The Night I Got Lucky (23 page)

I flipped through the Tel uride book some more, deciding that I would do what I often did at home when I was confused—I would find a museum.

A half hour later, I entered the Tel uride Historical Society, housed in a large, red brick building with white gabled roofs. Immediately, I lost myself in the history of the place, learning it had once been a hospital and that it had been destroyed a few times before being restored. I turned to the photographs, which showed the hardworking inhabitants of what had once been a thriving mining town and, before that, a summer camp for Indians. I read about how the railroad came into town, and how the wealth of Tel uride had attracted Butch Cassidy and his gang.

I stopped at the materials about Butch Cassidy, thinking that Chris should be here. He’d always been fascinated by Cassidy’s “Wild Bunch.” But more importantly, I wished he could meet my father. I had made the trip to Tel uride for me, but I wished my husband was at my side.

I left the museum and walked until I found a park. Sinking onto a shady patch of grass, I dialed Chris’s work number.

His secretary answered and said he was out to lunch. My heart dipped. “Do you know when he’l be back?”

“Mmm, not sure. Maybe…Oh there he is! One sec, Bil y.” I was put on hold. It took Chris, by my watch, three minutes and five seconds to pick up the phone, and by that time I’d gone from missing him to being pissed off at him.

“Hi, Bil y,” he said, his tone lifeless.

“Took you quite a while to get to the phone, hmm?”

“Yeah, I’m working here.”

“Yes, work is always important to you,” I said. We were both quiet. “But you’ve got other work to do. We both do. Our marriage is fal ing apart, Chris.”

There was a thud on his end. He’d pushed his office door closed. “Thanks to you,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Wel , you’re the one who decided to mess around with Evan.”

“We did
not
mess around.”

“It depends on your definition, I suppose. Cal it whatever you want, but this thing was your doing.”

“And for the two years before that when we barely spoke or fooled around? Whose doing was that?”

Chris said nothing.

“It was both of us, Chris. And that’s why we both need to work on this now.”

“If we want the marriage to work, you mean.”

I felt chil y with fear, and I stood up and began to pace on the green lawn. “Don’t you?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I don’t know, Bil y. I hate this. I’m in agony here. But I just don’t know.”

I began to tremble inside at his words. I could feel the sands of our marriage slipping through our fingers.

“I should go,” Chris said.

“No! Don’t.”

“I can’t talk about this now.”

“Okay, wel …let’s talk about something else.”

“What else is there?”

I glanced up and took in the main street of Tel uride with its brick storefronts and sunny sidewalks. “I’ve got a topic,” I said. “I’m in Tel uride, Colorado.”

“What? What are you doing there?”

“I met my dad.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Holy shit, Bil y. How’d that happen?”

I sat back down, this time in a pool of sun that had splayed itself across the green grass, and I started talking to my husband.

K
enny, Lil ian’s son, was at the bar when I walked in that night, his blond dreadlocks pul ed back from his face.

He smiled when he saw me. “Buy you a beer?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He caught the bartender’s eye and gestured. “I hear we’re related,” he said.

“Almost. We’re stepbrothers. Or sisters.” I shook my head. “Something like that.”

He handed me a beer. “Stepsiblings, I think would be the proper term. And I hear there are two more of you.”

“Yes. Two sisters.” I felt like mentioning that neither Dustin nor Hadley were like me at al , but I held back.

Earlier in the day, after Chris had listened so intently about my trip to Colorado, I’d made the mistake of cal ing Dustin in San Francisco. We were in nearly the same time zone for once, and I wanted to talk to someone else about meeting my father—
our
father.

Dustin hadn’t answered at her office, but she cal ed me back ten minutes later. “How’s Chicago?” she asked.

“Actual y, I’m in Colorado.”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Where in Colorado?”

“Tel uride.”

Now the silence was longer. “Are you seeing Dad?”

I felt a zing of shock. “Did you know Dad lived here?”

“Yeah. I had someone locate him.”

“When?”

“A few years ago,” she said simply.

“Why didn’t you tel me?”

“I didn’t tel anyone.”

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I wanted to find out where he was and what he was doing. And I learned that he’s married and has a son. He left us and got a whole new family.”

I sat up on the lawn outside the Tel uride museum. “That’s not exactly right. He didn’t meet Lil ian, his wife, until eight years ago, and Kenny is Lil ian’s son.”

She gave a short laugh. “So you’re chummy with the whole clan, huh?”

“I met them,” I said defensively. “Did you?”

“God, no. I found out what I needed—that he’s stil a bastard who doesn’t deserve us.”

No amount of explanation could convince Dustin that I should give our father any more of my time. After our phone cal , I had lain back on the grassy lawn and debated what to do—see my father or not. But I couldn’t leave for O’Hare until the next day, and it seemed ridiculous to be in the same tiny town and not meet him. I’d final y, grudgingly, gotten up from the lawn and gone to take a shower.

Now, at the bar, I told Kenny generalities about Dustin and Hadley, leaving out the part that they’d probably want to torch this place if they knew our father was about to walk in.

“What about you?” I asked Kenny. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope, just you.”

We smiled at each other.

“I’m pretty happy you showed up,” Kenny said. “I always thought I could use a sister.”

“Oh.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, feeling embarrassed but pleased. “I suppose…Um, I suppose I could use a brother, too.”

Lil ian came in the bar then, trailed by my father. I watched him, trying to see him the way Dustin and Hadley might. They would look for signs that he was ready to run again. They would search for indications of his cold nature. But al I saw was his face breaking into a grin when he spotted Kenny and me. He took his wife’s arm gently and pointed us out, then walked behind her like a gentleman, guiding her with a hand on her back.

“Hel o, Bil y,” Lil ian said shyly when they’d reached us.

My father patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m so glad you came.”

I was, too.

The bar was fil ed with dark wood and mirrors browned with age. The ceiling was tin, stamped with tiny diamond shapes. We sat on a few huddled bar stools and watched a man with long hair and a scruffy beard play an engaging set of music—Al man Brothers, Grateful Dead, Clapton, some blues. Soon Kenny drifted away to friends he saw near the door and Lil ian got up to speak with a woman next to us. My father and I stayed put, one stool separating us. He had rol ed up the cuffs of his navy blue shirt, and he looked very much in his element in this smal -town bar. Although I was the out-of-towner, I noticed something similar about my father and me. We both swayed minutely to the music; we both closed our eyes once in a while when we heard a lyric or a note that touched us.

The singer broke into a new song—“I Looked Away” by Derek & the Dominoes.

My father leaned toward me. “I liked Clapton better when he was with these guys.” He gestured to the singer.

“No way,” I said. “He’s written much better stuff since then.”

“I absolutely disagree,” my dad said, but he said it with a smal , pleased smile as if he was proud of me for being able to have this conversation, as if he was proud of himself for being with me right then.

“Let me ask you this,” he said. “Old Santana or new?”

“Old,” I answered without hesitation.

“That’s right.” He nodded. “And what do you think about Jagger these days?”

“What about him?”

“Is he past his prime?”

“Oh, no. He’s just as good.”

A grin of paternal delight spread across my father’s features. For a moment, it fil ed me with happiness. I’d made my father proud! But then I crashed back to reality. He had no reason to be proud of me. He’d had nothing to do with me or who I’d become.

I set my beer down on the bar. “Look, Brandon,” I said, making sure to use his first name. “Let’s make sure we both understand something. This…” I gestured back and forth between him and me. “This is not going to be some Hal mark card, father-daughter relationship. You made sure of that a long, long time ago.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lil ian turn her head. My father looked at me for a while, then averted his gaze. “I understand,” he said.

I felt horrible. Logical y, I wanted to hurt him, some way, somehow, for what he’d done al those years ago, or what he’d failed to do. But now, I just felt cruel.

I stood up. “Excuse me. I have to use the restroom.”

The bathroom had two stal s, plus a sink and a wooden chair in the corner. I took a seat and looked at the rose-colored fabric that papered the wal s and the tiny black tiles on the floor. I sat, listening to a few strains of music seep inside. The bathroom seemed the loneliest place on the planet.

A few long and quiet moments later, the door creaked open. Lil ian stuck her head in, her long mess of golden hair practical y preceding her. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I said in an even tone.

She walked inside and leaned against the sink. She had a beer in her hand, but she’d barely drunk any of it. “Brandon feels awful.”

“For taking off when I was seven, or for acting now like he didn’t?”

She blinked. A pained expression moved fleetingly over her face.

“I’m sorry to be harsh,” I said, “but—”

“No, that’s al right. He did a very terrible thing back then. And he lived a life of guilt and disgrace for many years.”

“Until he met you,” I said. “You saved him. That’s what he says.”

“Men.” Lil ian shrugged and laughed lightly. But the laugh faded. “Finding Brandon was the best part of my life, too. I always flitted from one thing to the next. I was a waitress, a dental hygienist, an actress, a teacher and a massage therapist. But Brandon forced me to find what I real y wanted to do, which was to work with books. He was the one who got us here and found the space for the store. He made me realize that people can start over.”

Starting over. It was exactly what I’d been trying to do—start over with my father. Soon, I had to go home soon and start over with my mom and Evan and my job. And especial y with Chris.

“Bil y,” Lil ian said, “he might deserve your anger, maybe even hatred, but if you’re here to punish him, I’m going to ask you to leave.”

I felt a grudging admiration. “You must real y love him.”

She put her beer down on the counter. “I love that man more than anything. And I think part of my job as a wife is to protect him. I’d love to see him get to know you girls, but not if it’s like this.” She waved a hand in my general direction. “I know you think he deserves it, but I think he’s served his time.”

We sat wordlessly for a few seconds. “I just want to move on,” I said at last.

“Wil it help you move on if you’re spiteful to him?”

I thought about it. “No. It wil make it worse.”

She stood from the sink and touched my arm briefly. “I’l see you out there.”

When I came out of the bathroom, Lil ian and my father were holding hands, listening to the music. I gave a tentative smile, which they both returned. The three of us spent the next twenty minutes quietly, the music pardoning us from constant conversation. When the singer took a break, Lil ian excused herself. She gave me a long look, as if giving me one more chance.

Without the strum of the guitar to fil the bar, the silence between my father and me was weighty. He cleared his throat. He ordered an iced tea and another beer for me.

“Would you like a glass?” he asked formal y.

“No, thank you,” I said.

Another painful quiet while the bartender opened my beer.

“I have to ask,” my father said. “How are Dustin and Hadley?”

I bit the inside of my mouth. I held myself back from saying
Why don’t you ask them yourself?
But I felt as if I’d given Lil ian a silent promise to be nice. “I thought you knew how my sisters were since…you know, since you had us fol owed or whatever.”

“That only tel s me the hard facts—where you live, who you live with. I want to know how you al
really
are. Are your sisters happy?”

Quite the question. Who could answer it except themselves? I told my father about Dustin’s husband and her job. I described the slanted street in San Fran where they lived, where Dustin herself had ripped out wal s and put in new drywal . I told him how Hadley wanted kids, but I left out how hard she’d been trying. I tried to offer him a few details of their lives without giving too much. That would be for them to do someday, if they chose.

He asked me about my job. I explained what I did, what I used to like about it and what I disliked about my new position, the position I’d dreamed of for so long.

“Sometimes you have to know when to double back,” my dad said.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no shame in going home. I wish I’d realized that a long time ago.”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my job or our family, or both. But his statement held a kernel of truth. And in that instant, I saw something else we had in common. We tended to run from our chal enges. My father had done so physical y, while I usual y made the jog mental y. But hopeful y we were both learning to fight that inclination.

We watched as the guitarist took his seat again. The moment of quiet was somehow comfortable now.

My father turned to me. “I hope you’l come back again. We’ve got a great jazz festival in August.”