“I’m sorry, Tiffany,” he says.
He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t push me, and doesn’t let me go.
I’m grateful for that. This is so new; I struggle to find the words to open my heart to a man who I’m nearly strangers with, a man who provided for me as I was growing up, who was the economic and academic pillar of my childhood but, when it came to emotional support, his capabilities were almost non-existent.
“Dad, I’ve been with this man. His name is Declan. He’s the one that took me during the robbery. It’s a lot to explain, it’s complicated, but he didn’t hurt me. In fact, I care about him. A lot. And I’ve been trying to help his mom. Because the bank is trying to take her house away. And things have been so scary for the last few days. So scary.”
His grip shifts, loosens, and I take a step back. Look into his eyes. See concern and confusion.
“But you’re OK?” He says.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I say and, before he can move, I step around him and keep talking as I walk through the hallway of my childhood home. He’s right on my heels. “I don’t think I’ve been hurt but, I love him, and he’s in so much pain right now, and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing except wait around. He’s been shot and his mom is being operated on and I don’t know if she will make it. Even though she hasn’t been kind to Declan, it will still crush him if she doesn’t make it, because he loves her so much.”
In the kitchen, I open the fridge and take out a beer, pop the top, and take a long drink. I hardly taste it, but it’s comforting all the same. I normally hate beer, but Blaze doesn’t, and the taste of it makes me think of him. It helps. A little.
My dad is watching me. His face still an unreadable mix of confusion and parental concern.
“Dad, I had nowhere else to go. No one else to talk to,” I say, reading his confusion as stemming from the fact that I never talk to him about these things, and now I’m showing up at home babbling about some man he’s never met, a dying old woman, and some dangerous bank scam. He must be so confused. And seeing his confusion makes me more agitated, more anxious. I start pacing, patrolling the hallways, letting my words flow as my antsy feet aimlessly take me through my childhood home. “This is all just so fucked up — sorry, dad — and I don’t know what comes next. My life is so messed up right now. More messed up than it’s ever been. I thought coming back to Torreon would help, but I am so, so lost.”
“Tiffany, stop,” he says suddenly and with so much force that it startles me.
And, in my startled state, I don’t process what he’s telling me; I keep walking into the master bedroom, where there’s a suitcase sitting on his bed, half-packed, with clothes and suit jackets and ties and a few family photos sitting on the bed beside it, waiting to be put in their place.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
The guilt and shame on his face shock me out of my anguished ramblings.
“Dad, why the hell are you packing up? Where are you going?”
He clears his throat. Never in my life have I seen him so ashamed. And so fearful.
“Tiffany, there’s something you need to understand.”
“Were you involved in this?” I say and, before he even speaks, my mind puts together answers, scenarios, ways he could use the power of his office to force vulnerable people to seek loans and put their houses and livelihoods at risk. “You were, weren’t you?”
Saying those words makes me want to vomit.
He takes a step forward and I take a step back.
I am disgusted by the sight of my own father.
“Anna and her father came to me right after they hired you. She sought you out because she knew you were my daughter and she knew what my job was. If I didn’t go along with them, they were going to hurt you.”
I suppose he expects the shame on his face and the remorse in his voice to make me pity him, or at the very least understand what he’s going through, but it has the opposite effect; I feel nothing but anger.
“How could you?” I say.
He tries to come closer, but I back away.
“I couldn’t let them hurt you. I know we don’t talk much, but I’m still your father and I still love you.”
“So what? I’m supposed to be grateful that you went against everything you ever taught me about morals and self-respect because you were afraid of the consequences? I’m supposed to just pretend I don’t see you trying to run from the consequences like a fucking coward?”
“This isn’t my scam. Don’t you understand that I didn’t have a choice?”
“Not your scam? Bullshit. Did you even try to call the cops? Did you even think about warning me? You just fucking rolled over and did whatever they told you. And now that you have a chance to come forward — because, dad, I can tell you for sure that Anna and her father are both probably dead right now — instead you’re running?”
He has the audacity to look shocked.
“You want me to come forward and turn myself in? I’m your father, Tiffany. You want me to go to jail?”
“I want you to be a fucking man and face the consequences of your actions,” I say. “Have some heart for once. Have
