The "What If" Guy (8 page)

Everyone’s eyes were on me, and the kids who’d been snickering whispered. “That’s the new kid’s grandpa. Freak.”

The heat in my cheeks intensified, and I looked back at Elliott, who hid behind Holly with a scowl on his face.

I wanted to cry for him. I remembered feeling the same way as a kid. But at the same time, I wanted to cry for my father, too. He was a dilapidated old man who’d pissed himself.

“Dad.” I leaned in toward my father. He swayed back and forth in place, his fingers clawing at the dry straw. “Let me help you get home, okay?”

Behind me, people spoke in hushed conversations—all of them about me.

“That’s his daughter.”

“That’s Autumn Cole. She’s back, you know.”

“Poor dear, how embarrassing.”

I wanted them all to go away, to go celebrate Halloween and pretend that my father wasn’t tanked and putting on a sideshow in the middle of town. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone familiar watching me as he approached the scene, sympathy written all over his whiskered face.

Henry.

This is about to get incredibly uncomfortable
.

“Come on, let’s go.” I pulled on Dad’s arm, grunting. My father didn’t weigh much, but he was so close to passing out that he was practically deadweight. Elliott came to my dad’s other side and tried to help him down, his wizard hat jostling as he tugged. My heart tightened.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He looked over his shoulder at the sniggering boys. “They’re gonna make fun of me, anyway. I may as well give them material.”

“Get the hell off me,” my dad crowed, his breath putrid. He jerked free, then fished his keys from his pockets. “I brought my car… I’ll drive myself home.”

“I don’t think so.” I grabbed the keys.

“Grandpa, just go home,” Elliott begged. “Please.”

“Just like old times, eh, Auto?” an unfamiliar voice called out from the crowd, making the others laugh.

Go to hell
.

I gave my father’s emaciated arm one last yank. My father reeled backwards, then sideways, and slammed into my shoulder. Without time to brace myself, I skidded, hit a patch of hay on the pavement, then stumbled to the ground, landing with an
oof.

“Okay, that’s enough from you tonight, Billy,” a familiar voice said firmly, making my stomach twist. I looked up. Henry glared at the crowd. “Good grief, everyone, stop staring. Don’t you all have something else to do?”

The crowd reluctantly dispersed, casting dirty looks at my father. Henry steadied him, his hands underneath my dad’s arms. His healthy physique made my dad look even older and weaker.

“You all right?” Henry asked.

I nodded, and he turned to Elliott.

“How about you, son?”

Elliott nodded and helped me up.

“Go get some cocoa,” I said to Elliott.

“No,” He brushed hay off his robe. “I want to go home.”

I pointed at the bobbing-for-apples booth, my face still burning. “It’s Halloween. You need to have some fun.”

He shook his head and stormed away. “I’m going home.”

My heart ached. I hadn’t fully considered how Elliott would be affected by the shame of being my drunk father’s grandson.

Henry led my father in the direction Elliott was heading, away from the crowd, toward our house on the hill.

I followed. Holly intercepted me. “Will you be okay, Autumn?” she asked. She’d apparently kept her kids from joining the staring crowd by lining them up for a turn at the apple-bobbing booth.

“Of course,” I said.

Holly nodded tightly. Then, noticing a woman gawking at me, she added, “Good lord, Patsy. This isn’t a circus sideshow. Stop staring.”

“Coulda fooled me.” The woman flared her nostrils and walked away.

“Bitch.” Holly shook her head. “You’d better go. Henry’s practically carrying your dad home.”

“Right,” I said, my voice shaking.

I hurried to catch up, and it occurred to me that Henry had spoken politely to me. Joy fluttered in my stomach like a moth, but quickly flitted away. Of course, he’d been polite—after I’d been knocked to the ground by my drunk father, who’d pissed his pants. But still, Henry had been polite. It was hard to enjoy the moment with seventy-five percent of the townspeople staring at me.

Soon, I caught up with them. My father softly sang a country song while Henry half-guided, half-dragged him up the street. I could smell my father from a foot behind, a stomach-turning mixture of alcohol, urine, and cigarette smoke.

I matched Henry’s pace, and took my father’s other arm. Elliott stomped ahead of us, sullen. I glanced nervously at Henry several times before I spoke. “Thank you.”

He looked torn between wanting to respond nicely and wanting to tell me to shove it. “Don’t mention it.”

We walked a few paces while my father snored softly, dozing while we suspended his weight, his feet shuffling robotically.

“He doesn’t usually do this,” I said, my words tinged with shame.

Henry gave me a disbelieving glance.

“I mean, he doesn’t make a spectacle like this very often.”

“He passed out on the curb outside my house a few weeks before you came to town,” Henry said. “I would say he does this often enough.”

I tightened my free hand into a fist. “You’ve been in town what, a few months? How would you know how often it happens?”

He shot me a sideways look. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yes, you did.” I clenched my jaw and readjusted my grip on my dad.

He sighed. “Okay. I did. I’m sorry.”

“You’re apologizing?” I scoffed. “That’s a miracle.”

His lips pulled into an angry line.

“Okay, now it’s my turn to apologize,” I admitted, and gestured at my comatose father. “It’s just that…I’ve been doing this my entire life.”

Henry nodded.

We approached my dad’s house. Ahead of us, Elliott slammed the screen door. “This is really hard on Elliott,” I said. “The move, and now living with my dad. It’s upsetting him.”

“I can imagine,” Henry said.

My heart twisted. “I don’t know what to do, though. We have to live here. We don’t have another choice.”

“Is that why you came here? Because you had no other choice?” Henry adjusted his shoulder, and my father snorted loudly.

“I lost my job. And I couldn’t sleep on my friend’s couch anymore. Plus, my dad needed help.”

He looked at my drooling father. “I don’t know if it’s the kind of help you can give him.”

“There’s nowhere else for us to go right now.” I sighed. “So, we’re stuck here for a while.”

Henry’s eyes searched mine as we leaned forward, talking around my father’s mostly inert form. “You’re here temporarily? This isn’t permanent?”

I swallowed hard, and looked away. “Nothing’s permanent.”

We dragged my father under the sagging arbor and into the house. I was immediately ashamed. The same orange and brown plaid couch I’d grown up with sat against the wall, and my father’s beat-up recliner loomed in the corner. There was scarcely a sign of my and Elliott’s presence, with the exception of El’s computer humming in the corner.

“You can just put him down here.” I gestured toward the couch.

Henry carefully sat him down, then gestured to the wet spot on my father’s jeans. “Should we help him…?”

I scrunched my face and shook my head. “No. It’s… I’ll put down some towels.” I covered my father with an afghan.

Elliott stood watching from the kitchen doorway.

“Elliott, do you want me to make you some hot chocolate? You didn’t get any downtown.”

“No.”

“You sure? I’ve got marshmallows.” I crossed the room with my arms open. “Come here, buddy.”

He stepped out of my reach. “No, thank you. See ya, Mr. T.”

“See you on Monday,” Henry replied somberly.

“El…”

He bypassed me and shut himself in his room.

I hung my head hung, tears threatening. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Henry’s tone had softened.

I glanced at him and swallowed the baseball-sized lump in my throat. “He’s only twelve. He doesn’t understand that I couldn’t afford to stay in Seattle. He only knows that he’s going to a school where he doesn’t fit in, and the kids make fun of him all the time, and—”

“Which kids?” Henry asked, frowning.

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m not sure. Every time I ask him, he gets worried that I’ll talk to their parents. He’s been shutting me out lately. We used to talk about everything, but not anymore.”

Henry shifted his stance, put his hands in his pockets, then took them out. “What about his dad? Has Elliott opened up to him about any of this?”

My gaze went to the floor. “There is no dad.”

“No dad?”

My eyes flashed. “There’s
never
been a dad.”

I sensed Henry’s thoughts reeling. “Generally, where there’s a child,” he said slowly, “There’s a father. Biologically speaking, of course.”

“He took off before El was even born.” I kept my voice low. “I’ve only heard from him once in twelve years, and that was when he called to ask if I stole his leather coat. Not having him around hasn’t been a big loss.” I raised an eyebrow.

Henry almost chuckled. Almost.

“Will he open up to his grandfather?”

I glanced at my father, hunched over, sleeping on the couch, his mouth hanging open. “Doubtful. Grandpa is part of the problem right now.”

Henry scratched his chin, his five-o’clock shadow making sandpapery noises against his fingertips. My toes curled.

His eyes shone with a hint of sympathy—a nice change from the perpetual irritation I’d grown accustomed to seeing. “Sounds like you had a rough time growing up here.”

“It wasn’t fun. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Why wasn’t it fun?”

I cut a glance at him.

He raised his hands defensively. “I grew up in a school with two thousand students, and this small school seems much more personal. I mean, at the beginning of the year, we had a hay ride. A
hay ride
. How endearing is that?”

“Endearing isn’t the word I would have used.”

“I don’t think that attitude is going to help Elliott.”

I wanted to punch him. “Why did you help me tonight, anyway? So you could critique my parenting skills?”

“I’m not here to criticize. I’m just trying to help.”

I raised my hands in surrender. “Then what should I do about the bullies?”

“You should encourage Elliott to join some of the after school programs. They’re focused on fine arts, instead of sports. Elliott would really enjoy them. And he’d meet kids with similar interests.” He took a step closer, kindness in his eyes. “I’ll look out for him at school. I’ll watch for bullies. If I see any bad behavior, I’ll put a stop to it, okay?”

“Really?”

Henry nodded, that familiar tug pulling one side of his mouth upward. “I’d be glad to. He’s a great kid.”

I took a deep breath. “I know.”

The air between us turned thick and heavy.

Henry squeezed my hand, his warm and strong. “You’re a good mother.”

A stir of emotion and a flicker of electricity passed between us. Even though my urine-soaked father snored on the couch nearby, there was a current. It buzzed in my insides and made us both take notice. Henry’s eyes liquefied for a split second, and his face morphed into the face I’d pictured in my mind for so many years. Holding my breath, I instinctively put my hand to my heart.

Get a hold of yourself
.

But I couldn’t. His gray eyes were my kryptonite. They had been thirteen years ago, and they were again.

Dammit.

I waited for something to happen. Waited for one of us to make a move. But neither of us did. The light clicked off in Elliott’s room, and my father belched.

Henry blinked, then dropped my hand. “I should get going.” He made his way to the door. “I’ll…I’ll watch out for Elliott at school. Don’t worry.”

“Right.” My voice cracked, and I blushed. “Thank you.”

Don’t let him go. Tell him that you’ve been thinking about him every day for over twelve years.
I impulsively moved towards the door, tripping on the edge of the rug.

Henry steadied me by the arm, and gazed at me with those incredible eyes.

“Auto,” my dad yelled. “Who the hell is in my damn living room?”

Chapter Six

“Listen, geek, I’m not done talking to you.”

I quickened my pace down the hall of the school, headed toward the group of punks surrounding my son.

“What? You gonna pee your pants like your grandpa?”

Charging ahead, I clenched my hands into tight fists.

“Autumn,” Henry called from down the hall, but I ignored him, seeing red.

“Gimme your glasses, loser.”

“Hey.” My voiced boomed. I stalked toward the little acne-faced creep that had snatched Elliott’s glasses from his face. “Leave him alone.”

Henry grabbed my arm before I could jerk the kid by his collar. “Stop.”

The little bully whipped around to face us.

“Give my son his glasses back, or so help me, I’ll—”

“Jared, don’t you have to go to football practice?” Henry asked.

“Sorry, Mr. T,” the kid mumbled, handing Elliott his glasses, then scuttling off with his toadies.

“You’ll be even sorrier after I discuss this incident with the principal,” Henry said, his tone both calm and threatening.

The boys glanced back, then darted off.

El wiped his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

I ran my hand through my hair, frustration boiling my blood. I was here for Elliott’s parent-teacher conferences. This wasn’t what I’d expected to be greeted with. Though I had to deal with his failing grades and missing homework somehow, strangling a preteen bully in the hallway was not the way to do it.

“Can I wait in the car?” Elliott’s voice trembled.

“Honey, why didn’t you stand up for yourself? You can’t let those idiots talk to you that way.”

Henry touched my arm, as if to calm me. My knees went weak, and I mentally patted myself of the back for wearing the light green, scoop-neck shirt. Henry had always loved me in light green. But now, I needed to focus. It wasn’t the time to try to impress Henry. I had come to help Elliott. Going all mother-bear in the hallway might have made things worse for him. I took a couple of deep breaths.