The Accident Curse Read online

  “Oh, wow. Do you know where he went?”

  “Meeting Fred Jackson, most likely. So, either the bar in Accident, or out in the woods somewhere.”

  “He wouldn’t want to go out in the woods in his current state. Why don’t you call the bar and see if he’s there? I can be at your house to pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

  “Sorry to impose on you like this. You don’t mind?”

  “It’s no problem. The cows have already been milked. Other chores can wait till later.”

  “Thanks, Colten. I appreciate this.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  I hung up, sighing in relief. Thank God I ran into him yesterday. Next, I found Dad’s phone book and looked up the number for the bar. My fingers drummed restlessly on the counter as I waited for them to pick up.

  “Is Fred Jackson there?” I asked without preamble.

  “Fred,” the voice called out.

  Fred came on the phone. “Hello?”

  “Fred, it’s Marty. Is my dad planning on meeting you there?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, he left here and I don’t know where he’s heading.”

  “We usually meet here for breakfast on Wednesdays, but I figured he wouldn’t make it today.”

  “Urg! He’s probably heading there right now. I’m on my way, so make sure he stays there until I come.”

  “Sure, Mart.”

  I hung up.

  With my anxiety increasing my adrenaline, I quickly went about the tasks of brushing my teeth and putting on some clothes.

  When Colten pulled into the drive ten minutes later, I rushed out to meet him.

  “Morning,” Colten called out the rolled down window. He wore a knit toboggan, which flattened his hair around his ears. “You look angrier than a badger in winter.”

  “I feel like it.” I went to the passenger side door of his Ford Ranger and climbed inside. “I can’t believe he did this.”

  He backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. “Seems in-character to me. Your dad’s impulsive.”

  My tapping fingers stilled and I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  Colten took his eyes off the road and glanced at me. He smiled. “Your dad has a reputation. He’s the one who processes the orders of our farm equipment so I have to deal with him regularly. He never sits still for a second. Never stops running his mouth, either.” He let out a bark-like laugh. “He was filling out the paperwork for our tractor’s muffler replacement a few months ago. And of course, the loading guys weren’t working fast enough to suit his needs, so he climbed the shelves instead of waiting for the forklift. I swear, I nearly had a heart attack seeing him scurry up the metal racks like a lizard.”

  He chuckled again, and gave me another grin. “So, hearing he broke his leg wasn’t shocking, and hearing he ran off without you wasn’t surprising either.”

  “Huh,” I said, unable to convey my emotions any better. I knew Dad to be impatient, but I hadn’t realized he was reckless. To me, he was my dad. It was strange to try and see him through a stranger’s eyes.

  Not that Colten was a stranger.

  “There was another time,” Colten continued. “It was probably three years ago. He was delivering parts out to the house. Well, one of the cows got loose and wouldn’t budge from its spot behind his truck.” He practically howled with laughter. “God! Your dad was so pissed! He honked the horn; he yelled like a lunatic. The cow didn’t move. Finally, we had to physically push her out of the way. Nothing else would work. Now, whenever we need parts, someone else always makes the deliveries.”

  I stared on in amazement as Colten recounted a dozen tales of my father, each more unbelievable than the last. When we pulled up to the bar in Accident, my face was red from laughing.

  “I can’t believe it,” I said, as Colten parked. My stomach ached and I was having trouble catching my breath. “I mean, I’ve never once seen him drunk.”

  “As I said, he does have his reputation.”

  “But disco dancing? I didn’t even know he liked disco. He favored classic rock when I was little.”

  “He’ll deny it, but it happened.”

  I shook my head, trying to imagine my dad doing Travolta’s routine from Pulp Fiction. It didn’t work.

  “There’s the truck,” Colten said, pointing.

  I gave a start. I’d forgotten we were on the chase.

  “Thanks—” I began, but Colten turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. He meant to follow me in. Maybe he wanted to see me and Dad come to blows. Add that to his collection of stories.

  I got out of the truck too and tried to clear the humor off my face. This was serious now. Dad had to see he’d made a mistake and he owed me an apology. And one to Colten too for dragging him away from his farm like this.

  Calmly, I opened the door to the bar and held it for Colten. He walked in, his thick soled boots clomping loudly on the hardwood floors.

  Dad was sitting at a table in the corner, his leg propped up on a chair beside him. Fred was there. So was Andy, Ray, and Jessie. The whole gang.

  As Dad looked up from his plate of bacon and eggs, a flash of horror filled his eyes. For a moment, I wondered if I’d looked the same when he found the joint I’d hidden under my bed during sophomore year.

  But, being old and stubborn, Dad’s fear quickly changed to anger.

  “Marty,” he said, trying to get to his feet.

  Thankfully, Fred put a hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.

  “Dad, what in the hell were you thinking?”

  His eyes narrowed and his bushy eyebrows looked like the raised hairs on a cat’s back. “I was thinking of enjoying a quiet breakfast with my friends. The same I do every Wednesday.”

  I took a breath, trying to keep my ire in check. “Dad, you could have asked me to drive you. You could have asked Jessie to pick you up on his way here. There were a hundred other options, ones that wouldn’t have endangered lives.”

  “Quit being melodramatic. I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Your painkillers are technically narcotics. Don’t tell me the police wouldn’t arrest you for driving while on them.”

  “I didn’t take any pills.”

  The admission was almost worse. “Why not? You’re going to tough out the pain?”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “You’re lying. And you’re not fooling me.”

  He slapped his hand down atop the table. “Damn it, Marty, I can function fine on my own.”

  “Why did you even have Dr. Russell call me if you’re not going to use my help?”

  “Cause they made me.”

  “Who?”

  Dad raised a hand and pointed at his friends around the table.

  I turned my glare to them.

  Fred was the first to speak up. “Jim, you do need the help. Marty’s only looking out for your best interests.”

  Next, Jessie pulled on his gray-streaked beard. “There’s nothing wrong with taking it easy for a month or two.”

  “And you two?” Dad snapped at Ray and Andy.

  “Dad,” I shouted back. “Don’t try to blame them for being good friends. And don’t try and blame me for being a good son.”

  “Good son?” he asked with a scoff. “Coming to see me for the first time in ten years is you being a good son?”

  I flinched as if he’d struck me. His words hurt more than any physical blow he could have landed.

  “Now, now,” Colten said, stepping forward with his arms raised. “Everyone’s not thinking clearly right now. We all need to take a deep breath and count to ten.”

  Dad looked down at his plate. “I’m not hungry anymore. I guess I better get back home so I can sit around.” He used the back of the chair for support to stand up. “Anyone feel like driving me since I can’t take my own car?”

  “I’ll drive you back, Dad,” I told him.

  He ignored me.

 
Ray sighed, and stood. “Come on, Jim. I’ll take ya home.” He pulled a snakeskin wallet out of his jeans and put a handful of bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll meet you there, Dad.”

  He grunted in reply and also left some money. Ray put a hand on Dad’s forearm and helped him hobble to the front door.

  Once he was out of sight, I turned to the others. They were all staring at me.

  “The damage was already done,” Fred said, almost reproachfully. “You didn’t need to barge in here, Mart.”

  Maybe he had a point, but I didn’t want to entertain the idea. Dad was the irresponsible one in this situation. I’d acted out of worry.

  “Well, sorry to interrupt,” I answered.

  Andy spoke up. “Mart, you gotta approach this from a different angle. Treating him like a child rubs him wrong.”

  “I’m not treating him like a child. I’m treating him like an adult who has a broken leg.” I growled in frustration. “Did you guys really make the doctor call me?”

  Jessie nodded. “They have social workers at the hospitals now. They make sure you have someone there to take care of you. Of course, your dad told them he did. So, we asked Dr. Russell to call you.”

  “And how is that any different than what I did?”

  “We went behind his back,” Fred answered. “Sometimes, you need to take a man’s pride into consideration. Once we did it, we could all pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “I’m supposed to forget this whole thing occurred?”

  “Sure,” they all agreed.

  I shook my head. “No. Real life doesn’t work that way. Sorry again. I’ll see you guys later.”

  I went to the door, surprised Colten was still beside me. He followed me out.

  We walked to Colten’s truck. At the driver’s side door, Colten hesitated.

  “Thanks,” I told him again. “I appreciate you picking me up and driving me here.” I chuckled. “I bet you hadn’t counted on hearing from me so soon, huh?”

  He smiled, and it put creases at the corners of his eyes. “It was no problem, Marty. Like I said, I had the time.”

  “Would you like to come over for dinner as a thank you? I’m a decent cook.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Friday? Seven o’clock?”

  He nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

  “Great, I’ll see you then.”

  Colten gave me a parting smile, then climbed into his truck.

  I watched him pull out of the lot and wave as he disappeared down the road. At least his house was close. He’d be back among his cows in no time.

  Chapter 6

  Dad was already home when I got back.

  When I’d gotten into his Tundra, the mystery of how he’d driven there had been solved. A gun. He’d used the butt of a shotgun to hit the petals. Jesus! How stupid could a person be? My anger increased.

  But, when I walked in, I didn’t say a word. We’d both said too much already. We needed a cool off period.

  So, I went and turned on his computer and got to work. The sounds of the television wafted into the spare room occasionally. As did Dad’s loud snoring.

  What was I going to do with him? I understood he didn’t want to be treated like a child. No one liked that, not even children. But he also had to realize he couldn’t do everything he wanted. Part of being a responsible adult was knowing your limits. Will power. Self-control. A little intelligence and thought.

  This place is so backward. All Dad’s friends had sided with him. They all saw things from some weird, messed-up perspective.

  I worked through the afternoon, only stopping for a sandwich around lunchtime. The internet held steady, so I accomplished a lot. I got a video on food safety edited, synched for sound, and returned to my superiors for a final look-over. I still had two more to do for this company—a movie theater chain based in Arizona—one on discrimination and another on serving customers with disabilities.

  When evening approached, I went out to the kitchen to see what we had for dinner. The ham and swiss hadn’t filled me up, so I was famished.

  “You want pork chops?” Dad asked.

  I thought we weren’t on speaking terms yet, so it surprised me when he called in from the living room.

  “Sure. Are they in the basement?”

  “Yeah. You mind grabbing ‘em?”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll get the oven started.”

  I went to the first door in the hallway and pulled it open. It led to a narrow set of stairs. I hadn’t been down here yet. The washer and dryer were here, as well as an overlarge freezer, and a locked room with all of Dad’s guns. When I’d been younger, we’d had a pool table. Dad must’ve gotten rid of it when I left.

  The freezer was filled to the brim with all sorts of meats. Each was labeled with a date and a description. I found a pack of pork chops and brought them upstairs.

  “You can thaw them in the microwave,” Dad said when I returned.

  I’d edited enough food videos to know this wasn’t the best idea. “Dad, doesn’t defrosting make the pork bad?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not if done properly. Set it for two minutes. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Right, right.”

  Dad got to work on some sort of gravy while I took the thawed pork and added them to a frying pan. We worked in tandem, and before long we had a finished product ready for the oven. Dad pushed the pan of pork inside and I disinfected the surfaces.

  “Smells good already,” I said.

  “I got the mushrooms from Dale Thomas. He’s started up a business. Grows them on the trees along the edge of his property.”

  “Are they safe?”

  Dad gave me that look again. “You think I’d buy them if they weren’t?”

  “I never realized you were a mushroom connoisseur,” I muttered.

  “He sells them at the Amish market. He’s doing well.”

  “Good for him.”

  We fell into silence.

  I had to break it. “Dad. Can we talk calmly and rationally?”

  “Not a good way to start a conversation, Mart.”

  “I’m serious. I think we need to lay some ground rules. Whether you like it or not, I’m here to help.”

  “Like it?” he asked, his voice pitched high. “Marty, I’m thrilled you’re here. I’ve wanted you to come back home since the day you left.”

  I opened my mouth, but only a gurgle came out. Clearing my throat, I went on. “Well, I’m here, and I want to be of use. It’s okay for you to depend on me, Dad.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you sneak out of the house?”

  “I didn’t sneak. I’m allowed to come and go as I please.”

  “Not when you shouldn’t be driving.”

  “The doctors never said I shouldn’t drive. I don’t know where you’re comin’ up with this.”

  My sarcasm was thick when I said, “Oh, so they suggested you use a gun to hit the gas petal?”

  At least he had the sense to look abashed. “I was improvising.”

  “Dad! I could have driven you there! Don’t you see how irresponsible a move that was? There was no reason you couldn’t have asked me to drive you. I would have, and you know it.”

  “You were still asleep.”

  “So, you were being thoughtful,” I snapped.

  Dad grinned. “For your insistence of keeping this calm, you sure are getting worked up.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What’s the real reason?”

  He looked at me, his face uncharacteristically open. “Honestly, Mart? I don’t want to put you out because I’m afraid you’ll up and leave again.”

  My eyes burned and my anger evaporated. “I’m sorry, but I will leave again. Once you’re all better.”

  “I know. But I don’t want that to come sooner. I want you to take it easy, remember the good times here, not be stressed out by lookin’ after me.”

  I shut my
eyes so I didn’t have to see the sorrow making his face droop. “What’s stressing me out is you not being responsible.” I gritted my teeth and looked at him again. I had to be responsible myself, own up for my actions. “Dad, I’m sorry I abandoned you. I know you wanted me closer, and I didn’t take your feelings into consideration.”

  He shook his head. “I only wanted what was best for you. Lots of kids struggle when they move from home the first time. I wanted you close so you could come back if you needed. But you proved stronger than I imagined. You didn’t need to come home. In fact, you flourished. I never saw it as abandonment. But you could have come to visit, you know.”

  “There’s nothing for me here, Dad. No reason—besides you—to be here. It’s so much better when you come and visit me. There’s things to do in Phoenix. I have friends. We can eat at amazing restaurants. See a show, or a ball game. For a vacation, Arizona makes more sense.”

  “I can understand why you’d see it that way. But I want you to see it from my view too.”

  “Then you’ll have to explain, cause I can’t right now.”

  “Memories,” he answered simply.

  “Which is exactly why I don’t want to stay,” I answered.

  Dad fell quiet, so I glanced his direction. I expected judgement, or anger at my words, but instead, I found him gazing out the window. I followed his line of sight and saw what drew his attention. Fawns.

  “Get me the apples,” Dad said softly, as if the baby deer could hear us from inside the house.

  “Apples?”

  “Didn’t you pick up some at the market yesterday?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Quiet,” Dad commanded as my chair scraped against the tile floor.

  I tiptoed to the fridge and pulled out a couple of the McIntosh apples I’d bought yesterday. I hadn’t realized they’d been for the animals, or else I would have got the cheaper brand.

  “Grab more. At least seven.”

  “Are we feeding the whole deer population?”

  Dad ignored me. He opened the back door slowly and cautiously hobbled out onto the deck. I followed, my arms laden with apples.

  The deer were right at the edge of the yard, where neatly mowed grass met the underbrush of the untamed wilderness. There were three of them, and a doe right behind her babies. They frolicked into the grass, heedless of the danger Dad and I presented. Or maybe they knew the risks, but chose to come regardless. It was obvious Dad knew the deer would show up. Did he feed them regularly?