Saving Landon Part 47

I nodded, and she turned her attention back towards her soap operas. Meanwhile, I scrambled as quietly but quickly as possible. She hadn't gone to the grocery store or anything, so it was looking like breakfast was going to be a peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwich.

Scratch that... Peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich it is.

I toasted a pair of bread slices and waited the two minutes in painful, awkward silence. When they popped out, she jumped slightly, casting me a scowl, and I apologized and slathered one side with peanut b.u.t.ter.

"You gonna just sleep all day?" Mom asked as I was disappearing through the door behind her.

"No, Mom."

"Good. See that you don't. I have a friend coming over later. I need your help."

"Help?"

I turned towards her, and she tilted her head as if to continue talking to me. Her eyes were still glued to the countertop television.

"Yeah. This place is a mess. Maybe you could show your appreciation for the roof over your head by cleaning up a bit. Been hard to keep the house up with my disability..."

"Who's coming over?"

Mom turned to me.

"Someone like none of your concern."

I could feel myself trembling. I didn't know who was coming, but something told me that I wasn't going to like it.

Mom's face sweetened with pity.

"Oh Angel...I'm sorry. It's just...you've been gone so long. All those sleepless nights, afraid that you were dead...maybe I've forgotten how to be good to you. Come here."

I set my sandwich down and padded over to her. She threw her arms open, and I bent down to hug her.

Her embrace was strong. Warm. Relaxing.

"There, there...I'm sorry that I've been a bit grumpy today. I can't find my medication. I know it does things to me when I don't take it..."

"It's okay, Mom," I told her.

"That's right. It's okay. It's all okay."

I nodded, and we separated.

"Now, I've got something for you to do. Something to help you pa.s.s the time, at least. I won't be having any more back talk."

Mom pointed towards the kitchen at the huge stack of filthy dishes overflowing in the sink.

"Clean that up like a good girl, then you can start on the rest of the house. Now, let me catch up on my soaps, and I'll take you into town later to get you some groceries. That sound good to you?"

I nodded reluctantly.

It was hard to keep from feeling a little uneasy. Something about this place seemed wrong. Wisps of memories flashed in and out of existence, but my time in this house was a dark blur. Fear. Sadness. Hopelessness...

Amidst them all, the one dark memory of this place I could still hang onto... The one I wished I could forget...

The night I ran away.

29.

Trent "You're Angel's grandfather?" I asked, thoroughly surprised. "She never said anything like that to me."

Old Greg muttered under his breath as he popped off the cap and handed me a beer. With a deft maneuver, he effortlessly burst off the top to his own against the bar table.

"Ever since the accident, that's one of those sc.r.a.ps of information she can't seem to hold onto," he grumbled. "Probably for the better."

"She told me that she trusted you," I commented.

For a moment, it looked like he might smile.

We sat in silence as Old Greg took a long drink. Over his shoulder, I saw something pinned up on the wall a sheet of paper, heavily crumpled, and filled with the scratchings of a marker. It looked like a hasty note that had been squashed into a ball, then unfolded on second thoughts.

He followed my gaze.

"She left me a p.i.s.s-poor excuse of a letter. I didn't believe it at first, but when she wasn't back the next morning, I knew it was true."

"Why the next morning?"

His old chest sighed. "She's walked out of here half a dozen times, but she always comes back."

Old Greg glared at me for a moment.

"It's hard to have your granddaughter almost taken from you. To watch her lay there, lifelessly in some hospital bed, barely clinging to life. You think there's nothing worse in the world. Nothing besides death, at any rate... But then I got her back. She's healthy as ever, getting better every day. Problem is, somehow, I've still lost her. She'll never remember the times we've had together."

He swigged from his beer, still glowering at me.

"And I'm a coward. I couldn't tell her."

"You didn't tell Angel you're her grandfather? What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" I said.

"Some things are better left forgotten. That girl, she's been through h.e.l.l. Don't want to go dredging up bad memories. That accident was a blessing in disguise. She was safe here, and now you've gone and lost her."

"I'll find her."

"If I had keeled over these last few days you'd be f.u.c.ked, and you know it," he growled, pointing towards me with his beer hand. "Only reason you're here is because you have no idea where else to turn."

"That's true," I agreed, "and I know I've f.u.c.ked up. I don't know how, but I'll figure it out, and I'll keep it from happening again. But I'll fight through h.e.l.l and never stop searching until I find her."

"And why the f.u.c.k is that?"

"Because I love her."

Old Greg laughed heartily. It was a sarcastic, holier-than-thou laugh, and it gradually contorted into a horrendous coughing fit.

I jumped up to help, but he waved me away and drowned it out with the beer.

"You think you love her. What a f.u.c.king joke. You're even more hopeless than I thought, d.i.c.k-bag."

"You don't know me," I reminded him tersely.

"Oh, I know you," Old Greg chuckled, his breath rattling in his chest. "I know your type. You think you're the hero in some bulls.h.i.+t romance, right? Just gonna swoop in and save the distressed damsel? Please."

The old geezer was starting to seriously test my patience.

"If you're not going to help, then just say so," I demanded, crossing my arms. "But if you are, then we need to cut the s.h.i.+t now."

He stood up, walking over to me.

"You saved her before, I recall. Bunch of drunken, h.o.r.n.y bikers wanted to rape her. Tell me, f.u.c.kface, why haven't you brought that up yet? Why not twist my arm with that? You know it would work, and you're just wasting time..."

I stared this angry, sly b.a.s.t.a.r.d straight in his fiery, ancient eyes.

"Because if you are her grandfather, then you'll never forget that. And I'm not going to resort to some cheap trick to convince you."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Look me in the eyes," I told him, "and tell me to my face that I wouldn't tear the world apart for her. Go on."

Old Greg searched deep into my gaze.

The silence of the room was deafening.

Finally, his shoulders sagged.

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

"I'm Trent Masters. Of Trent Masters and"

"I'll tell you who you are," he cut me off indignantly. "You're a c.o.c.ky sc.r.a.p of s.h.i.+t. You're a f.u.c.king arrogant piece of work who thinks you can walk into a broken girl's life and just save her. As if it's that f.u.c.king simple. This is my granddaughter. I'm not talking about some street urchin this is my flesh and blood, and you...you're used to getting your way. You don't accept 'no'. You can't accept 'no.' You're just some misguided force of nature who sweeps people up and leaves them broken in the dark, only this girl... She's already broken."

"That's not who I am at all," I told him confidently.

"Oh yeah? How many?"

"How many what."

Old Gregg smiled evilly. "Don't play stupid with me. I can smell the filth on you, boy. Before you met my granddaughter, how many girls did you chew up and spit out? How many girls did you leave when you were finished with them, cast aside in your wake?"

For the first time since coming to terms with my world and my place in it, my unshakeable core was suddenly rattled. It was only a second, but it happened.

And the motherf.u.c.ker saw it.

"Yes...yes, I thought so," he answered. "You thought you could just come to this place, drag her back down into the muck with you, and set her up for even more pain? You think I didn't pin you for a sorry sack of s.h.i.+t from the start?"

"It's not like that, old man," I tried to argue.

"Sure it is."

"It's not!" I threw my beer with all my force, shattering it against the wall.

Old Greg didn't flinch.

"Name one," he finally spoke.

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't stutter, boy. If you ever gave a s.h.i.+t about any of the girls who came before her, why don't you name one. Name one of your conquests. And don't make up a name I'll know if you're lying to me."

I sat there, seething with anger.

Holy f.u.c.k.

He's right.

Old Greg's face slowly, surely contorted into a wide grin. "You can't. You can't name one f.u.c.king girl that you've coerced into that viper pit of a bed, can you?"

No. He can't be right.

"You f.u.c.k and forget. My granddaughter wasn't the first. There have been so many. And you think she's the one with a G.o.dd.a.m.n memory problem?"

A parade of faces flew through my head.

Featureless husks.

I couldn't remember their details.

Dozens of them.

No... It was more than that.

Old Greg stood up from his chair, confident in his complete victory over me. He coughed for a second, and then slid his beer nothing but dregs now over to me.

"This is what you are, punk. You're the filth at the bottom of the bottle. You take what you believe belongs to you, and you distort it. You make it lesser. I can see it plain as day across your face. That is your legacy. You think I want my granddaughter to remember a sack of s.h.i.+t like you? You don't even know her name."

"Her name is Angel."