Before I Say Goodbye Page 13

  I shrugged. “They would have found out anyway.” Rikki had pointed it out last night—it was a small community. As children of the bishop, we were watched more closely than any other children in the ward or the stake, for that matter.

  She grabbed the broom. “I’ll help.”

  Now I knew how bad she really felt. I wanted to be angry at her, but worrying all night long about what Dad might do to me made it difficult to hold onto any emotions besides regret.

  “No, thanks.” I took the broom from her. “I want to do it.”

  Her face crumpled.

  “No, really,” I said. “It helps me think. I’m not exactly happy about what you did, but it’s nice you didn’t want me to die.”

  Allia sniffed. “Okay.” She watched me working for a few minutes before going back inside the house.

  As I worked, anger once again flared in my heart. Not just at Allia but at my dad. I bet he knew I’d worry all night long, I thought. I bet he thinks it’s wonderful punishment. What a loser. Well, I’ll show him. There was a lot I could do to embarrass him. I could stop going to church, flunk a class or two, even steal the keys and drive somewhere. I’d show him and Allia, too, the little skunk.

  With anger riding me, I finished sweeping the garage in record time. I used the snow shovel to scoop up the dirt and put it into the garbage can. I dragged the totes and the bicycles back to their spots. Usually, I’d move in the cars, too, but Mom had moved them out and hadn’t left the keys. I hunched my back and stared at them, my thoughts black and angry.

  A hand on my shoulder made me start. “Son.”

  Ah, time for the talk. I turned to my dad, wiping my face clean of expression, though maybe I should let my regret show through. Somehow I couldn’t—maybe my pride was getting in the way.

  “Let’s go inside to my office.”

  Not the office. That felt too much like church. “Can’t we talk out here?”

  He looked up and down the street. Several neighbors were out in their yards but not close enough to overhear. “How about in the backyard, then? I’m a little tired, and there’s a place to sit.”

  “Okay.” I followed him out to the back, not to the picnic table on the deck but over to the play set he’d put together two years ago—the play fort, as Lauren liked to call it. I’d been planning to help, but it hadn’t worked out that way. He sat on the end of the slide, so I took the grass several feet away.

  Silence. He glanced toward the top of the slide, as though seeing something he’d forgotten. A smile tugged on his lips. He was a million miles away. As usual.

  “Dad? Can we get this over with?”

  His attention snapped back to me. “Sorry. Just remembering something.”

  “A meeting you have to go to?” A guy could hope.

  “No. Something that happened a long time ago when I was about your age.”

  Who was he kidding? He was never my age.

  “Look, Travis. I’m not at all happy about what you did last night. Well, not so much what you did but that you deceived us. A lie by omission is still a lie. Breaking a rule is still breaking a rule, even if you aren’t caught.”

  I kept quiet. Sometimes that made him think I agreed.

  His gaze felt hot on my face, so I looked away. What did he see? He sighed. “I never expected to have to talk to you this way. I trusted you to do the right thing. I always have. I don’t even know what to say.”

  I almost laughed out loud. That was a first. My father the bishop, a paragon of virtue, fount of wisdom, speechless. He’d come up with something, I was sure. Wait for it.

  After a minute I grew uncomfortable. I knew it was a minute because I counted. A minute is a whole heck of a lot more time than people understand, and it seems like ten or more when you’re waiting to hear your fate for the next few weeks or possibly months. I thought about apologizing but knew it couldn’t be that easy. After all, he’d trusted me.

  Trusted me.

  I sneaked a peek at him, but he was staring at the ground looking . . . well, sad. Tears threatened behind my eyes, and suddenly I did feel sorry. Sorry I’d let him down, sorry I’d broken the law, sorry I couldn’t be as good as Allia.

  He took a breath. “It’s a lot of pressure being the oldest and the bishop’s son. I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry? Wow, if that was what happened when we waited to talk, I hoped he always waited. I wonder if, like me, he’d gone through a thousand scenarios in his head as he thought about what he would say to me. That made me feel powerful and scared all at once. Powerful because he was just like me, and scared because if my dad, the bishop, didn’t have all the answers, who in the world did?

  “I won’t do it again,” I said.

  He lifted his eyes to mine. “I hope not.”

  If he believed me, he would have said, “I trust you, son.” But I’d lost that trust.

  “This is really going to put a burden on your mom.” He held my eyes with his own. “With you not being able to drive, she’ll have to take you to school, and she’s got enough on her plate as it is with teaching Cory and taking and picking up the other kids.”

  Rats. That meant I was grounded from the car.

  Dad wasn’t finished. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re a good kid, Travis, and I’m so proud to be your dad. You’re intelligent, you work hard, you’re good to your siblings.” He cracked a smile that was still sad and made me feel about an inch high, though what he was saying was positive. I didn’t like seeing my father upset. “Well, most of the time. You have so much going for you. Unfortunately, that makes when you do screw up rather noticeable.”

  “I said I won’t do it again.” What do you want from me? But I knew. He wanted an apology I wasn’t ready to give. It seemed too much like letting him win—even if he was right.

  “You made a choice, and not driving is the consequence. We talked about this before you started driving. If I don’t follow through, then I’m no sort of a parent at all. Consequences, good or bad, are the natural result of all our choices. I would rather you learn on this than on something far more damaging to you or someone else.”

  Like sluffing school, drinking, or worse. I understood, but it still stank because I was a good kid. All my friends would often say, “I don’t know if that would be okay. Ask the bishop’s kid. If he says yes, we’ll do it.” Not exactly unpleasant because they did listen to me, even if it put me on the spot more often than not.

  “Is there anything you want to say?” Dad pulled out a few strands of grass from the overly long lawn that begged to be cut. I usually mowed the front lawn and he took the back, but he’d been busy. No surprise there. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  My cue to say no and end this torture. Except that I wanted to know how long I’d be grounded. I opened my mouth and words popped out. “I want to know what happened at your last fathers and sons’ campout.”

  His hand stopped tugging at the grass. He stared at me, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “Where did that come from?” he asked slowly.

  I lifted my right shoulder and dropped it. “I ran into that new woman in the ward at the store last night. She told me to ask you.”

  “Rikki?” He glanced toward the top of the slide and back to me, which told me the earlier memory had been related to her. “Why would she—” He broke off, his stare intensifying to the point of definite weirdness. “Travis, I . . .” His jaw worked but nothing emerged. Twice in one day my dad was speechless.

  I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Did you and Grandpa go to the campout? I thought you said he wasn’t active.”

  “He wasn’t. And no, he never went with me to any campout—Scouts, fathers and sons’, whatever. I always went, but he didn’t.”

  I wondered if that was why Dad always attended every campout with me, tho
ugh he was often so busy with the other boys in the ward that for me he might as well not have come. I almost wished he’d stay home once in a while. “Then why would she tell me to ask?”

  “Because the last time I planned to go I was fifteen, and he told me he’d go with me. I was so excited. I’d tried everything to get him to notice me—I got good grades, I did the dishes, kept my room clean.” An odd note had entered my father’s voice, a longing that made me sad. “I was excited because my dad scarcely seemed to know I was around, but finally we’d be together like the other boys and their dads.”

  “I know how that feels,” I muttered. My friends seemed to talk with my dad more than I did, what with interviews and church activities and all.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What happened?”

  “He worked late that night. Didn’t come home until after everyone left for the campout. I don’t know if he forgot, or if he’d only told me yes to get me off his case. I unpacked and went to bed early. I didn’t go on any more campouts after that.”

  “I didn’t know Grandpa was such a jerk.”

  “He wasn’t a jerk. He was just very sad. After my mother died, it was like he couldn’t go on. Not in any way that meant anything. He simply survived.”

  I hadn’t known my grandfather, though I had a few memories of him from when I was a very young child, the most vivid from his funeral. Dad’s face had been so white and frozen that day, except for a single tear that snaked down his cheek. I’d gripped his leg tight, not knowing what else to do.

  “He was so sad, he didn’t have room for me. It wasn’t his fault.”

  Yes, it was, I wanted to say. My dad had graduated at the top of his high school class, and according to his former companions he’d worked harder than any missionary they’d ever known. Every weekend he’d gone over to Grandpa’s to do his yard work before doing his own. All this time he’d been searching for something Grandpa would never give him. What? Attention? A campout? I didn’t know, but it made me want to cry.

  Had my dad ever wanted to give up? Sluff school? Stop trying to be good? Maybe. But he hadn’t. I’d seen that myself. He’d worked hard and become someone, despite his father’s neglect. I couldn’t believe I’d actually considered skipping school or stealing the car keys to show my dad I wouldn’t be controlled. That seemed awfully juvenile now.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, my voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry about letting you down. I’m sorry about you not trusting me. I’m sorry for being angry with you and thinking you’re always gone.” Because he wasn’t always gone. He went camping with me. He drove around looking for me when he should have been on a date with Mom. He cared enough to call my friends. He sat here and talked to me when the lawn needed cutting.

  “Oh, son.” He reached for me and hugged me tight, and then we were both crying. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes my father did,” he said. “I never want you to feel that way. You mean more to me than any other boy or girl in the ward. You know that, don’t you? God has given me stewardship over them, but you’re my son, and that means you’re my first priority. You and your mom and your brother and sisters are my reason for living. I would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe.”

  “Last night—I just wasn’t thinking.” I felt stupid. Stupid for adding to his burden when I should have been helping him and helping the kids in the ward. Being more diligent instead of so selfish.

  “We all make mistakes.” Dad was still holding me, and I could feel his tears mingling with mine on my cheek. “What sets us apart is what we do next. Travis, I promise to spend more time with you. I promise to be a better dad. To listen more and be slower to anger. To help you become the great man I know you already are becoming.” His chest convulsed with a sob. “If your mother hadn’t stopped me from talking to you last night, I don’t know how this would have played out.”

  Probably not good. I might have felt I had good reason for making poor choices. Who would those choices have hurt in the end anyway? Me or my parents? If I failed a class, my father certainly wouldn’t have to retake it.

  I didn’t know what to say next, but I knew that for the rest of my life, I was going to be grateful my dad went camping with me and that he cared enough to ground me when I did something stupid. Maybe knowing he cared enough to be watching would make me think twice about what I did.

  What choices would I have made if I’d grown up with Grandpa instead of Dad? I really didn’t know. But from here on out, I had a choice. It was up to me.

  “My life,” Dad continued, loosening his hold on me, “growing up wasn’t . . . it wasn’t good, but I don’t want you to think too poorly of your grandfather. When I needed advice the most, he was there. Because of him I went on a mission, and because I went on a mission, I was still single when I met your mother. For that alone, I forgave him everything a long time ago.”

  “If you hadn’t gone on a mission, would you have married Rikki?” My turn to pluck at the grass. Was I afraid of what he would say?

  “I believe so.”

  “She doesn’t seem too bad.”

  “She wasn’t ready to raise a family in the Church, and that’s the only way I know that people can be happy. I don’t know if she’s ready to do that even now. I hope so.” He waited until I looked him in the eye again before continuing. “Two months into my mission, I began thanking God every day for letting me serve and for not letting me marry Rikki. I said the same prayer every day for two years, and I still say that prayer when I think about the direction my life might have taken. The gospel is true, Travis—I know it. A mission was my duty to my Father in Heaven and the greatest blessing I’d ever received up to that point in my life.”

  “It’s sad for her. She’s all alone.”

  “We’ll do our best to help her find her way.”

  I nodded. “Her daughter wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t wear all that makeup.”

  He laughed. “If only girls understood that.”

  Suddenly things were okay again. I was grounded, Dad was still a bishop and likely wouldn’t have a lot of free time to do things with me, but I knew he loved me, that he’d be there if I really needed him. I wouldn’t let him down this time, but if for some stupid reason I did, I knew he wouldn’t give up on me, that he’d give me yet another chance.

  “Well,” I said, feeling lighter inside. “You need a hand with this lawn?”

  He arched a brow. “You offering?”

  “I guess—if you’ll take me out for ice cream after.” When I was little, that was my favorite thing to do with my dad.

  “You’re on.” We shook hands.

  He glanced once more into the play set, seeing something I couldn’t, but it didn’t bother me now. He had a lot of ghosts in his past, but I knew he was glad to be where he was now—with Mom and the rest of us.

  I felt different somehow. More responsible. Before today I’d felt younger, like a child seeing how many pieces of candy he could take while his parents weren’t looking. But my future was up to me, every bit as much as Dad’s had been up to him. I’d done a lot of things I wasn’t proud of during the past few months. Things that would likely horrify my parents a lot more than driving friends before the law said I could. That ended now. I was no longer a child. I was a young man with conscious choices to make. A young man with the priesthood, Dad would say.

  The future was in my hands.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dante

  My wife and daughter sat across the desk from me in my office at the church, Allia staring down at the brown carpet. “I just wanted to see what I’d look like.”

  Becca’s lips tightened. “You said yourself she looked like one of those girls who sleep around. Why would you want to look like that?”

  Becca had found Allia that morning in the bathroom, eyes laden with blue,
Kyle-like eye shadow. She’d made her wash it off and then come early to church to tell me about it. After my experience with Travis yesterday, I cleared my schedule fast. Allia’s actions, though, surprised me far more than anything Travis might do. Allia was so rigid in her beliefs that sometimes I had to stop myself from telling her to lighten up and live a little. She’d learn that soon enough after she got past these dangerous teen years.

  “I don’t want to look like that. I wasn’t going to wear it out anyplace. I was curious how I’d look, that’s all.” Allia bit her lip, fighting tears.

  Becca and I exchanged a glance. “Okay,” I said, taking my cue from my wife’s face. “It startled us, that’s all. You’ve always been such a strong person, and when we see you following someone who’s weaker in the ways that really matter, well, it’s a concern.”

  “I wonder what Kyle looks like under all that makeup.” Allia shifted in her chair. “I bet she looks normal.”

  “Kyle needs a lot of support,” Becca said.

  “I don’t mind helping her. Is she coming to my class today? I don’t think she’ll go at all if she doesn’t.”

  “I’ve talked to the teachers and told them that might happen, but I want to talk to her mother first to see how she thinks Kyle would do on her own.” I glanced toward the door. “We’d better get to the chapel. It’s almost time to start.”

  “You go ahead, Allia,” Becca said, also standing. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She waited until the door shut before continuing. “I’m worried about Allia. She’s always been strong, but she’s also young and vulnerable. I don’t know if I like the idea of her being an anchor for Kyle.”

  “I know, believe me.” How many times had I gone through that thought process when considering other members for callings? I wanted to use strengths but not to the point of endangering the faith of the strong. Everyone had a limit. “We’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll talk to Rikki about Kyle’s clothes and the makeup, at least for church.”

  “I’m doing everything I can to help her, Dante. I’m going to work with James, I’m willing to let Allia befriend her up to a point, but my first responsibility as a mother is to my own children.”