Chapter 25: The Talk

Peck, peck…peck, peck, peck…

That's all the hens seemed to do was peck the ground, crow at each other, then peck the ground again. How much grain could a hen eat!

I counted 20 hens; they moved in and out of their chicken coups and I briefly wondered if they had secret meetings led by a steadfast hen named 'Ginger' who dreamt of flying over the fences to the green pastures.

At this point, I'd have joined her, watching them through the fencing. They had a simpler life, simpler problems; the only thing they had to worry about was eating, laying eggs, and every now and then, get into a nest with the rather stark rooster that occasionally stomped past the fence to warily eye me.

Shoes shifted through the grass as Mark came up behind me with his hands resting comfortably in his pockets.

I said quietly, "I don't want to talk to him."

"I think he just wants you to listen to what he has to say." Mark said helpfully.

"Maybe I'm better off not knowing what he has to say."

"Ignoring the situation for what it is will not make it disappear."

I stared ahead, watching the chickens.

"Do you think the rooster fucks all the hens or just the ones that he finds extremely attractive?"

Ignoring my attempt to change the subject, Mark said seriously, "You're going to have to face him at one point or another."

I bit my bottom lip, trying hard not to let my emotions burrow up to the surface. In doing so, my body shook, and I clung to the fence harder than usual, my knuckles growing pale.

What little control I had over them was lost when Mark's arms slowly wrapped around my middle.

Weakly, I turned in his arms and just being that close to him undid all the effort of keeping my feelings intact.

I was sad because of the obvious, angry because Dad had kept this from me for so long, and afraid for what was eventually going to happen.

"I don't know what to do." I hated how helpless I sounded. "I don't know what to do…"

Mark didn't say anything. Perhaps he knew that there was nothing he could possibly say to make me feel better. Instead, he silently held me as I rested my head against him, burying my face in his shirt as a painful knob swelled inside my throat, refusing to leave.

He rubbed my back, keeping me close to him as if he knew that in the moment I let him go, I'd collapse.

"What can we do?" I sniffled.

"We can go home." He offered.

I looked up at him. "But the camping trip…"

"We can always reschedule."

"I don't want to reschedule. I just want things to go the way I've planned, for once."

"Then we'll keep to the itinerary." He caressed my face, his thumbs wiping away my tears. "But first…" He inclined his head in the direction of the house.

"I can't go by myself." I said uncertainly.

"You can." He encouraged. "And you should. I'll be waiting outside."

"Okay…" I walked inside, letting Prospero out.

Dad sat on the couch. He held a picture frame in his hands, looking it over with an expression torn between fondness and sadness. When the door closed behind me, he peered up, offering a small smile.

"I was certain Mark might convince you to come back inside. You don't have to say anything." He assured, holding up a hand. "I'd like for you to listen. To hear me out."

I sat on the cushion next to him.

"Of course, I know how angry you must be with me. You have every right to be; I've known for a while whereas you've only just received the news—I can understand how you must feel. I've felt it."

I busily nibbled on the inside of my cheek, silently looking at him.

"I know what you must be thinking," He continued. "You think I've given up, that I'm leaving you behind. You feel like I'm abandoning you."

Dad handed me the picture. I took it, glancing to see that it was the only one taken where my father, mother, and I were all in the same picture, back when I was six. We all smiled at the camera.

He said consolably, "You should know that I'd never in a million years choose to leave you behind. I'd take you with me if I could. I'd have kept the both of you with me if I could. We could have stayed as happy as we were in this picture."

I placed the picture on the coffee table with little care.

"I know what you're feeling, honey. I can see it in your eyes: you want your pound of flesh. You want someone to hurt just as you're hurting now. But Lexi, just as it was with your mother, there is no one to hurt." Dad said carefully, watching me with the same expression.

I rolled my eyes, glaring at the picture, knowing he was right.

He sat back in the couch, clasping his hands together.

A few minutes of silence passed between us before he said lightly, "Your boyfriend, Mark…He seems like a good man, a good guy. I especially like what he has to say about you."

I looked up at him.

"Apparently, he thinks the world of you, says you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. Granted, he's never said as much. He's not exactly a man of many words, is he?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but what he says, he means."

He took a sip of coffee while I numbly fidgeted with my fingers, staring at my hands, wondering why he was going on about Mark when originally, he'd seemed intent on getting him out of my life. Likely to get on my good side, if I had to guess.

"He told me you two were going on a camping trip." Dad began pensively. "Sounds fun."

I shrugged and looked at the fireplace.

Cancer ate a person away, cannibalizing on everything the human body had to offer before it fed on less edible things like sanity and positive thinking. It explained his paleness, his weaker state—evidently, he'd acquired a new sense of humor as he'd never been so easily amused or easy-going before.

I wondered whether the cancer would begin to affect his brain, even though it was tied to his bones. Would he have dementia? When he was on death's door, would he no longer remember who I was?

"Alexis, please talk to me." Dad pleaded.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked flatly, shrugging.

"Something. Anything."

"You've known you were going to die for a year and never said a word to me." I said coldly. "You've had chemotherapy treatments, but never said a word to me."

"I know…"

"You have never—not ever—lied to me about anything. Not even when I was kid."

"Lex…"

"You didn't lie about the dirty deals you made with the DA to keep your arrest records looking good," I listed off angrily. "Not about the criminal informants you kept under your thumb to keep the crime statistics down to make your bosses look good. Not about the evidence you planted to keep Carmine out of jail when he was one who was selling those drugs."

"I know."

"But when it came to you—to us, to our family…" I shook my head. "You kept me in the dark. Why?"

"I did it to protect you from the truth."

"It was going to hurt either way," I said harshly. "Why you thought you could protect me from this is just…I don't know what it is, but it's not acceptable! You lied to me—"

"—For your own good—"

"You betrayed me!"

"You're going too far—"

"You promised you wouldn't lie to me!" I shouted angrily, knocking the table over. "You lied to me for a fucking year, but I'm going too far?"

"You're my daughter—"

"—That's right! I am your fucking daughter! When were you going to tell me!"

"Alexis!"

"When were you going to tell me if I didn't put the pieces together, huh!" I demanded. "Was it going to be when you were on your death bed? Was some fucking lawyer going to hand me a neatly hand-written letter after you were long dead and buried?"

"You don't understand! You couldn't possibly have accepted it then—"

"There was never going to be a time where I could just accept it! You could have just told me what was happening to you—what is going to happen to you! You could have just told me then! You should have told me then!"

"Alexis, I know what you're feeling—"

"You don't know!"

"You and I need to talk this through. Yelling at each other isn't going to fix this."

"Why did it have to be you, huh! Why can't it be someone else who hasn't already been through enough. Why is it only our family that has to deal with this shit! It could have been anyone else—it should have been anyone else! It's…I-I just wish—!"

"Easy, easy," Dad said quickly, taking my arm and lowering me to the couch.

"It's just not fair." I sobbed.

"I know." He whispered as he hugged me. "Shhh-shh…it's okay…"

"...I can't lose you too."

"You'll never lose me." He rubbed my shoulder consolably. "I'll never leave you. Not ever. Not even after I'm gone."

"It's not the same."

He kissed the top of my head. "I know."

I was going to ask how much time he had left. But if he told me, I knew the answer was never going to be what I wanted, no matter if he was given 10 days or 10 years. He rocked me slowly in his arms, just as he'd done after Mom's funeral.

"Where are you going for your camping trip?" Dad asked.

I replied hoarsely, "Marshall Grounds."

"You know that ole spring is still flowing. No matter how cold it gets, that water always stays nice and warm."

"Yeah, it does."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Mark has vacation time. He thought going there would be a nice change of pace."

"I know camping with you and your mother was always a nice getaway for me, personally. No distractions. If I remember correctly, you spent more time in that water hole than anywhere else. The only time you got out was when we had the bonfire."

"I didn't mind the bonfire."

"You insisted on setting it up." Dad chortled. "Went a little overboard with the lighter fluid, in my opinion—damn near set the entire forest on fire."

I cracked a small grin. "The rangers were pissed."

"They couldn't believe a six-year-old kid could create such a big fire like that."

"I really outdid myself."

"Little did I know what a stinker you were going to be as you got older." Dad sighed, smiling at me. "But I wouldn't have traded you for anything. That boy of yours will never know how lucky he is to have someone as loyal as you by his side."

"Maybe you ought to tell him that."

"I have." Dad winked as if he knew something I didn't. "How long are you going camping?"

"Three days."

"Should be fun." He smiled secretively.

"Yeah…" I said suspiciously. "Why are you smiling? Do you know something I don't?"

He intentionally avoided the question. "I'm pretty sure your fella knows how to fish."

"Don't most men?" I asked skeptically.

"You'd think so, but some don't know. Maybe he'll have the patience to teach you how to fish."

"I know how to fish. I caught a few things, thank you very much."

"You caught a boot once. Then a hat. Then you stopped trying."

"Because I thought if I threw my fishing line out a third time, I might reel in a body!" I reminded. "Before that, I waited 30 minutes!"

"Patience wasn't your strongest virtue. That's for sure."

"Hm."

"I'd reckon he knows how to make a fire. I think he used to be a boy scout or something when he was younger."

"How would you possibly know that?"

"I don't. I just get that vibe from him."

"What kind of vibe?"

"Survivor vibes." Dad squeezed my chin affectionately. "Kind of the same vibes I get from you."

"Well, I had a good teacher."

"Now, you're just being cute." Dad kissed my forehead and said sincerely, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. You know, I never mean to make you cry. Lord knows I try not to piss you off—you're scarier than your mama ever was when you're pissed off."

"She was pretty scary," I noted. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"She never had to try to put me on the couch. When she'd give me that glare, I willingly went to sleep with the hens. One day, she and I had an argument. I'd never seen her so angry." Dad laughed, shaking his head. "After we made up, I asked her what she was thinking of doing whenever she was angry with me."

"What'd she say?"

"I didn't understand it, but she mentioned something about putting me in one of those Poe stories you two used to read."

"Which one?"

"I can't remember precisely but it was something to do with a pend…pend-something."

"'The Pit and the Pendulum.'"

"Yeah, that one." Dad pointed at me. "She never got into the specifics, but it sounded extremely painful. And she smiled when she was explaining it to me." He whistled low, adding, "it was then that I knew I'd take a madman with a gun any day of the week than get into a physical fight with your mama."

"She could be eccentric at times."

"Yeah, but I loved her to hell and back." He paused for a moment before he asked, "Mind helping me pick up the coffee table before you go?"

"Oh, sure…yeah, sorry about that." I put the coffee table back on its legs.

"Don't be." Dad hugged me again. "You should head out before the sun goes down—it's a lot easier to get that tent up in the sunlight."

"You make a fair point."

He led me out of the front door, waving at Mark who was giving Prospero belly scratches. Seeing me, Mark clicked his tongue, pointing to my father. Prospero hopped up and trotted in his direction, almost smiling up at my dad, who gave him a curious look.

"You like him, don't you?" Dad assumed, looking at the dog.

He barked, wagging his tail.

"I guess if someone was giving me belly scratches, I might like him too." Dad conceded, patting Prospero's head.

I kissed the puppy. "I love you, yes, I do. Yes, I do!"

I straightened, smiling when Dad hugged me again.

He said softly, "Just know that I love you, Lexi. More than anything."

I hugged him back. "I love you too, Daddy."

"Well, Mark." Dad grinned at him. "Once again, it was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe the next time you all come down, it'll be less eventful. However, the sun's working against you, so you all better hurry. Marshall Grounds is a 20-minute drive. With the way Alexis drives, you should be there in five."

I gasped, "I don't drive that fast."

"What about it?" Dad asked him. "Do you think she's a speed racer?"

Mark chuckled, "She's why seatbelt laws were invented."

Dad laughed while I shoved Mark, making him walk towards the hill.

"Bye, you two!" Dad called out.

I waved back, looking at Mark pointedly. "Mutiny, now?"

He kissed my shoulder, whispering, "Payback is a bitch, sweetheart."