The What If Guy Read online

  I glared at Smartie. “Shouldn’t he be at home? What did the doctors say?”

  He shrugged, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Got no idea. When I got to the hospital this morning, he was waiting out front.”

  I sighed. “Thanks for picking him up.”

  I took my dad’s arm—tanned deep bronze from working outside every day. Beneath my grip, his skin stretched over his bones, little muscle mass left. “Let’s go home, Dad.”

  “S’Elliott here, tshoo?” My dad slid his stick-figure frame off the bar stool.

  Good lord, he’s gotten thin. I held on to his arm, steadying him.

  When I was a kid, people had feared Billy Cole. He’d been six-foot-three and had cut slits up the sleeves of his shirts to make room for his muscular arms. But forty years of hard drinking had changed him. His chest no longer filled out the front of his shirt, but was concave down to his small, protruding belly. His face and neck had turned red, his nose swollen and lumpy, just like my grandfather’s.

  An unexpected wave of sadness washed over me. He no longer looked like the father I remembered. I found myself wishing that Elliott and I had come to see him more often, that I had made an effort to reconnect. Or, more accurately, to connect for the first time. I didn’t recognize my father, and I didn’t know him. And I wasn’t sure we had much time left with him.

  I gestured to the door. “Elliott’s waiting outside.”

  “Elliott,” he crowed, as I led him to the door. “Whereyouat, kid?”

  Outside, Elliott stared at us, wide-eyed. “H-hey, Grandpa, what’s up?”

  My father looked nothing like the picture I’d kept on our mantel for years. In that picture, a robust version of my dad beamed, a fly-fishing rod in one hand, a rainbow trout in the other. The man standing in front of Elliott was haggard, dirty, and swaying back and forth. Even outside of the bar, my father smelled acidic.

  “Is thish the kid?” My father’s voice echoed between the buildings.

  “Elliott, why don’t you grab the suitcases? Dad, I need your keys.” I cast a dirty look at Ramona, who still watched us from the window of Fisk’s, now with a phone pressed to her ear.

  “WhywouldIdothat?”

  I could barely understand his slurred speech. “I need to get you home, Dad. Didn’t the doctor tell you to stay in bed?”

  He waved his leathery hand. “Damndoctorsareidiots.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache settling in. “Elliott is starving, I’m extremely tired, and you need to go sleep this off.” I nudged him toward his worn out Datsun, parked nearby.

  “Whadthehelliswrongwishyourcar?” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved his keys.

  Gesturing for Elliott to get in the back seat, I rolled my eyes. I was breaking every rule I had set for myself when I’d become a mother. Please don’t hate me for bringing you here and exposing you to this.

  “I had a flat.”

  My dad gazed at me, confused, as if he’d just realized to whom he was talking. “Whydidn’tyoucallme?”

  I grimaced. I didn’t want to be here right now, yet I needed to be. Tears welled in my eyes while I wrestled to get the seatbelt across my father’s bag-of-bones body, Ramona Fisk watching and reporting the play-by-play on the phone. What the hell had happened to my life?

  “We didn’t call you because there’s no cell coverage, Grandpa,” Elliott said from the backseat. “Mom says we’ll have to find a plan that covers us out in the sticks.” He laughed, then offered me an apologetic shrug.

  “You ssshhhould’ve called me.”

  My father tipped his head against the headrest and immediately fell asleep, his jaw slack. I sat in the driver’s seat and watched him for a few seconds. The streetlights buzzed to life with a once-familiar sound that I had almost forgotten.

  “You wouldn’t have answered, anyway,” I said.

  After three tries, the Datsun’s engine sputtered to life. I put the car in reverse, backed onto the street, and headed for home.

  §

  “Where’s your car?” my father asked.

  I drew a deep breath. Typical. My father’s routine hadn’t changed—get inebriated, then wake up the next morning completely oblivious to the mayhem that had gone on the night before. That was the story of my entire youth.

  I rubbed my eyes. “I got a flat about four miles outside of town. The Fisks brought us in and dropped us off.”

  Confusion clouded his blue eyes. “Did you find the key?”

  “No, I used yours. We picked you up at Smartie’s, remember?”

  He lifted his veiny hand and scratched his chin. I could tell he didn’t remember. “Oh, that’s right. So… get yourselves settled, then?”

  I nodded and looked around the worn kitchen. “I took my old bedroom and Elliott’s bunking in the spare room. I told him we would paint soon.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “The walls in the spare room are lined with fishing rods and old beer calendars.”

  “Doesn’t the boy like beer?”

  “He’s twelve.”

  “I liked beer when I was twelve.”

  I slammed my coffee mug on the counter. “Oh, good grief….”

  “Don’t have a fit. I’ll take the calendars down.”

  “Thank you.”

  We faced each other in silence. After a spell, I cleared my throat. “Dad, I’m concerned about your health. When Smartie called me, he said you wouldn’t tell him what was wrong.”

  He grunted, then gulped some coffee. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong. Just an old man, I suppose.”

  “There’s got to be more—”

  “So, does the kid know how to run a chainsaw? I’ve got a tree out back needs pruning.”

  I tempered my frustration. “No, Dad, he doesn’t know how to run a chainsaw. And since Elliott and I are staying here, we need to set some ground rules. Elliott is absolutely not allowed to drink. No beer calendars. No offering him a smoke—”

  “Now listen—”

  I put up my hand. “No giving him ten bucks to walk down to the store for your beer—”

  “Auto—”

  “No letting him drive the car—”

  “I only did that once, and you were fourteen.”

  “No falling all over yourself. And, so help me, if the cops come to this house while Elliott is home…”

  My dad’s lips tightened into a line—a sign that the conversation was over. It felt wrong to discipline him the way a parent would a child, but I didn’t know how to make this work, otherwise.

  “Do you think Smartie can help me change my tire?” I asked.

  My father’s expression twisted into a snarl. “Me and the kid can change a damn tire. We don’t need Smartie for that.”

  “You just got out of the hospital. You can’t be—”

  “Yes, I can.” His steely gaze settled on mine and dared me to contradict him.

  After Elliott woke up, we drove to my car and parked the Datsun behind it on the shoulder of the highway. Using his rusty tire iron, my dad changed my flat, grumbling to himself because Elliott couldn’t lift the spare.

  “We’re gonna have to toughen you up, kid.” His voice had a hard edge, and I winced for El’s sake.

  Elliott stood next to the car, scuffing the toe of his sneaker in the dust. Earlier, he’d emerged from the spare room wearing skinny jeans and a black fedora. My father had snorted out a plume of cigarette smoke and shook his head.

  “I took a cardio class at my old school.” Elliott puffed up his chest. “Mom says there might be a class like that at my new school.”

  Dad’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. It’s called P.E.”

  Elliott’s face reddened. “Well, maybe you could show me how to do some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” my dad grunted, tightening a lug nut.

  Elliott pursed his lips, and looked at his grandpa carefully. “Maybe you could teach me how to change a tire?”

  “We could st
art there,” Dad replied. “Can’t lift things the way I used to.”

  I smirked. “This from the man who used to juggle gallons of milk to make me laugh?”

  “Always was a high-maintenance child.” He turned to Elliott. “She was a real pain in the ass.”

  “Dad.” I lowered my eyebrows.

  “S’cuse the swear. She was a real pain in the butt.” He rolled his eyes, making Elliott snicker.

  “Not much has changed, huh, Mom?” Elliott razzed.

  “Har, har,” I said, glancing at my father. He wheezed with each breath. “Maybe you should sit down, Dad.”

  “I’m just tryin’ to catch my breath. Stop fussin’ over me. I have one little accident, and everyone wants to help.”

  “You were lying in your garage all night. You mean to tell me you didn’t need help?”

  His face tightened. “I fell asleep.”

  I flared my nostrils. You mean, you passed out.

  “I got the breath knocked out of me. That’s all.”

  “They don’t keep people in the hospital for two days because they get their breath knocked out.”

  “They did this time.”

  Why was he being so tight-lipped about his health? Every time I looked at him, my heart pitched. He was a quarter of the man he’d been when I was a kid, and he wanted me to believe that his deterioration was attributable to “falling asleep” and age? “Dad, I’m here to help. I—”

  “Glad you’re back, Auto. But I don’t need any help.”

  “Mom, what’s that?” Elliott asked in a sorrowful tone.

  I followed his line of sight to a coyote that had been hit—and consequently smashed—on the highway. The dog’s guts had spilled out of its abdomen, and blood was spattered for twenty feet. A typical sight for rural roads in these parts. My heart tugged for my vegetarian son.

  Before I could speak, my father stood, groaning as he straightened his legs. “Want me to grab my shovel, kid? Maybe your mom can cook it up for dinner.”

  Elliott’s eyes shifted to mine in horror. “Mom?”

  I grasped his wiry shoulders, and squeezed. “He’s kidding.”

  My dad’s scoff made me bristle. “Don’t be a wimp. Shovel ’er up, and I’ll mount ’er on my wall.”

  “Shut up, dammit.” I led Elliott to the passenger side of my car. “Just sit in the car. He’s kidding.”

  “It’s not funny.” Elliott jerked open the door, then flopped into the seat.

  “I know.”

  He glared at my father. “Why does he keep calling me ’kid’? I have a name.”

  “He knows it, hon.”

  “I hate him.”

  My shoulders slumped. I didn’t want my son to hate his grandfather. “You don’t hate him.”

  “Well… I don’t like him.”

  I cast a sharp glance at my dad. “I don’t like him very much right now, either.”

  Apparently, I needed to lay down a few more rules. “Dad?”

  “Oh, lighten up.” He lit another smoke and watched me from the corner of his eye. “I was just messin’ with Elliott. He needs it. He’s so—”

  My jaw clenched. “Just because he’s not like you—”

  “It’s good for him. He’s been raised by his mother. Hasn’t had a man in his life to teach him how to be.”

  “How to be?”

  He shrugged. “You know…manly.”

  I shook my head, aggravation boiling my blood. “He’s twelve. Why the need to make him manly?”

  “His dad’s never been around, and you never took up with anyone else. It would have been good for him to have a man in his life.” He took a long drag and squinted at me.

  I’d said those very same words to myself at least seven thousand times over the past twelve years.

  Once Elliott’s father, Cliff, had left, I’d raised my standards to an almost unreachable level that no man lived up to. I’d used poor judgment with Cliff, and vowed not to do that again.

  I’d been attending art school when we met. He was a bartender at a club that my friends and I snuck into using fake IDs. Cliff and I had a short-lived fling that ended as quickly as it began. I moved on and met someone special—fell for him—only to find out a couple of months later that I was pregnant with Cliff’s child.

  Away from my hometown for the first time in my life and determined to become an artist, I was proud that I’d left Fairfield. I had gotten out of that small town. I was going places. I wouldn’t go back home in shame.

  Cliff did the honorable thing and offered to marry me. Regrettably, I accepted.

  If I had to face my father, knocked up, at least I’d have a fiancé on my arm. So what if we lived in Cliff’s grandmother’s basement and his car had been repossessed? I was going to make our relationship work.

  I didn’t.

  I was eight months pregnant when Cliff left—without fanfare. One night, he called from his shift at the fourth job he’d had since we’d met. When I asked what time he’d be home, he said, “I won’t. This family thing just isn’t for me.”

  And that was that. Cliff was long gone, and his grandmother asked me to move out. Too ashamed to go back to Fairfield with a giant belly and no husband, I quit school and started working as a waitress to pay the bills.

  Five weeks later, Elliott was born. My son was everything to me. One look into his deep brown eyes, and I fell for him. We took on the world—together.

  “I take it you disagree, Auto?”

  My dad’s voice interrupted my thoughts and I faced him. Elliott was creative and musical, two things my father couldn’t relate to. El probably did seem weird to him. But that didn’t have anything to do with my needing a man.

  “I don’t want to discuss this,” I said.

  I was on the side of a road with a dead coyote and a car full of our meager possessions. I’d lost so much that was important to me, and was trying to forge a relationship with the father I’d all but abandoned. Talking with him about my need for a man wasn’t the place to start.

  My father walked back to his rusty car, tossing his cigarette butt on the pavement. “I’ll tell you what, you can cook me a roast tonight, instead of coyote.” He smirked, then sat behind the wheel with a groan.

  I watched him drive away, and fingered several wrinkled twenties in my pocket. The last of my money. Now, after my lovely morning, I had to go into Fisk’s Fine Foods to face Ramona.

  Great. That’s just great.

  I hoped their chocolate selection was good. And cheap.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh my gosh, Autumn Cole? Is that you?”

  I knew that voice, even though I hadn’t heard it in fourteen years. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.

  The last time I’d seen Holly Momsen was on the day I’d left Fairfield for college.

  We’d known each other since preschool, and in every photograph I had of my birthday parties, Holly stood next to me with a grin. In my high school dance portraits we smiled, arm-in-arm, complete with bad hair, puffy-sleeved dresses, and pimple-faced dates.

  After graduation, Holly had stayed in Fairfield to marry her long-time boyfriend, Cody Judd, and I’d headed to Seattle for bigger and better things. She’d helped me pack my possessions into the back of my light blue Chevelle, then we’d hugged and cried and vowed to stay in touch. For the first few months, we’d written each other religiously. She’d described her wedding plans, and I’d told her about the teacher’s aide who’d asked me out—the most amazing man I’d ever met. We’d tried to share everything, so we didn’t feel like we were hundreds of miles apart.

  And then I’d found out I was pregnant. After that, all of Holly’s letters had gone unanswered.

  When she’d left a message on my answering machine asking me to be her maid-of-honor, I’d ignored it. When the wedding invitation came in the mail, I’d thrown it in the garbage. Holly was the closest friend I’d had, and I’d dropped her like a box of rocks. Not because I didn’t like her anymo
re, but because I’d no longer liked myself.

  I turned slowly to face Holly, and it dawned on me how awful I looked. Wearing battered yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, I smelled like exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke from riding in my father’s car. To top it off, I was shopping with a pissed-off twelve-year-old vegetarian who couldn’t find meatless patties among Fisk’s limited selection, and I barely had enough money for the candy bar I craved.

  “Holly? Oh my gosh, how are you?” My voice squeaked, and I tossed several boxes of cereal into my cart, trying to appear casual. “It’s good to see you.”

  Holly approached me, a happy, drooling baby sitting in the front of her cart. She looked every bit as adorable as she’d looked in high school. Short and waif-like, her honey-blonde hair was now cut into a flippy bob, and the jeans she wore couldn’t have been any bigger than a size two. I instinctively sucked in my tummy.

  She eyed my cart, now filled with eight boxes of cereal. “I heard you were coming back to town, but didn’t believe it.”

  I tried to remain chipper, despite the mountain of awkwardness between us. “You didn’t believe it? Why’s that?”

  Her smile flattened. “You never come back. Not even for weddings.”

  I deserved that. I suck. I set another box of cereal atop the pile in my cart. “Listen, about that… ” Blood rushed to my cheeks.

  “Mom?” Elliott came around the corner carrying a stack of boxes and a few frozen meals. “They didn’t have any veggie sausage, but they had those crackers that Grandpa asked for.”

  “Just toss them in the basket,” I said.

  He dropped his armload into the cart and furrowed his brow. “In the mood for some cereal, Mom?”

  I felt so stupid. I had Fisk’s entire stock of Cheerios in my basket, and my son had pointed out how idiotic I looked in front of the friend I’d treated horribly. Super.

  “Yes. You’re starting school, so I thought I would get you some breakfast foods.” My voice sounded sharp, and I glanced at Holly, who watched me with tempered interest. “I’m constantly reminding him to eat something before he goes to school.”

  “Right,” she replied. “So, this is your son? I’d heard years ago that you were pregnant and married.”