Chapter 4 - His House, His Door
"You can ask," I said.
"You don't get to order."
Howard stepped inside before anyone invited him.
"That's enough, Rick. Elaine has been crying."
Dad kept one hand on the door.
"Afternoon, Howard."
My father-in-law glanced around the little living room.
At the worn couch.
The taped window frame.
The boxes under the sill.
"We have guests waiting."
"And I have a guest eating," Dad said.
Karen took a breath.
"Jack, I'm sorry this got confused."
"What got confused?" I asked.
"I was trying to manage a difficult seating arrangement."
"We have folding chairs in the basement."
"Don't do this here."
Dad closed the front door against the cold.
"You came here, Karen."
She looked at him then, really looked, and her expression shifted.
Maybe she'd expected coveralls.
Maybe she'd expected the version of him she'd been describing for years.
Instead, he wore a pressed shirt, a funeral tie, and a humiliation he was working hard to keep off his face.
Howard pointed toward the kitchen.
He reached for a foil tray near the doorway.
Dad put his palm on the lid.
"Leave that."
"I'm taking back what belongs to my daughter."
"You're standing in my kitchen, reaching over my lunch."
Howard looked down at the old man's hand.
The thick fingers.
The pale scars.
For once, nobody rushed to smooth the moment over.
"Take your hand off it," Dad said.
Howard did.
Dad moved the tray to the center of the table and pulled out his chair.
He didn't sit, but he didn't retreat either.
"That food belongs at your house."
"I bought it," I said.
"I cooked most of it. And Dad is eating some."
"You'll wreck twenty-eight years of marriage over a dinner?"
I felt the number land.
Twenty-eight years.
Mortgage payments, school plays, surgeries, vacations, all suddenly laid across the floor like something I might step on.
Dad spoke before I could.
"Nobody's asked him to wreck anything."
"Then tell him to stop acting like a child."
"Howard," Dad said, "don't insult my son in my home."
Howard laughed once.
"You see? This is why we wanted a peaceful afternoon."
Karen didn't correct him.
The silence was worse than agreement.
I picked up her coat from the chair where she'd dropped it.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She didn't take it.
"If you stay here, don't come crawling back tonight."
Dad looked at me, worried now.
I handed Karen the coat.
"I wasn't planning to."
They left without any food.
Dad stood by the window until their car disappeared.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did."
May you like
He turned around.
"No, son. You needed to do it a long time ago."
