Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [110]
It didn’t seem like much of a life. Maybe Mom should have pulled the trigger when she had the chance. But she didn’t. Had never meant to, she said, unless he woke up. But he didn’t wake up.
I felt no pity. My feelings were of sadness and betrayal. And relief. And guilt.
“This is the first time I’m glad the old fool was drunk,” Wally said when Mom called him long distance to tell him what happened. “It kept him from shooting straight. If not for Jim Beam, you might all be dead.”
Maybe Jim Beam had ended up doing something right this time, but he hadn’t worked alone. Daddy may have killed us all, if not for the element of surprise. He’d come up against what he hadn’t expected, a powerhouse named Tillie Monroe who, with one swift blow, had sent him sailing into this lingering twilight.
Thank God for Tillie. Thank God she had come back to the house she had lived her life in and that she wanted to die in.
Still, in the midst of my relief, I was trying to lay my guilt to rest. None of it would have happened if not for me. I lifted my hands to the railing of the hospital bed and squeezed hard. I was the one who had been tricked. If tragedy had come to the entire family, it would have been because of me. While I was trying to figure out whether I could trust Daddy, I should have simply trusted Mom. She wouldn’t have brought us to Mills River if it had been safe to stay with Alan Anthony. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Why did I overlook what was so obvious?
I could only suppose it was because I wanted what I wanted. I wanted it enough to let myself be fooled, to believe in spite of everything that Daddy was trustworthy and the good life he promised was possible. I was a child, and yet I should have known. If only I had listened. If only I hadn’t let the dream overshadow my common sense.
Mara was right. Sometimes it’s the dream that holds you down and keeps you from flying, if it’s the wrong dream. You have to let it go if you’re ever going to soar.
Daddy had come to our house, just as he said he would, but his promises stopped there. He hadn’t brought the ruby ring with him, or a letter, or a dozen red roses. The only thing he had brought to our house was the gun, one the cops said he’d purchased in a pawn shop in Chicago sometime around Christmas. The ring, which belonged to Miss Charlotte, was found in the glove compartment of his car, along with Mr. Wainwright’s watch. A few other items were found at the pawn shop where Daddy had bought the gun, as he’d made several trips back there between Christmas and leap year day. Not only was Daddy a liar, he was a thief.
It was time to let go of the dream.
I clenched my jaw. I had something to say to this man, even though he couldn’t hear it. But I had to say it anyway, for my own sake if nothing else. I leaned forward, unlocked my jaw, and sighed heavily. One tear trickled down my cheek. “I can’t help it, Daddy,” I whispered, “I still love you. Just a little. I can’t seem to stop. But if you ever wake up, I’m not going to be able to believe anything you say. So I’ve come to say good-bye.”
I dug around in my jeans pocket and pulled out several sticky Sugar Daddy wrappers, ones I had kept in my jewelry box at home. I slipped them into Daddy’s unresponsive hand and curled his fingers around them. “Thanks anyway,” I said, “but you can have these back.”
“Are you ready, Roz?”
Mom was out in the hall now, framed in the doorway of Daddy’s room. Beside her stood Lyle Monroe, clutching the handles of a wheelchair. And in the chair, wearing a brand-new hat and a new winter coat with a faux fur collar, sat the spitfire herself, Tillie Monroe.
I smiled at all three of them and nodded. “I’m ready, Mom.”
“I’m ready too,” Tillie