, not a fortress. It reminded me that people lived in homes; they didn’t hide out from bad guys, they saved white zinfandel for their guests and ate food that made your heart beat. This was life, and for a year I’d neglected to live mine.

“We’ll have dinner in just a few minutes. Why don’t you two wash up,” Lydia suggested as she fired up an electric knife and started cutting the meat.

Imogen giggled when Lydia mentioned “washing up.” We were notorious for being quite naughty while washing, so I could see why she felt the need to laugh with embarrassment.

When we were all finally seated at the table Gramps grumbled that his piece of meat was too tough.

“Oh nonsense, it’s fine,” Lydia brushed him off and cut the rest of the pieces for him, “Now don’t choke on it, you need to chew.”

I shivered to think that might’ve been Imogen and I in a few years, but laughed because inevitably, it would. As we were eating and talking amiably with one another, having a great time, Gramps blurted out, spraying pieces of unchewed meat with his announcement, “So you are the fella who got Jeni pregnant? You should learn to keep your pecker in your pants, son.” He then used a quivering hand that could barely hold a fork to stab at another piece of meat.

It was horrible and horribly funny, Imogen and I both burst out laughing as Lydia managed an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Well Gramps, I’m not quite sure how to answer your question other than to assure you, your granddaughter is in good hands,” I managed to say between my chuckles.

“We don’t need no deadbeat dads at our dinner table,” Gramps said, getting a little edgier.

“Liam!” Lydia scolded. “That is no way to treat our guest.”

Her face turned a few shades redder and I could tell she was dying of embarrassment, but Gramps had hit the nail on the head. It was my pecker that had done the dead although I wasn’t planning on being a deadbeat dad, but an absentee one… And that’s when it hit me. Absentee father.

There really was nothing worse than that, being alive, being able to care for your children and choosing not to. That’s what I was in every sense of the definition and that’s when it hit me; I needed to go home immediately. I needed to be a father to my children. It wasn’t my sister’s job to give up her life for me. It was my responsibility to face my future and if there were bad guys in it, I’d have to do my best to fight them.

“Sir, I promise I will not be an absentee father or a deadbeat dad. I’m sure words are useless to you, but I assure you, your granddaughter and your great-grandchild will be well cared for,” I made an oath to him and I meant every word.

Imogen sensed the change in me and gave me a quizzical look, which I met with a smile. Things were going to change. She’d see soon enough.

Despite the awkward start, we settled into a pretty good conversation about the storm and Imogen’s work with kids, which was refreshing. I loved hearing about all the great things she was doing since I’m sure she wouldn’t say them about herself.

I ate way too much, but the food was delicious. Gramps didn’t look so hot when Lydia wheeled him into his room, but Imogen wasn’t worried, saying Gramps was too stubborn to die. He’d live for some time more because he had to live long enough to flag his middle finger at the doctors who predicted he’d be dead already.

We cleaned up the dishes, put them away and shuffled off to Imogen’s room which looked like a throwback to the nineties. Luckily, her bed was at least a double. We barely fit… good thing we liked one another.

That night when the house was silent and dark, Imogen and I made love as quietly as we could so as not to wake up the family, especially not Gramps. I actually feared I’d be given a stern talking to and punishment if I got caught, so we made sure not to get caught. It was fun and wild and perfect.

We both bit our lips to stifle the sounds of our ecstasy, curled into each other’s arms and slept very soundly. It was a perfectly peaceful sleep and solidified for me my next move. I’d packed an overnight bag with the basic things I’d need. I would have to buy more and eventually sort out the cabin, but I needed a break from my high-tech prison and carrying that bag with just the most essential items and with Imogen by my side felt like the perfect expression of freedom.

We said our goodbyes to Imogen’s family and she promised to be up the following week. I’m sure she expected me to drive her down the mountain and help her get a car home, but when we hit the highway I kept driving.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her face looking bewildered and confused.

“It’s time you met my family,” I said with a straight face and a dry expression.

Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.