Читать книгу The Secret of Willow Ridge - Helen H. Moore - Страница 9

3 SECRETS

EVERYONE WAS LOOKING AT Dad, waiting for him to say something. Gabe didn't know it, but he looked just like a smaller version of his dad. Or, his dad looked like a bigger version of him, as Mom had always thought to herself. Only, of course, Gabe looked healthy, even if he was small for his age. But his spiky black hair, his straight eyebrows, and strong chin were all echoes of his dad's, and it was strange for his dad now, sick as he felt, to see his own features looking back at him from such a strong and serious young face as his son's.

Gabe looked healthy. But Dad looked bad. He was skinny and sick-looking and gray-skinned. His Adam's apple stuck way out at the front of his neck. The bottom half of his face was covered with the patchy stubble of his beard—he hadn't bothered to shave in a few days. Actually, he had tried. It's just that his hands shook too much, and he couldn't stand looking at himself in the mirror, at his yellowish teeth or his bloodshot eyes with the dark circles underneath.

Outside, neighbors were starting their normal weekend routine of mowing their lawns. Gabe could hear the motors starting up. Kids in the Santiago's backyard were yelling and playing tag. He could make out Luis and Joe's voices. Gabe could hear the thwack and snap of old man Conheeny's American flag slapping against its flagpole in the breeze. But inside the kitchen was quiet—sooooo quiet.

Dad cleared his throat and that started him coughing. Mom rubbed his back and he grabbed for the coffee cup—it still had a mouthful of cold coffee in it, just enough to stop the cough. Dad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Gabe noticed his hand was shaking.

“Uh, I don't know, guys…” Dad was embarrassed. Even sweet Izzy could see that. She reached over and silently took his hand. Dad smiled at her and went on.

“Your mom here tells me I've got a problem.” Dad tried to smile, as if he'd made a joke. Only it wasn't really funny. He took a deep breath and started again.

“Okay, I know I've got a problem,” he sighed.

“We know, Daddy!” cried Izzy, “You need driving lessons!” Gabe, Mom, and even Dad himself had to laugh at his little sister. She's just a kid! thought Gabe. She thought her daddy was just a bad driver! Gabe knew it was something more. Something that made his dad drink too much and take too many pills. Something that made Dad miss work, and lose his jobs, over and over again. Something that made him yell at Gabe and Izzy for stupid little things. Something that made Mom cry and that made Gabe ashamed to have his friends over. Something that made Dad and Uncle Jimmy fight every year at Thanksgiving. And something that made it so that Dad never took Gabe to the lake like Mr. McTeague took his son, Willis. No; Gabe knew his dad needed something, and it wasn't driving lessons.

Dad gave Izzy a squeeze. His rough beard scraped her face, and she scrunched up her nose. It tickled!

“No, darlin'. Your daddy needs something, but it isn't driving lessons. I need help. I-I-I have a disease; it's called addiction,” he said, and the words hung in the air of the room like cigarette smoke. “A-dic-shun,” Izzy repeated. “A-dic-shun.”

Gabe looked at his father. He didn't know if he could stand it another minute—his father, an addict? That sounded bad. That was bad! Gabe felt angry and scared all at once. He suddenly wanted to turn and run, just leave this house and his family, run and keep running and not look back. But his dad looked so pathetic—sad and sick and hopeful all at once—that Gabe lost his urge to run. Instead he felt like he was going to cry, just like his mom had this morning.

“The car is part of it,” Mom continued quietly. “There are lots of other things, too. Some of them you know.” She rubbed her arm through her thin shirt sleeve. “Some of them we… I… we tried to keep hidden from you.” She sighed. “I guess we didn't do a very good job. You kids have been through the mill,” she said, crying again, as she held out her arms to Gabe. He went into them. Ordinarily he wouldn't let his mom hug him the way she wanted to; that stuff was for girls or babies. But he wanted to be close to her now. This is turning out to be a weird morning, he thought, as his mom squooshed him against her and cried into his hair.

Dad seemed to get his voice back, and he went on to explain more about addiction, but Gabe only half-listened; he was too amazed that his whole family was sitting here, holding each other and talking so quietly on a Saturday morning. No one was screaming or crying or passed out or hiding from anyone else. This was weird!

It seemed Dad's problems were caused by a big secret everyone tried to keep hidden. Everyone talked about the problems, but they tried to keep the secret tucked away. One of those secrets everyone knows, but nobody talks about, Gabe thought. Like Old Man Conheeny's toupee, only a lot more serious.

But now the secret had a name: addiction. Most of the time Dad tried to hide it and Mom tried to hide it. Grandpa and Grandma always tried to hide it. Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Stacey had tried to hide it, too. They may have been able to hide the secret from the neighbors, and even from themselves, but they really couldn't hide the secret from Gabe and Izzy. Deep down inside, where they never admitted it, the kids knew all about it. And, of course Mom, being a mom, had known all along that Gabe and Izzy were aware that their dad was an addict. But nobody ever admitted or talked about it.

Dad had the disease of addiction. His problems happened because he was an addict.

Dad took too many pills and other drugs he got from doctors and from people he would meet at different places in town. He drank too much beer, too much liquor, and too much wine. Whenever he took too many pills or drank too much alcohol there were problems. When he tried not to take too many pills or drink too much alcohol, there were also problems, different problems, but still problems. And Dad's problems hurt everyone in the family.

Gabe remembered some of Dad's problems. He remembered a night when he tried to get Dad to wake up and get out of his chair. At first it was funny.

“Wake up,” Gabe had yelled as loud as he could in Dad's ear. “It's time to go to bed.” But Dad didn't move. He just mumbled something that sounded like “You go. Bed here.” Then he let out a snore and lashed out at Gabe with one floppy arm. Mom came and pulled on that arm while Gabe and Izzy pulled on the other, but Dad just flopped back in the chair, and that's where he stayed all night. Mom said he was passed out. She was so mad! “Leave him there!” she said. She wouldn't even put a blanket on him. But I got him a blanket, Gabe remembered.

Gabe remembered lots of big arguments between Dad and Mom. Sometimes they argued because Dad wanted to go out and Mom didn't want him to. Sometimes they argued about money. Mom said Dad could waste all his money and she couldn't stop him, but she better not catch him with his hands in her purse again—that was her hard-earned money, she'd said.

So many arguments!

Dad had screamed at Mom and Mom had screamed back at Dad. One night, Dad picked up a glass and threw it. It crashed into a thousand splinters against the kitchen wall and left a dent you could still see. And Mom had cried and cried while she cleaned up the mess and the broken glass.

“Please don't cry,” Gabe had told her. “I'll be good.” Saying that made her cry more.

“Oh, honey, it's not you,” she'd said, reaching out to hold his hand. “It's not you.” Gabe didn't know what to say.

“It will be different in the morning,” he said, finally. And it was almost always different in the morning. But of course, it would happen all over again the next day, or the next, or the next. The family didn't know when it would happen again, but it always did happen again.

Even when there wasn't fighting, there were problems. One time Dad stayed in bed for days and days. Mom had to call his work and tell Dad's boss that he was sick.

“Is Dad really sick?” Gabe had asked Mom. “Should we call the doctor?”

Mom had looked at Gabe with red, red eyes. She had been crying. “He's not that kind of sick, honey,” Mom said. “He just needs to rest.” It seemed like Mom was always making excuses for Dad.