I’ve never shown this song to anyone. It’s dark, sinister. It’s about all the rage that was inside me after Abby died. I read the lyrics and realize Liam’s right. Seven years later, and I can’t let go of it.
I sit back down and stare at the words.
Realization smacks me in the face. Maybe it’s not just her I can’t let go of.
I sink into the couch, knowing what I have to do, but I’d never get in to see him without an act of Congress. I can only think of one person who might help. I pick up my phone, feeling like a traitor.
Dirk answers on the second ring. “What can I do for you, Chris?”
~ ~ ~
Several hours later, after being vetted, patted down, and run through a metal detector, I sit in a room wearing a large badge on my chest that reads BRIDGEPORT CORRECTIONAL CENTER – VISITOR
Dr. Evans walks in, and his eyes immediately tear up. He comes over to me, head bobbing up and down, lips pressed together in a thin line. He sits opposite me at the table.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Abby’s father says. “It only took you seven years.”
“Sorry, Dr. Evans.”
“I think we’re way past that, Chris. Call me Jim.”
I can’t help but stare at him. I don’t remember him having such deep lines around his eyes and on his forehead. And his hair, cut short, is graying around the ears and temples. The man is still in his forties, but he looks closer to sixty. I guess that’s what prison does to a person.
When I can’t speak—mostly because I can’t get anything past the colossal lump in my throat—I reach out to shake his hand, but the guard clears his throat and motions to the NO PHYSICAL CONTACT sign on the wall.
“It’s nice to see you, son,” Jim says. “You’re looking well.”
“You, too.”
“Bullshit.”
I’m shocked. Never had he uttered a single curse word when I knew him. I guess that’s also what prison does to a person.
“I’ve heard your music, you know,” he says proudly. “Reckless Alibi songs are on the radio all the time. Well done.”
“How did you know that’s my band?”
“Shelly visits me from time to time. She was here last month.”
“My mom comes to see you?”
“Not often. A few times a year maybe. At first I didn’t like it. It reminded me of you, and you reminded me of Abigail.”
My chest tightens at his use of her name. “Why would she come here?”
He shrugs. “She feels bad, I suppose. I lost my child and then my wife left me. She still has you. Over the years I found myself looking forward to her visits. Eventually I liked hearing about you.”
I’m still amazed Mom comes to visit him.
“So what brings you to this fine establishment?” he jokes. “I know it’s not the food.”
I remain silent.
“You can sit there and say nothing, son, but our thirty minutes is going to be over before you know it.”
I think of all the things I was going to say to him, but nothing sounds right. Seconds tick away on the large clock secured to the cement wall. I look at it for one full circumnavigation of the second hand.
I go completely off-script and say something from the heart. “I hated you.”
He nods. “I hated myself for a long time. Still do most days.”
“No, this was before. I hated you for being so strict. For making Abby feel like she couldn’t come to you. For making us hide our relationship.”
“I know you did. She was my only child. My one chance to show the world what a great father I was. But in trying to do that, I lost her.”
“You had nothing to do with what happened.”
“That’s not what I meant. I lost her love, her adoration. I lost it because I felt I had to control everything. Maybe that’s why she was so drawn to you. You represented everything I didn’t. Fun, freedom, unconditional love. I’m sure she hated me like you did.”
“She didn’t hate you. She loved you.”
“She loved you.”
I close my eyes. “I know, but you were her father. No matter what restrictions you put on her, she still loved you. She told me she did.”
His eyes mist. “I appreciate you telling me that, but that’s not why you’re here after all these years, is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure why I came. I just knew I had to.”