“Crap!” I say again, feeling my level of frustration escalate. This night has not turned out at all the way I’d hoped.
“What’s the problem?” Jet asks.
I feel embarrassment well up inside me. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not my problem; it’s my father’s. But still . . . it’s kind of humiliating.
“It’s, uh, it’s my dad. I need to go pick him up.”
“Well, why don’t you let Tia take your car? I can take you to get your father and then we can pick it up later.”
I’m torn between that awww feeling that comes from an unexpectedly kind offer and stuttering over an excuse to get out of it.
“Well, he, um, there’s not really . . . I mean, I . . .”
“Stop trying to make excuses. Tia,” he says, handing her his keys, “you can take my car to your house. I’ll pick it up later. I’ll go with Violet.”
I want to ask why he doesn’t just offer to give Tia a ride home, but I already know the answer. And by the smile she’s wearing, so does Tia.
She snatches the keys from Jet’s fingers, glancing down at the key ring. “BMW? Nice,” she appreciates with a grin.
“Please don’t make me regret trusting you,” Jet adds as Tia bolts past him.
“I won’t. You two have fun.” And with that, she’s gone in a blur.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” I say.
His smile is sincere. “I know. But I don’t mind helping you. It’s the least I can do.”
Something about his face tells me he’s being truthful.
I sigh. “Well, then I should probably tell you that my father’s at a bar. Drunk.”
Jet dismisses my concerns with a wave of his hand. “Do you remember what my band is like? Do you know how many of these calls I’ve gotten? And how many of them have been placed on my behalf?” He laughs, taking me by the hand and leading me to the door. “There might not be a person alive who’s better equipped to help him than me.”
I smile, feeling better about the evening already.
TWENTY-FOUR: Jet
When we reach our destination, we’re at an old-people hangout called the Teak Tavern. I’ve been in it once or twice years ago. To me, it’s always seemed like a place where dreams and men go to die. It’s a shame this is where Violet’s dad comes. It tells me all I need to know about the situation.
I open the door for Violet and let her precede me. I see the bartender glance up and smile. And not just any smile. It’s a look I recognize. One that pisses me off a little.
I lean forward just enough to speak into Violet’s ear. “He looks like he wants to take you to the beer cooler and show you his longneck bottle collection.”
Violet glances at me over her shoulder and giggles. “Stop!”
“Just sayin’,” I tell her as we start across the room toward a guy laid out in a corner booth. As we get closer, I recognize him as the man I met at my father’s house. Violet’s dad.
She bends to gently tap his leg. “Dad, you ready to go home?”
He rolls his head to one side and murmurs something. Even though I don’t know him, I can tell that his tone is sharp. It seems like he might be a mean drunk.
“Come on, Dad,” Violet urges quietly, her voice calm and even. “Let’s get you home. You have work tomorrow.”
“I don’t give a damn,” he moans hatefully. “Why should I work and keep a house waiting for her if she’s never coming home?”
Violet glances at me and quickly away, like she’s embarrassed. “You keep your house for you, Dad, not for her.”
“No, it’s all for her. She’s all I ever wanted. And she’s gone. How am I supposed to live without her?”
“You’ve been doing just fine without her, Dad.”
Violet’s father struggles to sit up, his face contorted in an angry scowl. “How would you know? You’re too cold to fall in love. You have no idea what this feels like.”
His expression crumbles into one where his chin is trembling and he’s fighting tears.
“I love you, Dad. Isn’t that enough?”
“You must not love me that much. You left me just like she did.”
Violet sighs. “I didn’t leave you. I moved a couple of miles away.”
“You abandoned me, just like she did. If you ever cared one bit about me, you wouldn’t have left. You knew how lonely I’d be. But you left anyway.”
“I’ll come by more often, Dad. And I’ll stay tonight so I can make you breakfast in the morning. I’ll make all your favorites.”
Like an overgrown kid, Violet’s dad looks up at her with hopeful, watery eyes. “You promise?” he slurs.
“I promise.”
“And you’ll come this weekend for supper?”
“I’ll come for supper, too.”
Her father scoots to the end of the booth and reaches for her hand, now all sappy and sweet. “You know I love you, right, Vi?”
Violet’s voice is as soft as her expression. “Of course I do, Dad.”
He holds her hand to his cheek and then comes to a shaky stand. When he’s wobbling unsteadily in front of her, he looks at me, as though he just now noticed that Violet isn’t alone.
“Where do I know you from?”
“You do some work at my father’s place.”
His eyes are blank for several seconds before it clicks. I see the change instantly. “Oh, right. Beautiful place you’ve got there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m thinking of planting some azaleas along that fence toward the back of the property.”
“That’ll look great, sir.”
He reaches up to clap me on the back, and I ease him toward the door as he chatters. “Needs some color back there. And they’ll be green all winter. Perfect for detracting from that house behind you.”
I nod and agree with everything he says, steadily getting closer to the door. He stumbles once and grabs onto me. He’s a hefty guy, but I still catch him easily. The thing is, I bet he’s hard as hell for Violet to handle. I glance back at her. She’s walking behind us, just watching and listening, her expression clouded and unreadable.
I realize two things as I make my way to Violet’s car, towing her dad along. Number one, I see why she parked near the front door. And number two, she’s a saint. And if she’s not, she’s got the patience of a saint.