LANE
I had never been so anxious in the presence of my father before in my life. I had never found myself so distracted, so completely distant from him before this moment.
Usually, I found him to be one of, if not the, most relaxing person to be around. He had a calming presence, an easy and relaxed wit that made you feel at ease no matter what other issues you were facing. It was a good quality to have, since his line of work was so volatile at times. Adam was a lot like him in that regard. A natural, calming demeanor.
I was leaning on the kitchen island, perched upon a bar stool. I was leaning forward, my chin in my hand, my eyes on my father as he wandered the kitchen, making himself a snack.
"The damn hedges have been out of control this year," he commented, his eyes on the sandwich he was preparing in front of him. "Thinking I need stronger trimmers."
I grinned, but it was forced. I knew why he was so fixated on the hedges. The same reason he was five years ago. And where I now knew the real reasons behind Adams behavior, my father did not. He knew nothing of that night, the accident, and the strange connection we had to Harry.
As I watched him, my chest ached at the thought of him finding out. The idea of my father learning the truth, that his only son killed an innocent family, ran, and kept it a secret for five years, broke a piece of me. To think of his reaction, his pain and sorrow, caused my chest to heave. He was always so strong, so secure; but I knew this would break him.
I couldn't even think of what it would do to my mother. She was already struggling, already reliving the strain of five years ago thanks to Adam's behavior since my birthday. I couldn't imagine what the truth would do to her.
I couldn't seem to focus on my father, on his stories and his rambling. Any time I would listen, it would last only a moment, before thoughts of Harry upstairs at this moment filled my mind. I had yet to hear yelling, so that was a good sign. I didn't hear breaking glass or falling furniture. Again, good signs. Part of me wondered if Harry was still standing outside Adams door, trying to find the strength to go inside.
I knew I had been feeling the same way the week before when I decided to come and confront him. And my situation was completely different from his. I hadnt known his secrets. He was my brother, and in no way had I ever considered that his truth would be as horrible as it was. For Harry, it was literally facing the person who took everything from you. The person who caused your parents death, and left you to die. I couldn't imagine what he was feeling, or even fathom what he was going to do.
He hadnt even known what to say on the way here. When I asked him, the only short lived conversation exchanged between us on the drive from New York to Jersey, he simply said. 'I don't know'. I knew he was probably already had snip its in his mind, little comments or feelings he wanted to get out. But an actual speech or monologue of any kind was unlikely. Harry was impulsive, passionate and unpredictable. I had no doubt that would probably guide his confrontation style as well.
I couldn't help but wonder how Adam was going to feel to find Harry standing in front of him again. Surely, he had to know that I would tell him. That he would now know what it was he had been hiding for so long, and the strange, fucked up twist that had bound them together. How would you feel, facing the product of your mistakes? Facing the person affected by a night you had been trying to forget for years? I couldn't imagine.
It was unthinkable, for both of them.
"Do you want one?" I heard my father ask, again bringing my attention from the situation upstairs back in to the kitchen.
I found him pointing to the sandwich on the counter, a lopsided mixture of I wasn't even sure what. My father was rather eclectic in his food choices, being known in the past to take a little bit of everything to make a meal. Looking over yet another product of his creativity, I tried to keep my face impassive.
"No, thanks," I smiled.
"Suit yourself."
Grinning at my father, a noise behind me gained my attention. I turned, my body chilling at the sight of Harry.
He looked......peaceful.
It was certainly not the version of him I expected to be faced with. He couldn't have been upstairs more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I expected it to take longer, whatever it was that was exchanged. I expected to have him come back to me red faced, angry, swearing. To grab my arm and drag me from the house. To tell me he couldn't do this, and that he was going to turn Adam in. That he tried to move on, but he just couldn't forgive.
I hadnt expected to find him so calm. He seemed resolved, as he gave me a weak smile, coming to stand just to my side.
"So did he answer the door for you?" My father asked, turning to lean on the counter. His sandwich was in his hand, before he held it out to Harry as an offering. Glancing to Harry, his expression was comical; one of confusion and slight disgust.
"No, thank you," he responded.
"Suit yourself," my father shrugged, again repeating his question. "So did he answer the door?"
"He did," Harry nodded, his voice even. "We had a chat."
The surprise on my fathers face was humorous...or would have been if I wasn't so anxious.
A long silence passed, and I could tell my father was in a stunned silence. His sandwich was only half way to his mouth, his eyes locked on Harry. Finally, after a long, awkward moment, he spoke.
"Well....thats good....?"
Harry merely nodded, not willing to comment further, before looking down to me. His expression was clear that he was ready to leave.
"Ready?" I asked, keeping my voice as even and calm as possible. He merely nodded, before looking up to my father.
"You two leaving already?" he asked, obviously surprised.
"Yes, sorry sir, but my mate needs his car back earlier than we thought," Harry lied quickly. He did it so easily, so readily, it caused me to grin.
My father set his sandwich on the counter, following us out of the kitchen and back to the front door. Shaking Harrys hand, giving me a hug, he made us promise to come back again soon when my mother would be home.
Finally escaping my parents home, I followed Harry in a tense, uncomfortable silence out to the car. We said nothing as he slid behind the wheel, me taking my place next to him in the passenger seat. Nothing was said as he pulled out of the driveway, turning down the street. Still not a word as we turned the corner, disappearing towards the exit of my neighborhood.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"So what happened?" I asked, glancing over to him. I tried to keep my voice impassive, as if I hadnt just spent the entire time in my parents kitchen fretting about their exchange.
"We just found an understanding," he said, his eyes ahead.
My brow furrowed, my expression one of confusion.
"What does that mean?"
"It means, Im not going to turn him in. He's going to try and move on, and so am I."
He stopped, leaving the conversation at that. It did nothing to alleviate the tension I felt, the morbid intense curiosity that overtook me. I knew he could feel my eyes on him, silently begging him to tell me more. He glanced at me, before smirking.
"What?" he said with teasing innocence.
"I guess I just expected you to say more about this," I admitted. "I mean, I thought you would want to talk about it."
Sighing, Harry bit the inside of his lip. "To be honest, I don't want to think about that anymore. I want to move on, and I cant do that if I keep dwelling on this. Your brother and I have an agreement. It is between us, and it is the only way I know that I can move forward. We found a common ground."
"So? You forgave him?"
"No," he responded. "I didn't forgive him. I may never forgive him. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life condemning him either. The only thing I know is that I want you, and the only way to keep you is to find a peace with him. I think we've done that. And so Im letting the rest be."
I watched him in complete shock. How calm he was, how in control and resolved, after what was undoubtedly the most difficult face off he had ever experienced. He was so different from when I first met him. The angry, mercurial, temper prone man who would pitch a fit if you looked at him sideways. The tantrums whenever I would ask anything of his past. He protected it so fiercely, to have him now be willing to let it go, after finding some answers, was shocking. But what was more, was the calm that he had when doing it. No temper, no anger, no fighting. He had made a choice, and seemingly, was ready to live by it.
"So...that's it?" I asked, feeling uncertain.
"That's it," he confirmed, reaching over and taking my hand. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to think about it. I spent five years living as the person who did nothing but think about what happened to me. I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to be happy, and with you. Im ready to be happy."
I smiled at him, my curiosity dulling. Squeezing his hand, I leaned across the console, resting my head on his shoulder.
It was done. A few days ago, I thought I had lost everything. I thought, in my stubborn pursuit of honesty, I had torn my family apart, and lost the most important person in my life. But, it would seem, that it only brought finality to so many open wounds. It was going to let us all move on.
It was funny how secrets, sometimes, gave you closure.