or you love somebody, you never know how it’s gonna come out.”
I look up at Rabbit. “So you’re saying he loves me and that might be even worse?”
“Or better.” Rabbit shrugs. “It’s hard to say. One thing I know for certain—we gotta get a move on. Cash is gonna wonder what’s been holding us up.”
“You’re right about that.” The reply doesn’t come from Rabbit, but rather from a voice thick with scorn. I whirl around, unable to believe anyone could sneak up on us in this small enclosed space.
But my father is not just anyone and, of course, that’s exactly who’s standing directly behind me.
RATHER BE DEAD
“So, you do recognize me,” my father says, his voice changing to something warmer with even a hint of a chuckle. “You see that, Rabbit? Told ya my little girl would recognize her daddy.”
He’s right. I recognized him immediately from the fuzzy old pictures I’ve studied over the years. I’ve always wondered how it was that he could appear so shockingly normal. Dark hair. Friendly smile. Good enough looking, but not so handsome you’d look twice. I always figured that was how he was able to keep from getting caught, by being the type of person who blends in.
After more than a decade of being on the run, I’d imagined him turning pale and withdrawn, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. But my theory was all wrong. In reality, Leonard Cash is magnetic and fully alive. His presence seems to fill the freezer, and then overflow it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the door flew off its hinges.
He leans closer to me. “Hey, you made of Swiss cheese? You too scared to even say hello?”
If there had been any doubt, it vanishes with these words. That phrase, in his distinctive gravelly voice, opens a door, and a pile of old memories fall out.
I was six. It was my birthday. Good old Butter Bear, my stuffed animal/backpack hybrid, was slung on my back, his steadying, reassuring weight a nice counterbalance to Daddy, who I never felt quite solid around. Daddy took me to the toy store and let me ride one of the bikes up and down the aisles. I didn’t want to leave, but he told me we would come back and buy it and bring it home after he ran a few more errands. The bike had pink streamers and a horn so loud that when I honked it I couldn’t hear the store manager yelling about how the bikes were for display only.
The first errand was ice cream. I got a chocolate cone with rainbow sprinkles. I held it in one hand, the chocolate dripping down my wrist, while Daddy held tight to my other as we walked to the bank next door. Then there was a gun in Daddy’s hand, and people screaming and bleeding and dying and Daddy asking me if I was made of Swiss cheese.
It was the same question he asked when I cried after skinning my knees or because one of my uncles’ dogs had bitten me. All those other times I’d been able to stop crying and tell him no. No, I wasn’t made of Swiss cheese. This time, though, I puked up chocolate ice cream and Daddy swore and told a nice-looking lady to clean it up or he’d put a hole in her fat ass. After we’d gotten away and were speeding down the road with sirens wailing in the distance, Daddy told me he’d been tempted to leave me behind. That a getaway was tough enough without having a kid made of Swiss cheese along for the ride. “You gotta buck up if you wanna stick with me,” he’d said. And I’d tried. I’d tried to hide how I was so full of holes I could practically feel the wind whistling through ’em.
But in the end, he left me behind anyway.
Now, feeling the weight of his eyes on me, I don’t merely remember how hard I’d always tried to please him, but I actually feel it again. I can feel myself being drawn toward him, wanting to laugh with him and impress him and have him say more things to me in that chummy way.
I push these feelings away, and instead focus on the years of practice I’ve had in hating Leonard Cash. “I save my hellos for people I’m happy to see.”
The teasing laughter on my father’s face is replaced by a disapproving frown, and I have to force