Authors: Nona Raines
One Good Man (14 page)
129
One Good Man
by Nona Raines
Even before her mother's death, Andie visited her parents'
house every Sunday afternoon for dinner. Now that her mom was gone and her father needed her, the tradition was even more important. Now, almost a week after picking up her dad at the airport, she stood at his front door and rang the bell.
When he didn't answer, she set her grocery bags on the stoop and dug her house key out of her purse.
It had been a long, dreary week. Somehow she'd managed to get through dinner at the Pizza Palace, never letting Matthew and the others know she'd overheard them. She'd been an actress in a play—speaking on cue, laughing at the right moment, pretending she was having a good time.
She'd spent the remainder of the week trying not to think about Matthew, and unable to think about much else. He'd called and left messages early in the week, messages Andie had diligently avoided answering. She didn't want to talk to him. She had nothing to say.
Matthew must have taken the hint, because Andie hadn't heard from him in the past couple of days. Maybe he decided she was a cold bitch who'd been using him for sex. Well, good. Better he see her that way than as a pathetic soul in need of sexual healing.
Things with her dad had been weird, too. He didn't have much to say on the drive home from the airport, aside from telling her he'd had a nice time. No stories about catching up with his old buddies or the things they'd done on their 130
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vacation. He'd been grumpy and distracted, but Andie chalked it up to jet lag and end of vacation let down.
"Hello!" she called as she unlocked the door and let herself in. She was greeted immediately by Daisy, who nosed her and whimpered unhappily. "Hey, Daisy, what's going on?"
Andie trailed the dog into the kitchen, through a living room littered with discarded newspapers and dirty dishes. A sickening sense of foreboding flooded her as she took in the mess. It wasn't like her father to be so untidy, unless he was...
"Uh-oh." As soon as she was in the kitchen, Andie spotted a yellow puddle on the vinyl floor. "What's the matter, Daddy didn't let you out?" It wasn't like her father to neglect the dog.
Andie got scared. "Dad!"
There was no answer. The place looked like hell. Unwashed dishes filled the sink and open boxes, cups, and utensils crowded the counter tops. Andie dumped her purse and bags on the table still littered with the remains of breakfast and grabbed a handful of paper towels. She threw them down to soak up the mess on the floor before she went searching for her father, her throat clogged with fear.
Her heartbeat quickened when she heard a sports announcer's voice sounding from the TV in the den. Andie headed straight toward the sound.
"Hello? Dad?" She poked her head into the room and her stomach dropped. Her father was slumped in his easy chair, his mouth wide open, snoring to beat the band. On the TV
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tray next to him were three empty beer cans and a bottle of whiskey. A baseball game blared unwatched on the television.
She grabbed the bottle—at least it wasn't empty—and carried it back to the kitchen, giving herself a few moments to work off her mad. Hesitating at the sink, Andie poured the rest of the whiskey down the drain and set the bottle down on the counter with a thump. "Damn it, Dad."
Andie's lips tightened in anger and frustration. Deja vu all over again. The last time this had happened, shortly after her mom died, her dad promised it truly
was
the last time.
Blinking back tears of disappointment, she wiped up the puddle on the floor and deposited the urine-soaked paper towels in the garbage.
"Yuck." She wanted to wash her hands, but there was no room to do that at the kitchen sink, so Andie headed to the bathroom instead. She washed her hands but the towel racks were empty, and the sole towel in the bathroom lay crumpled in a damp lump on the floor. She sighed and went to the linen closet, grabbing what proved to be the last clean towel.
She needed to do laundry as well as wash that sink full of dishes. The whole place needed a good vacuuming, too. What the hell was going on? Her father had been home for six days and he'd turned the place into a shambles.
Andie felt a stab of guilt. She should have checked on him.
He'd been so quiet and subdued since coming home from his trip. She should have realized there was a problem.
But she'd had more
important
things to think about. Andie shook her head in self-disgust. She'd been too worried about 132
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being Matthew's "pity project." Her hurt and humiliation over Matthew put her concern for her father in the shade.
A tapping sound from the kitchen took her out of the hall.
Matthew was standing on the other side of the glass door with a white bakery box in his hands. Wonderful. Just when she thought her spirits could not plummet any lower. Well, fine then. Andie went to the door and slid it open.
"Hey, I saw your car." Matthew's smile disappeared as he looked past her and took in the grubbiness of the kitchen.
He handed her the box. "I brought these from Ruffalo's.
For you and your father to have for dessert."
Ruffalo's Bakery was well known in town for its excellent Italian pastries. Andie took the box from him, too surprised to say anything. How did he know she would be here making dinner? Her confusion must have shown on her face.
"You mentioned the two of you get together every Sunday."
She had? Andie frowned. She had confided too many personal things to Matthew during their weekend together.
"Thank you," she murmured. Why was he here? Why was he being so thoughtful when she'd given him the perfect excuse to ignore her? Why did he have to be so damned considerate? She stepped back to allow him into the kitchen.
"Come in."
Clearing aside some clutter on the counter to set the box down, she turned to face Matthew. His gaze had fallen on the empty whiskey bottle she'd left on the counter.
"It's not mine," she heard herself say.
Matthew's hazel eyes met hers. "Your father?"
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"He didn't drink it all. I poured the rest of it down the sink."
She went on. "If you think this is bad, you should have been here a few minutes ago. You'd have caught me cleaning up Daisy's mess."
His face turned stiff and unemotional. "Where's your dad?"
She lifted a shoulder. "In the other room, snoring away."
"Maybe you should check on him again."
Andie stalked out of the room without a word. She was glad to be out of his sight. Though she'd avoided him for nearly a week, seeing him now, she realized she was as angry at him as she'd been Monday night. Every bit as hurt and humiliated. She was such an idiot. Oh, she'd known it was no love affair they were having, but she'd convinced herself she turned him on, made him hot for her. What a laugh. He was only—how had his brother put it?—the patron saint of all the fat girls who can't get laid.
Matthew's shoulders slumped. What a loser he was. After Andie had refused to return his calls, he should have had a clue. She wasn't interested in anything lasting longer than a hot weekend of incredible sex. He'd been hurt, pissed, and disappointed. Disappointed not just in Andie, but in the way he'd misjudged her. He thought they'd made a real connection during the time they'd spent together—more than a sexual connection.
Anyone with a drop of pride and half a brain would have cut his losses and stayed away.
But not him. Nope, he stays home Sunday, knowing she'll be visiting her father, peers out the window watching for her 134
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car like some damn stalker and traipses over with a box of pastries purchased that morning specifically for her. Hoping she'll crack enough to invite him in, maybe offer him a lousy cup of coffee. Give them a chance to talk.
Pathetic, Vostek. Just pathetic.
Well, now he was in and as he gazed at the disorder he fought with everything he had not to bolt out the door. A sense of helplessness rose inside him. The feeling was sickeningly familiar, though he hadn't experienced it in many years. Daisy padded over to him, nosing him, and whimpering. He spotted her leash hanging from a peg near the door. He might as well make himself useful.
"Come on, girl," he said to the dog. "You want to go out?"
Andie's father was awake, if rumpled and bleary-eyed, when his daughter returned to the den. "Hey, honey," he smiled. "When did you get here?"
"Hey, Dad." Andie did not return the smile. Her mother's death six months ago had hit her father hard. But it frightened Andie to think he was so immersed in his grief he'd let himself go to hell. Her mother would have been furious.
She frowned at her dad's appearance. Ordinarily her tall, slender father was a handsome man, well-groomed and distinguished-looking. His thick gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses added to his professorial look. But now his hair was mussed and the glasses awry on his face. His face was unshaven and he smelled of stale beer. He looked nothing like the confident teacher who appeared before his students every day in a dress shirt and tie. He looked like a seedy old bum.
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Andie hated thinking of her dad that way, but she was in no mood to give him a break. She planted herself on the other easy chair with its lumpy seat cushion and worn armrests. "Daisy peed in the kitchen."
"She did? She's so old, you know, honey. She can't hold it like she used to. I'll clean it up."
"I already did," Andie said shortly. "If she can't hold it like she used to, then you need to let her out more often. It's inhumane, you know, to make her wait until her bladder bursts."
Her father's face grew red. "You know I wouldn't hurt Daisy."
That was another reason Andie was worried. Her father was usually so attentive to the dog. Daisy had been a gift to him from Andie's mother when Andie left for college. Daisy had been a youngster then, and Andie's mom Loretta joked the energetic retriever kept them from getting the empty-nest blues. Since Daisy was a living connection to Loretta, Andie's dad often took better care of the dog than he did of himself.
But the alcohol took its toll in more ways than one. Andie's frustration rose along with her fear. She ground her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. "How much did you have to drink tonight?"
"A few beers, honey. That's all."
"And how much whiskey?"
His eyes flashed guiltily to the TV tray where he'd left the bottle.
"It's in the kitchen," she told him. Her dad looked so miserable Andie nearly wavered, almost letting pity distract 136
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her from what she needed to say. "You're not taking care of yourself. The place looks like shit." She hoped her profanity might startle him out of his stupor, if only momentarily.
Her father's lips grew thin. "Don't curse, Andrea. You know I don't like that." He stared straight ahead at the television without registering the play-by-play, refusing to otherwise acknowledge his daughter's observation.
Andie was reminded of something her mother used to say, when she was frustrated with her husband:
That's the trouble
with your father
.
Damn that man, you can't even get a good
fight going with him. He clams right up.
Was that why he drank? Because he couldn't let his feelings out? "Well, it's the exact term mom would use if she saw this. And she'd be yelling at you to get off your
culo
and straighten up around here."
"Don't talk about your mother that way."
Now that Loretta was gone, Andie's dad spoke of her as though she'd been a saint. He'd forgotten his wife had a hair-trigger temper and cussed like a Marine when she got going.
Andie stared at him, wondering if he was going to ignore her indefinitely. He looked so unhappy, she couldn't bring herself to lecture him any further. She swallowed a painful clog in her throat. "What's going on, Dad? You were so excited about your trip but when you came back, everything changed. Did something go wrong?"
His glance slid toward her, then away, fastening again on the TV screen. "Nothing. I told you it was fine." His tone said
subject closed
.
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Andie was not about to let it drop. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "How can it be fine if you're still drinking?
You swore you'd stop."
A sound came from the doorway. Matthew stood there, clearing his throat to announce his presence. "Hey." His voice was quiet. "I made some coffee."
"Thanks. You found everything all right?" Andie rose, ill at ease. She should be grateful for his kindness, but she couldn't forget his brother's evaluation of their relationship. So spot-on it still stung.
Matt stared at her father. Though his expression was unreadable, Andie felt the heavy weight of judgment in his silence. As ticked off as she was with her dad, she felt the urge to protect him from the disapproval in Matthew's eyes.
She turned to her father. "Dad, Matthew's here. Aren't you going to say hello?" She hated the way she was speaking, as though to a child. But then, her father was acting childishly, scratching his ear, and looking away in embarrassment, as if Matt wasn't even there.
But Matthew wasn't behaving much better. His hands were jammed in his pockets. "Hello, Mr. B."
Andie's father lumbered from his chair, rubbing his palms nervously on his pants legs. "Hello." He looked at Matthew as if unsure what to do, then glanced at his daughter as though expecting her to give him a hint.
Matthew inclined his head toward the set. "Watching the game, huh?"
"Uh, yeah."
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