Daniel Palmer - Helpless

Jill looked surprised. “You know Mom’s favorite flower?” she asked.

“There was a time,” Tom said, “even though we were divorced, that I loved your mother very much. Honey, I wish I could bring her back for you. I really do. It hurts me more than I can say to see you in so much pain.”

“I miss her.”

Jill’s tears came after that, whole body-shaking convulsions. It became hard for her to breathe.

Tom didn’t hesitate. He got down on her bedroom floor and held her, and she let him. They embraced, kneeling on the blue carpet that he had laid down himself so many years ago.

The moment passed. Tom got a box of Kleenex from the bathroom. Jill’s tears went from a river to a trickle. They returned their attention to the pictures. For a while, neither spoke. Jill left the room briefly and returned, carrying with her the laptop computer from the kitchen. She had some pictures in iPhoto to go through.

Odd the computer wasn’t taken in the robbery, thought Tom.

“Any of these?” Tom asked as Jill switched from picture to picture, as if changing channels on the TV. There were pictures of Jill and Kelly on a hike, apple picking in the fall, skating in winter, swimming in summer. None of the pictures included Tom. It was like watching vignettes from a life that he could have lived.

“Some of them are okay,” said Jill. “But if she doesn’t have a cigarette in her hand, she’s got a drink, or she’s wearing something that isn’t really appropriate.” She grimaced and covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t believe I just said something bad about Mom.”

Tom rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and felt a lump in his throat. He fought back his own tears so that he could stay strong for her. “Honey, it’s all right to say whatever you feel. Your mom wasn’t perfect, but none of us are. Sure, I wish she didn’t smoke, but I’m glad you don’t. And I wish she didn’t drink as much as she did, either, but never for a moment, not a single moment, did I think she wasn’t taking good care of you. And as for her clothes, well, I think the picture on the couch looks great, if you like it, too.”

Jill nodded. “That’s the picture we’ll use,” she said. She got quiet, and Tom gave her the time she needed to speak again. “Did you know that Mom and I got into a huge fight last year, when I told her I was going to try out for the soccer team?”

Tom shook his head. “No. But I can imagine why.”

“She didn’t want me to have anything to do with you. She really hated you. I mean, I don’t think I ever heard her say one nice thing about you. Not ever.”

“So why did you try out?”

“I’ll show you.” Jill got up and went over to her closet. She came back holding a stack of colorful cards and letters. Of course, Tom recognized them; he had written them all. Jill dropped the stack on the floor, next to where Tom was kneeling.

“This is why,” she said. “All these letters and cards you sent me. And I knew that everybody on the soccer team loved you. The players loved you. The parents loved you. I guess I finally got curious. It didn’t make sense to me that the person who wrote these letters was the same person my mom couldn’t stand.”

Tom swallowed hard as his throat closed.

She had read them. He had reached her.

“And how do you feel about me now? We’ve got one season under our belts. Are you ready to trust me?”

Jill fixed her father with a cold stare. “You’ve really been there for me since… all this. I just don’t get it. Why did Mom hate you so much?” she asked.

There it was again, the question Tom could never answer. “Sometimes people just turn against each other,” he said. “I wish I could give you a better reason, but I can’t.”

“Did you hate her?”

Tom took in a sharp breath. “No.”

“Would you ever hurt her?”

“No,” Tom said again. He scooped up the stack of letters and cards and held them up for Jill to see. “Look, I know we haven’t been close. I know your mom has said a lot of bad things about me over the years. But you’ve got to believe one thing. I would never—ever—hurt your mother. Ever.”

Jill thought. Then she just nodded. Even though she didn’t say anything, Tom could tell that she believed him. If anything, all those cards and letters had made her believe.

Tom glanced at the montage of digital pictures still showing on Jill’s laptop. It was time, he decided, to become part of the photographs of her life. He could no longer wait for their relationship to heal itself. It was time to stop believing that being her coach was the closest he’d ever get to being her father.

They didn’t speak for a long moment. All was quiet except for a dog’s loud barking. The barking seemed to be coming from the neighbor’s yard. Jill looked puzzled as she stood up, went to the bedroom window, and peered into the backyard.

“That’s Rusty,” she said, craning her neck sideways to get a better look outside.

“Haven’t had the pleasure to meet him yet,” said Tom.

“Rusty’s about the quietest dog you could even imagine. Mr. McCaskey’s always joking that he wanted a guard dog and got himself a big pussy cat instead.”

Tom’s body tensed, but thanks to his navy training, Jill couldn’t possibly have noticed. “Bet it’s a coyote or fox,” he said, hoping he sounded certain. “We’ve had plenty of those animals around here lately.”

“You think?”

Tom got quiet. He went over to her bedroom window, pushed the curtain aside, and peered out into the darkness.

A Navy SEAL was taught how to tune his night vision the way a bodybuilder learned how to put on muscle. Tom knew better than to discount the something he thought he saw out back as nothing . He saw movement in the woods.

“Yeah,” said Tom. “I’m sure it’s nothing. But I’ll go check, anyway. Okay?” It was probably nothing, he reassured himself.

“Okay,” Jill said, sounding tentative.

“Just stay here in your bedroom. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t bother to tell Jill to lock the doors. Rather than frighten her for no good reason, Tom locked the back door himself. He checked the front door after closing it behind him. It was locked, too.

Tom kept to the side of the house as he worked his way from the front yard to the back. He didn’t want to reveal himself just yet.

Just in case.

Just to be careful.

His breathing stayed even, pulse rate steady, nothing elevated. His SEAL training never left him. It was ingrained. He was, and would forever be, a warrior.

The dark vinyl siding of the house provided excellent cover, while the roof overhang kept him out of the moonlight. To keep noise to a minimum, Tom put all his weight on one foot, while stepping with the other. He used short steps. That helped him maintain his balance. Tom reached the far edge of the house, and there he waited, listening. Rusty’s barks continued unabated. The noise made it impossible to hear any movement in the woods at the edge of the wide, flat backyard.

“Shoot, move, or communicate and do it with violence of action.” That sacred maxim was a SEAL’s response to any threat. It was what made the enemy fear the SEAL above all others. They were the men who ran to, not from, the sound of gunfire. But SEALs weren’t reckless in their bravery, and the saying “The more you train in peacetime, the less you bleed in war” had served Tom and his fellow combatants well.

Tom visualized what he could not see. The dog was barking from the McCaskeys’ back porch. The porch was elevated about twenty feet off the ground. He remembered having seen lawn signs for the McCaskeys’ electric fence. Rusty could get down into the yard if he wanted. Why didn’t he? Maybe Rusty couldn’t see what was bothering him from the yard, thought Tom.