HIS BEAUTIFUL SECRET (completed)

CHAPTER 9 - HOLD ME TIGHT

Walking up to my house, I could not help but notice it felt especially empty. It always did, but somehow that day seemed different. The house was quiet, almost spooky. Everything felt cold.

I checked to see if dad was sleeping, but he was not in his room. Peering in, I couldn't help but notice what an absolute mess it was. Clothing was everywhere. The bed covers were strewn about, and there was a staleness in the air. It looked like a physical representation of their horrible marriage, completely in shambles.

I pulled the door too and headed to my room. Flipping on the radio, I pulled my hair up into a sloppy bun. The house most needed more noise, and I needed to get comfy so I could start studying. Putting on my biggest t-shirt and a pair of thin cotton shorts, I looked in the mirror. It made me giggle that it looked like I wasn't wearing any pants.

Plopping down on the bed, my stomach growled, so I headed to the kitchen. That's when I noticed a note on the table. "Gone to talk to your mom, be back later," was all it said. That was odd, mom went to see her mother often but dad had never gone to see her while she was there.

She usually went after days of fighting with dad or after she had used me as a punching bag. Sometimes it felt like she was running away and hiding, trying to navigate around her own demons. There was something fishy going on and I wanted to know what it was.

Opening the fridge, I noticed that we had milk, and that made me smile. I found some oatmeal and put it on the stove to cook. Standing in the empty kitchen, I let my mind wander to Jake. He wasn't at school that day. He was probably sleeping it off at the cottage waiting for one of his friends to pick him up.

It made me smile to think about everything he said. He told me he loved me. Even though it was still hard to believe, he said it. At the time I was certain that he meant it, but I was second-guessing myself. I wondered if he would remember, he was drunk afterall.

Stirring the oatmeal, my thoughts continue to drift. As I was pouring it into my bowl, ready to eat up every spoonful, the door opened. I stopped and listened as it seemed to shut in slow motion. "Well, that was a dramatic door close," I thought to myself and moments later dad appeared in the kitchen.

He looked more weary than usual. His worn blue jeans hung on his hips and the plaid shirt he was wearing seemed threadbare. He had rolled his sleeves up quarter length as they always were, but there was something heavy in his eyes. Walking over to the table and taking a seat, he never said a word. His head was hanging, and he was deep in thought. I studied him as the silence lingered.

"How was your visit with mom?"I asked.  Before he even had time to answer I rambled on, "Why did you even go see her?" He let out a long sigh and looked up at me, the weight of a thousand pounds hanging in his expression.

"Not good Sky" he replied. He shook his head back and forth as if he is trying to push away whatever was invading his thoughts. Stiffening a bit, I knew that whatever was going on must be serious. I felt my heart race, not sure what it was, and took a seat beside him.

"Dad, what's wrong?" I asked, trying to look into his eyes. I thought if I could, they would reveal what was haunting him. He kept his gaze steadfast, making sure our eyes never meet.

"She's not coming back," he said with a pained voice. I looked at him in disbelief. There was no way she was not coming back. That was impossible. My brain tried to catch up with what he had said. I searched his face, trying to determine if it was real. He never flinched or faltered, his mind stayed trained on his thoughts.

He got up and pushed his chair under the table, exiting the kitchen. It didn't seem fair. She was a wife and a mother. How could she leave us? I caught up with him in his room. Grabbing a fresh shirt, he pulled it on and headed for the front door. Running behind him, the words in my mind spilled out, "What did I do, dad?"