Everyone in the small town of Hull knows two things. One: Jill Williams doesn't date, and two: Carson Blue is addicted to drugs.
When Carson decides to clean up his act and apply at Jill's family restaurant, she's less than enthused. Between school...
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DESPITE ITS NAME, Lakeside Motel is nowhere near the water. The late-afternoon humidity simmers off the asphalt and practically boils my skin. I fight the voice inside me that says screw this, go home.
I'm not afraid to face Dad again. But I am afraid of how I'll feel when I do.
Well I didn't come all this way for nothing. The room number—104—shifts out of place when I knock on the door. On the other side, Dad shouts, "I didn't order nothin'!"
"Dad, it's me."
After a bang, crash, and a few muttered shits, he whips it open. Brown hair is matted on his head, and the stench of booze leaks from the motel room.
"Baby! Shit, you're here!"
I push past him. Empty beer cans litter the nightstand, and tacky orange wallpaper peels off the walls. His guitar is thrown over the unmade bed. "Looks like you've made yourself at home."
"Yep, well a man's gotta settle down somewhere."
"That's not funny."
"Sorry."
I can't stand looking at him, so I sit on the edge of the bed and cross my arms, focusing on my lap like a child. Even though I'm the one who showed up unannounced, I wait for him to say something.
"Shit, all right." Dad grabs a chair and sits in front of me. "Look, Jillie, I know you don't wanna hear it, but I need you to understand. Leavin' you and your mom was the hardest decision I ever made."
My bottom lip trembles. "You didn't even say bye to me."
"I couldn't. If I did, it would've been too hard to go."
"You always think about yourself first."
Dad clasps his hands together and nods. "Yeah, you're probably right. But would it really have been easier on you if I'd told you hey kid, I'm leavin'?"
"I guess we'll never know, will we?"
Silence seeps into the room, suffocates both of us. Dad ruffles his hair.
"I was a damn coward for leavin' you like that," he says, "and it's haunted me ever since. I really thought the best thing I could do for you was just disappear. Seemed like all I did was cause you and your mom trouble, so I got rid of the issue: me. I don't expect you to get that."
"It's not that I don't get it, Dad. I do. But it doesn't matter why you left. The only thing that matters to me is that you left. Period. That's what I want you to understand."
"Okay, baby. You're right. I messed up big. You don't ever gotta forgive me. But why'd you come see me?"
I stand and pace the room, stepping over a guitar case and a bundle of laundry. Dad follows, and I throw my arms up. "Because I'm tired, Dad. I'm tired of thinking about you. In a way, I'm glad you came back. It's five years late—but at least now, we can say goodbye to each other."
