The Accident Curse

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Fred pulled up to Dad’s house a little before seven o’clock.

A flood of memories poured into me as we rode up the dirt driveway. We’d moved into this house when I was two, and I moved out at eighteen. So many years this had been my home; now I thought of it as Dad’s only.

The trees on the border of the yard were full of leaves and needles, and the bushes had a few wild blackberries left—the deer would have gotten the rest. Next to the shed was a fenced-in area where Dad kept his vegetable garden. A soft breeze stirred the short tufts that denoted radishes beneath the soil.

A stone cross sat in a neatly trimmed space right at the edge of the woods. From this distance, I could see the fresh flowers laying down in front of the spot.

A picture of serenity and peace. But dread filled me.

“Thanks Fred,” Dad said, shaking hands with the old man. “I appreciate you taking the trouble to drive us all over. Come by for dinner later in the week. Marty will cook as a thank you.”

“Of course,” I agreed. I also gave Fred a handshake, then accepted my luggage from him.

“Sounds fine, Mart,” Fred answered. “And go easy on your dad.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I carried my luggage to the front door and sat it down, then went back to the truck to help Dad. The cast went above his knee, covering most of his leg. No wonder he’d need someone here to help. The thing looked awkward as hell. Plus, he had to be on major painkillers. Dad shouldn’t be alone if he was doped out of his mind.

I’d been brooding about how horrible it was to be back. But now I saw Dad really did need me. A bit of my reluctance fell away.

“Come on, Pop,” I said, putting my shoulder under his arm for support. “We’ll have to get you crutches.”

He leaned his weight on me and we started to the front door. “I don’t need ‘em. No reason to be out and about till this cast gets off.”

“Your insurance is covering the disability?”

“Yeah, a bit. You know how stingy those things are. But, I’m fine on money, so don’t go worrying.”

“Okay.”

The wooden porch leading to the front door was divided into levels. Four, to be exact, and that meant helping Dad climb up the steps to get to each one. How had Fred got him in the house after being discharged from the hospital? Fred, while as selfless as a person could be, was old as dirt. The two of them together was a bad combination. The two of them together with limited mobility was a recipe for disaster.

A new emotion began to burn inside me: guilt. When I left, I never gave any thought to Dad being on his own. Of course, he was a stubborn, capable man. My presence wouldn’t affect his life in any way. Except, I was looking at it from the wrong angle. As a man, he was fine on his own. But as a father? A widower? I’d abandoned him without a backward glance.

Dad unlocked the door, which opened into the kitchen. He hobbled inside, using the countertops to support his weight. He collapsed onto one of the barstools beside the island and sighed heavily.

I grabbed my suitcase, then shut the door and locked it. I flipped on the kitchen lights.

God! Nothing had changed. Not the curtains. Not the towel hanging from the oven handle. Not the pictures on the fridge, or even the drawing I’d done in fifth grade. It even smelled the same, of wood and fire and fresh-baked apple pie.

“What do you need, Dad?” I walked to the fridge and pulled open the door. “Water? A pop?”

“Nothing, Mart. Need to sit a spell.”

“I’m assuming I get to stay in my old room?”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Dad’s lips. “Yeah, unless you wanna sleep in the basement.”

“Might be cooler down there,” I mused, already cursing the fact the house didn’t have AC.

“Don’t worry about me. Unpack. Shower. Check out my computer.”

I shook my head. Getting settled was what I wanted to do, but not what I needed to do. I had to talk to him first. We had to reconnect.

I grabbed two cans of pop from the fridge and walked to the other barstool. I plopped down in the chair and handed Dad a can. We pulled the tabs, and the sound of the fizzing carbonation filled the room.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

“Oh, come on, Mart. Don’t do this to me. I fell while hunting. Happens all the time. I’m not traumatized or emotionally scarred, for Christ’s sake.”

“I didn’t say you were. But I am concerned about you. What are you going to do for eight weeks while you’re stuck at home? You’re gonna go stir crazy.”

“I’ve got the hunting channel.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Listen, Mart,” he cut in. “I appreciate you coming here, but I’m honestly fine. I don’t want you to act like I’m an invalid. Now, go get unpacked and I’ll get us something for dinner.”

“Sure, Dad.”

I lugged my suitcase down the hallway, passing the spare bedroom and the bathroom. Dad’s room was the last on the left and mine was at the end of the corridor. I peeked inside Dad’s room, not surprised he had his old comforter still on the bed and the old curtains framing the sliding glass door. The only new addition was a television sitting atop the dresser.

Sighing, I entered my room. How many sleepless nights had I lay there, staring up at the popcorn ceiling? How much doubt had I endured, wondering why I never fit in at school? How much confusion, when I never felt any attraction to the girls around me? This was the worst place in the world to realize you were gay. Macho masculinity made up the core of everyday life: hunting, farm work, suped-up trucks. And I’d done my share of all those things in the past. What made it intolerable was the close-mindedness typically associated with small towns. These hicks were so sure of what was right and what was wrong, there was no gray area.

Dad didn’t even know I was gay. I’d never worked up the courage to tell him.

That was a major part of the reason I left. Not all, though. The schools in Phoenix were better, the job opportunities were diverse and paid more, the people a lot more accepting. I had no problem fitting in once I got there, and had a well-established life and a caring circle of friends. I was glad I left. But being grateful I had gotten away didn’t mean I had to avoid this place like the plague. I should have thought of Dad and his loneliness.

I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out my clothes, laying them flat on the bed. They’d need to be ironed before I wore them anywhere. If I was going anywhere. With Dad happy to spend his days on the couch, I was happy to spend my time on his computer doing my work. No one to see, nothing to do. The weeks would pass by quick enough.

After getting all my clothes into their drawers, or hung up in the closet, I went to the bathroom and showered. The water nearly scalded me before I remembered the house had heated water from the wood burner outside. Add another chore to the list of things I’d be doing around the house: chopping wood and stoking the fire.

When I got out and changed into my pajamas, Dad had dinner all set. We sat down at the island in the kitchen instead of the dining room table. We’d never eaten in there except when we had company over. Company besides Fred, or Dad’s other friends.

“How soon before you get some of the buck that nearly cost you your leg?”

“Fred and Al will get it butchered sometime this week. I get a few pounds of it.”

“I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had venison.”

“We’ll make us a couple of thick steaks. It’ll be good.”

“What about some jerky?”

Dad laughed. “I can do jerky too, if you’d like.”