Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
My heart thunders in my chest. I lick my lips. “Yeah, I kinda remember that, too.”
“Your father would be proud of you—the way you turned out, you know.”
My scalp prickles. Heat slithers up my neck. How dare he speak for my father when he’s the man who killed him? I grip the pistol tighter in my fist.
“Did you kill him, Pauly?” I blink at the moisture on my eyelashes. “How did he die?”
Pauly nods slowly. “Yeah. I killed him.”
My hand jerks in my pocket, like I want to draw the gun out, but it gets caught. Pauly tracks the movement but doesn’t move.
He rubs his face. “We were drinking. It was poker night, and your mom showed up making a big fuss. She was always mad at your dad those days because of his stint in prison.”
“I remember.” I nod.
“It wasn’t the first time your mom made a scene. She made it plain how much she hated the outfit. Wished your dad had a legitimate job. I waited until after she left–I never would’ve insulted her to her face, but I don’t know–I guess I said something disparaging about her.”
Pauly looks at the grains of wood in the table. Traces his finger along one of the lines.
“It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything, but the liquor made me an asshole. Your dad swung at me. The guys stood back. Fights happened, you know. We didn’t mean anything by it.” He glances my way.
I cover my lips with my fingers to hide the trembling.
“But, ah…your dad had his gun on him. And the two of us went down to the floor punching like schoolboys and…that gun went off.”
I let out a muffled sob.
“I’m not sure if he took the safety off to use it on me or if it was a complete accident. I honestly don’t know how it happened. But the bullet shot right through your dad’s chin and into his brain. He died instantly.” Pauly scrubs a hand over his balding head. “No suffering.”
It’s horrific. On one hand, it’s absolutely terrible to learn the precise and violent way my father died. But on the other, the knowledge is settling. At least I finally know the truth. It’s better than all the things I’d imagined over the years.
“Did he ever visit you—after he died?” Pauly asks after a while of taking me in.
I blink. “What?”
“You know, visit you? It’s just that he used to visit me. And I was hoping, wondering if he visited you too.”
I suck in a shocked breath. Angry tears prick my eyes. “He haunted you.”
Pauly nods, his eyes far away. “Yeah. He haunted me. You know what he used to say? Go and check on my girls. They need help around the house. And sure enough, I’d go over there, and your ma would have the garbage disposal stopped up or the vacuum cleaner taken apart trying to change a belt. And then I’d know why he sent me over. You know, aside from the money.”
Every hair on my arms stands up, and unwanted tears spill down my cheeks. “He-he’d send you over?”
“I’ll get you a tissue,” Pauly mutters and gets up, returning with the whole box, which he sets in front of me with an awkward pat on my shoulder.
“You remember the time you wanted to go to the prom?”
I let out a sob and grab a tissue. I remember. My mom and I had been at each other’s throats—I can’t remember why anymore, just normal teenager/mother stuff—and my mom had refused to buy me a new prom dress. She said I could wear the same gown I wore to junior prom or borrow a friend’s gown. I was mad, angry with the perceived injustice.
And then Pauly showed up, just like he’d known. He handed me a wad of bills—five hundred bucks—said it was for me to go to the prom, that I didn’t need to share it with my mom, or even tell her about it, if I didn’t want to.
I sob—my face a wet mess hidden beneath tissue after tissue. “Oh God,” I moan, trying to get a hold of myself. All my grief at the loss of my father rolls over me, fresh again, but different this time. This time it’s an ache to thank him, guilt at how I’d come to hate him in his death, for leaving us.
He didn’t leave me—he’s been taking care of me all along, through the most unlikely person—the person who caused his death.
I sniff, trying to get my breath back. “Do you think,” I sniff again, “he forgave you?”
Pauly nods slowly. “I told him I was sorry, over and over again. He said he knew I didn’t mean what I said. He knew it was—” Pauly’s voice breaks, and he blinks rapidly, “—it was a stupid mistake. The whole thing was a stupid mistake. I didn’t know he had his gun on. I didn’t want him to die. He was my best soldier. A good friend.”