Page 72 of Broken Halo
“Silvie was a lot younger than me. I remember every moment of her life from the day your gramma brought her home. She gave your granddaddy fits and I saw it all. You were the exact same way. Ellie,” he calls for me and I turn back to him. “I’m a strong man and I can say nothing has scared me in life more than you did."
“Dad—” I start, but he doesn’t let me get a word in.
“You were just like her. It was hard enough losing my sister to a world of drugs and addiction, dying the way she did. We did everything we could to stop her, reason with her—hell, we all but restrained her once. She was so deep in her addiction, she finally cut us out. Didn’t want a thing to do with her family and we lost her for good. There was no way I was going to let any of my children follow that path. I wouldn’t have survived it. You’re my baby, Ellie. You think pissing off my children is any skin off my back if it means they’re safe? I don’t care if you hate me ‘til the day you die—I’m gonna do what I think I need to do.”
I glance over at my son, his little fingers trying to figure out how to stuff a plastic horse into it’s trailer. I can’t imagine him hating me but I also can’t imagine not doing everything in my power to keep him from harm. I supposed if he hated me for doing what I had to do, I’d deal with it. It would tear me up, but I’d do it.
I look back to my dad. “What does that have to do with Trig? What you did—how you kept him from me and threatened me so I had no choice but to lie … that’s …” I exhale and pull my hands through my hair, exasperated with him, my in-laws, and even Trig. “It’s almost unforgivable. Actually, it is unforgivable.”
My father has the nerve to shrug. “Maybe, but I’d do it again.”
“How can you say that?” I snap, feeling my blood boil, all my anger bubbling over and my rage erupting. “You cut me off from Trig. It took me years to get over that, and when I finally thought I could move on, I chose Robert.” His name will always taste like cyanide on my tongue. “Good job, Dad. Your need to control every situation really worked out well.”
He takes the two steps separating us and I have to tip my head back to keep hold of his eyes when he lowers his voice. “I didn’t say I’m happy with the way things turned out. Sure, Trig made a life for himself but he’s still a Barrett. At the time, I did what I thought was best. I couldn’t take a chance with you, darlin’. That, I won’t apologize for.”
My tears form and I hate myself. Anything and everything is making me fall apart lately. “What did he do to you? There was no reason for you to hate him besides the fact he had nothing and you have everything.”
There’s a crash and my head whips to Griffin where he pulled over a basket of toys.
“Uh-oh,” he sing-songs.
I wipe my face and try to smile. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll pick them up.”
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, darlin’.” My dad leans down to swipe my face. “I’ve gotta get home. Your mama’s making dinner.”
“No.” I grab at his wrist to stop him. “You’re not leaving here until you tell me. Why did you hate him? Even you wouldn’t do what you did for no reason.”
He rubs his face. When his eyes settle on mine, weighted with antagonism and grit, he finally lays it out for me. “I gave Trig a job on the ranch as a favor to Faye Barrett for your mama. He needed an honest job. I found out after I hired him that Trig Barrett’s uncle was your Aunt Silvie’s supplier and I think his dad had a hand in it too, but we could never connect him. Trig seemed like a good kid so I gave him a job but Ray Barrett was always slippery … until you put him away. I had lots of ranch hands over the years and they were told to stay far away from my family, especially you girls while you were young. I lost enough to the Barretts for one lifetime, I wasn’t going to lose you, too—I made damn-well sure of it.”
* * *
May 15th —
Easton graduates today. FROM LAW SCHOOL!
I couldn’t be prouder of him if he was the second man on Earth to part the Red Sea. Easton bought me a plane ticket and the doctors even slipped me some extra cash and told me to take the week off. Tomorrow, I’m getting on a plane for the first time in my life all by myself. I might fall over stupid, I’m so nervous, but I’m going to watch my boy walk to get his diploma.
I know he’s only doing it for me. He told me he didn’t have time for such nonsense and I told him I was coming to the land of Mickey Mouse and earthquakes so he’d better scoot his booty across that stage. Actually, he’s only doing it ‘cause I told him I’m still his mama and he doesn’t have a choice. Then, to celebrate, he’s going to take me to Disneyland and the beach.
You’d think I’d be more excited to see the ocean for the first time but I really just want to see my boy. I miss him and haven’t seen him since Christmas. Whenever he comes here, he’s got ants in his pants. I know he loves me but I see it in his eyes. He won’t admit it, but it hurts his soul to be here. It reminds him of her even though she’s gone off into the world and he’s pretended to move on. He won’t talk about her, and if I bring it up, it’s the only time he snaps at me.
But this week is about Easton and how he broke away from his daddy and uncle, something I could never do no matter how hard I tried. But he did it and I’m so delighted, I might just pee my pants.
I close the journal, the third one I’ve read tonight, and look at the other side of my Texas-sized sofa. Trig is still engrossed in his own chapter of Faye Barrett’s world. I take him in, his concentration is profound, with his brows pinched even though he looks nothing but relaxed reading.
My father left as soon as he dropped the bomb about him blaming Trig’s dad and uncle for Aunt Silvie’s demons. And he did not leave on good terms because I stood up for my former love and told my father that, from everything I know of her, it sounded like Aunt Silvie would’ve gotten her fix from anyone. She became a junkie all on her own and Trig had nothing to do with it. When he started to argue, I added, “We can’t pick our parents now, can we?”
He knew I meant Trig and me. Needless to say, I didn’t get a kiss on the head before he left, but Griffin did.
Trig, true to his word, returned right when he said he would with something green for dinner. I’m stuffed because, along with the salad, he brought fettuccini, capellini pomodoro, cheesecake, and more bread than I’ve eaten in the last six months. When he got here holding two bags of food, he walked through my door and shrugged unapologetically. “I don’t know what babies eat. The gal taking my order said he could pick at the pasta.”
Doing what’s become a habit for me the last few months with my son, the three of us ate while sitting on the floor of my kitchen with Griffin crawling between the two of us like a dog, eating whatever he felt like from our plates. Besides both of us talking to Griff, Trig and I didn’t talk much. It’s too weird and hard and, yet, still oddly comfortable being together like this—together with a baby. Just watching Trig, I know the same thoughts are running through his head—that this could have been us.
That this should have been us.
Trig cleaned my kitchen and I got Griffin ready for bed. When I came back down with the baby monitor, he was unpacking what looked like Faye’s mismatched journals from a box and his eyes met mine. “I thought we could read.”
I was relieved, honestly. After the last few days, I didn’t know what to expect. I like him being here but I didn’t know what to do with him here.
