Father's Keeper by Parker Ford (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

bent that I would be fine. Not being fine was not an option. Too muchin my life was crushing me down, making me feel like a victim. I didn’t want tobe a victim and I didn’t want to be a babysitter to Carl. I walked at first,then broke out in a run. Running so that my heart pounded with a sickening rush.But it made me feel alive to feel it racing in my chest.

I was almost home when I saw Gil’struck round the corner. I didn’t  realize I was crying until he pulled up andpopped the interior light on. “Get in,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I said. Why was I being sostubborn when he was just watching out for me? Taking care of me. It wassomething my mother rarely did, she wanted to be my friend more than my mother.Carl sure as shit never took care of me, and sometimes, because I was stubbornand stupid, I didn’t even take care of myself. Here was Gil reaching out to meand I was acting like the brat I’d been in high school.

“Get. In. The. Truck. It’s not aquestion,” he said and leaned over the seat and popped the door.

I climbed up into the cab and satback, heart still trip hammering in my chest from running and from fear. “I’mfine,” I said again, though I felt the raw spot on my scalp from Carl yankingmy hair.

“I know what happened. It’s all I havein me not to find that boy and beat him down with a baseball bat,” Carl saidlowly. “So I can drop you off and let you be fine on your own but thatmeans I’ll be out looking for your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said.

“Or you can stay here with meand let me take you home so that I am satisfied in my heart of nosy hearts thatyou are indeed safe and sound,” Gil finished.

I actually laughed. I couldn’t helpit. The way he said it made it clear I had no choice but we could pretend Idid. “Fine, fine. Take me home, Jeeves. Make me a grilled cheese and a cold cola.”

“Good girl,” Gil said and patted myleg. When he touched me I hoped there’d be more in the deal than a grilledcheese for me at home.

I borrowed Gil’s cell to call John andassure him I was safe. “Let me know about tomorrow,” he said. “The offer stillstands.”

“I will, I will,” I said.

In the house Gil looked me over and Irolled my eyes. “You’re making me feel like a dog being checked for ticks,” Isaid. “I’m fine.” I might have a bruise on my arm from him holding me. I mighthave one on my shoulder blades from backing up into the shelves. I might haveone on my scalp because he pulled my hair but Mary Warden pulled my hair in thethird grade and I survived. I tried to laugh it off but he ran his fingers overmy arm and then spun me around and raised my shirt to check my back.

When he clucked and I winced I knewthere was a bit of bruising on my back. Gil’s warm lips fell on that tenderspot and I held my breath as he kissed it for me. “Fucker. What a fucker,fucker, fucker,” he said softly.

“Yes, he is a fucker, fucker, fucker,”I said and hung my head, letting myself relax as he kissed a line from oneshoulder blade to the other.

Gil’s lips traveled to the side and Ilifted my arm. He raised my shirt, kissed under my arm, across my side and thencaptured my nipple in his mouth and sucked. I sighed and kept my head down,watching the back of his dark head. Spying the sterling silver strands of hairshot through his dark hair. Gil sucked the other nipple in and his hands--bigand hot and strong--found my waist. His fingers flexed against my flesh andthen he raised his head, blue eyes flashing, to study my forehead. “Only a tinyspeck of blood. Barely visible through this blue stuff,” he said and tickled mynose with the blue strand.

“Har, har,” I said but my voice wasweak with want.

“Now food,” Gil said and kissed mynose. He let me go and started to butter two thick slices of bread.

“Food?” I squeaked. “Food?”

“Yes, food,” he mimicked me.

“But. . .but--”

“After food,” he said. “I’ll make youfeel all better, Jen, after food.”

“But why do I need food?” I balked.

“When was the last time you ate,Jennifer?” he asked. The phone rang and we both ignored it. The only person Iwanted to talk to was right here. I could only hope Gil felt the same. “I restmy case,” he said.

I looked around at the boxes in thekitchen while he cooked. “You really leaving?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why not? This isn’t myhouse. It’s your mother’s, even if she is off on a boat with Marty McMurtry.There’s no reason for me to stay here in a home that isn’t mine where I’mreminded of a woman who didn’t love me.”

That made my throat go tight a little.Once upon a time this home had been full of laughter and love. My mother hadalways been a little distant, a little odd, but Gil and I more than made up forit with humor and fun and pulling her into the circle of activity. For a whileit had worked. It was my turn to shrug. “I understand. It just makes me sad isall. I hate to think of my home being gone.”

“You’re home is right here,” helaughed. “I’m no lawyer but it might even be yours when I leave.”

“My house is here,” I corrected him.“My home is in here and it’s falling apart.” I touched my chest and shook myhead, determined not to cry.

Gil smiled wryly and handed me agrilled sharp cheddar and bacon and I grabbed some chips for my plate. “Well,if I’m part of that--what’s in there--I’m not leaving you. Just this house.This building.”

I nodded. We ate in silence at thetable and I sighed when I was done. “goddamn you make the best grilledcheeses,” I said. “Always have. All we were