Chapter 3
Karen was waiting when I got home.
It was nearly nine.
Emily stayed at Dad's.
Tyler and Maya had already left after promising to return the next morning for leftovers.
I walked into my house alone.
The dining table was untouched.
Eight place settings.
Candles burned halfway down.
Crystal glasses still empty.
The centerpiece looked absurdly perfect.
Karen stood beside it.
Her parents were gone.
Melissa and her husband had apparently left too.
“So you finally decided to come home.”
I removed my coat.
“Dad says you've excluded him before.”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
That was enough.
“How many times?”
She looked away.
“Rick, not tonight.”
“Tonight.”
She crossed her arms.
“You humiliated me in front of my entire family.”
“You lied to them.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I tried to salvage the afternoon after you stole Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I took food I helped pay for and cook to the person you deliberately excluded.”
“You made me look horrible.”
“You did that yourself.”
Karen's face hardened.
For years, our arguments followed a familiar pattern.
Karen would become cold.
I would become tired.
Eventually, I would apologize just to restore peace.
That night I wasn't tired.
I was awake.
“Why don't you want my father around?”
“I never said I don't.”
“You've told him not to attend birthdays.”
She sighed.
“He doesn't fit every situation.”
“He's my father.”
“That doesn't mean he has to be included in everything.”
“He was included. You uninvited him behind my back.”
Karen looked at the ceiling.
“You're twisting this.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I've spent years letting you twist things until I forgot what actually happened.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Don't talk to me like I'm some manipulator.”
“Then stop manipulating people.”
That landed.
She picked up a wineglass.
For a second, I thought she might throw it.
Instead, she placed it down hard.
“My parents have standards.”
“Your father told me neither of them cared about Dad being there.”
Her face went pale.
“Harold called you?”
“Yes.”
“That was none of his business.”
“You made it his business when you used him as your excuse.”
Karen paced toward the kitchen.
I followed.
“Why Dad?”
She turned.
“Because I'm tired, Rick.”
“Tired of what?”
“Living like everything is good enough.”
I stared at her.
She laughed bitterly.
“Look around. We finally have a beautiful house. Emily is in college. Tyler has a career. We know successful people. My parents' friends respect us.”
“And Dad ruins that?”
“He reminds people where you came from.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
I actually took a step backward.
Karen noticed.
For the first time that night, she looked uncertain.
But she kept going.
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
I heard my voice change.
“Say exactly what you mean.”
She hesitated.
Then she did.
“Your father is a mechanic from a working-class neighborhood. He drives a twenty-year-old truck. He wears the same three jackets. He talks about transmissions and carburetors at dinner.”
She shook her head.
“You've moved beyond that life.”
I stared at the woman I married.
My father had loaned us the down payment for our first house.
He had helped me finish community college after I dropped out for a year.
When Karen's car broke down while she was pregnant with Tyler, Dad repaired it for free over two freezing nights because we couldn't afford the parts and labor.
“We didn't move beyond Dad.”
Karen rolled her eyes.
“This is exactly why I didn't tell you.”
I almost couldn't believe it.
“You didn't tell me because you knew it was wrong.”
“No. Because you get sentimental.”
“Sentimental?”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward me.
“You act like your father is some saint because he worked hard.”
“He doesn't need to be a saint to deserve a chair.”
Karen went quiet.
I looked at the kitchen.
There were crumbs from the meal her family apparently improvised after I left.
Sandwich bread on the counter.
Cheese wrappers.
For some reason, that nearly made me laugh.
The grand Thanksgiving Karen protected from my father's mechanic smell had ended with deli sandwiches.
Then she said something worse.
“You always choose him.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Whenever Jack needs something, you go running.”
“He's seventy-four.”
“He has always done this.”
“Done what?”
“Made you feel responsible for him.”
That was a lie.
Dad almost never asked for anything.
I handled his gutters because I offered.
I drove him to a doctor's appointment because his truck was being repaired.
I visited twice a week because I wanted to.
Karen knew that.
“You're jealous of my father.”
She laughed.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“I didn't say romantic jealousy. I said you're jealous of the place he has in my life.”
She opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
That silence told me I had hit something real.
I sat at the kitchen table.
Suddenly I wasn't only furious.
I was exhausted.
“How long have you felt this way?”
Karen leaned against the counter.
“I don't know.”
“Years?”
She didn't answer.
My stomach dropped.
Twenty-six years.
How much of my marriage had been filled with quiet resentment I never recognized?
My phone buzzed.
A message from Harold.
Can we meet tomorrow morning? Alone.
Karen saw his name.
“What does my father want?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't meet him.”
That made me look up.
“Why?”
She answered too quickly.
“Because he's angry and he'll make this worse.”
“What could he tell me that makes this worse?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why shouldn't I meet him?”
Karen's breathing changed.
Not much.
But enough.
I knew my wife.
Something else was happening.
“What did you do?”
Her face hardened.
“I did nothing.”
“Karen.”
“I'm going upstairs.”
She turned away.
I reached for her arm but stopped before touching her.
“Did you involve Dad in something else?”
She froze.
Then kept walking.
At the stairs, she turned.
“You want to destroy our marriage over one Thanksgiving dinner?”
I looked at her.
“No.”
My voice was calm now.
“I want to know whether one Thanksgiving dinner finally exposed what has been happening to our marriage for years.”
She stared at me.
Then went upstairs.
I slept in the guest room.
At seven the next morning, I drove to a diner near downtown.
Harold was already waiting.
He looked older than he had the day before.
He didn't order breakfast.
Only coffee.
When I sat down, he slid a manila folder toward me.
“What is this?”
He looked toward the window.
“I should have told you months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“Told me what?”
“Karen came to me last spring.”
He swallowed.
“She wanted money.”
I frowned.
“How much?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
My heart kicked.
“For what?”
Harold looked directly at me.
“She said Jack was becoming a financial burden.”
I stared at him.
“He isn't.”
“I know.”
Harold pushed the folder closer.
“She said you were secretly giving him thousands every month.”
“That is a lie.”
“I know that now.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did you give her?”
His answer made everything inside me go cold.
“Twenty thousand.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were bank statements.
Copies of checks.
And one transfer into an account I had never seen before.
The account wasn't in my father's name.
It was Karen's.
I looked up.
May you like
Harold's voice dropped.
“Rick, I don't think this was ever about your father smelling like a garage.”
