The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [118]
The manager smiles, his thin eyebrows rising. “That’s nice. Fair deal,” he says, offering another handshake. This time a real one.
I cross around the back of the van, climb behind the wheel, and manually roll down the window, where I take a deep breath of Florida’s salty beach air. But as I twist the ignition key and turn on the lights, I finally see the man blocking my way, standing in front of the van, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders as slumped as usual.
“Lloyd, what’re you doing here?” I call out.
“I was just— I thought I’d . . .” My father’s voice trails off. “I don’t really know,” he finally admits. “I spoke to Serena.”
“I don’t want to talk about Serena.” I pump the gas and jerk the van forward, hoping he’ll move out of the way. All he does is rush around to my open side window, gripping it like a child holding on to the counter of an ice-cream truck.
“Did you get my messages?” he pleads, refusing to let go.
I hit the brakes but stare straight ahead, through the front windshield. Even without eye contact, I can see his beard’s gone and his grizzly hair’s combed. He got a better lawyer than last time, which explains the deal he got for testifying against Roosevelt. And a better doctor, which explains why he’s out of the hospital. “Yes, Lloyd. I got all fifteen of them.”
“You didn’t call me back.”
It’d be so easy to explode and shout in his face.
“No. I didn’t call you back.”
He watches me, still gripping the ice-cream counter. “You’re not going to, are you?”
“I told you—I need some time.”
“But that’s just what you’re saying, hoping I’ll go away.”
For the first time, I look down at him from the driver’s seat. “What’d you really expect? Tossing a ball back and forth like Field of Dreams? Everything you said—everything we did—it was all poison. You lied and tricked me. On purpose. And, oh yeah, almost got me framed for murder, not to mention almost killed, all for your own selfish reasons.”
“That’s not true. All we wanted was help with the shipment. And once we— In Alligator Alley, when you saved me—”
“Then what? You came to your senses and realized that the love of your long-lost son conquers all? Save it for the TV movie, Lloyd. I don’t care that you cut ties with Roosevelt—you still knew I was on the phone with him every free minute. Even in the car, you never once said, ‘Hey, Cal, your best friend is going all Judas on you.’ Why didn’t you say something then?”
My father looks down, unable to face me.
“Lemme guess,” I add. “You were worried if you told the truth, I’d walk away forever. Well, guess what? You get the same result either way. Karma is kinda a bitch like that.”
He nods to himself, still holding the ice-cream counter, still staring down. “You’ll understand when you—”
“When I what? When I have kids? Is that the parental chestnut you’re reaching for? That I’d understand what you did if I had a son?”
“No, Calvin,” he says, finally looking up at me. “You’d understand if you lost a son.”
I tighten my jaw and try to look away. But the words undo me, tugging on a bow—maybe it’s a knot—that’s buried far deeper inside me than the pain and rage of my current anger.
“I’m sorry for what I did, Calvin. I really am. It’s just . . . in life, you can either be a hammer or a nail. And for far too long . . . I guess I got tired of being a nail.”
“But don’t you see? You made me the nail instead. So no matter how much you want to justify it—”
“I don’t want to justify it,” he interrupts. “I admit: I wanted a better life. It was just . . . to see you . . . to really see you . . .” He looks away, then back, then away, pretending to stare at all the passing cars that whip up and down the beachfront strip. “I just want to be forgiven.”
Outside the window, my father’s grassy green eyes are even more terrified than that