Art & Soul

Hannah Myers was music.

And without her, life was a mistake.

* * *

I headed home that night with my mind made up. I would tell Dad that I had to go back to Alabama and look after Mom for a few weeks. I had to know that she would be okay. But, when I stepped inside, I saw the glow from the black and white comedies playing on the television. Dad sat in front of it with his dinner sitting on his TV tray, and beside him was another tray with my dinner.

My chest tightened as the nurse walked up to me, explaining that she would be back the next evening, and that she’d left all of Dad’s medicine labeled for him to take in the morning. She left and closed the front door behind her.

“I made you the fried chicken TV dinner and a Salisbury steak one—I wasn’t sure which one you liked more,” he said, moving a spoon around a bowl of soup in front of him. I sat down next to him on the couch as we watched the comedies together.

He didn’t eat much of his soup, but when he did lift his hand, I watched it shake repeatedly. I offered to help him, but he huffed and grumbled as always.

Eventually he placed his spoon down, defeated, and nodded toward me.

I fed him the soup, and I was back to square one with no clue how I could leave him here to go back home.

“You know that song you played at the showcase? The first one?”

“Yeah. ‘Love You Till The End’ by—”

“The Pogues.” He nodded, his eyes still on the television screen. “It was mine and your mom’s wedding song.”

The pieces of my mother that I’d never truly understood were slowly coming together.

“What happened to you two? Why did you split up?”

He cringed and rubbed his temple. “I messed up. Your mother and I got into a big fight one night, then I got drunk and made a move on Camila Watson in a bar. That’s why her husband can’t stand me, and that’s why Hannah left me.”

“Did you love Camila?”

“No. No. I was stupid and young, an asshole who made a bad mistake. It turned out my mistake was enough for your mom to pack up and leave me. I don’t blame her, though. She had her anxiety and always worried I would leave her for someone else. At that point I didn’t know how sick she was, about her mental health. I should have fought, though. I should’ve fought for her.”

“Did you love her?” I asked.

He sniffled and cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything else until he was ready for bed. I walked him to his bedroom and even though he argued that he didn’t want me to help him change into his pajamas, he allowed me to do so.

When he was settled into bed, I went to turn off his lamp, and heard him mutter, “Until the end.”

Denise called me that night to tell me Mom was okay. She was still in the hospital, but she was doing much better.

That night I cried myself to sleep.

* * *

On Christmas day, I headed to the woods at six in the morning, just like every day before. For a second I thought I was still dreaming when I saw Dad standing next to the tree house. He stared at the ladder that led up to it. Each rung was covered in snow. Dad’s hands were stuffed into his sweatpants pockets.

“You need a coat?” I asked, taking in his white T-shirt that was now too big for him from all the weight he’d lost.

He shook his head.

I walked up next to him, and we stared at the tree’s ladder together.

“You remember when we put that ladder up?” he asked. “You were nine and you had me test out each step to make sure they were sturdy.”

“They weren’t.” I laughed.

He laughed, too. It was weird how the sound of his laughter made me want to smile and break down all at once. “I thought I broke my behind when I fell. After you went back home, I had ice packs taped to my ass.”

“They’re sturdy now,” I said, nodding toward them.

“Just a little old, though. We should’ve spent more time up there.” He rubbed his fingers on the back of his neck, kicking off the snow on his shoes. His frail body was shivering as a cold wind passed through the tree branches.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the cold,” I scolded.

“Last time I checked, I was the parent, not you,” he scolded right back. He pushed the back of his hand against his nose and looked away from the tree house.

With a weighted sigh, he spoke again, “Listen. You’ve been too much for me to handle and I think it’s best that you go back to stay with your mom or aunt or something.”

His words stung, causing me to step backward. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Lance told me about your mom.”

“She’s doing better,” I said. “She’ll be fine. I can stay here and help take care of you.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” he hissed. “I don’t want you, Levi. I don’t want you here.” He wouldn’t look at me. “Your plane leaves tonight at seven-thirty. Lance will take you to the airport.” He turned and walked back toward the house, leaving me standing there, confused and hurt.

He’s abandoning me, again.

I followed him into the house, but he shut me out by locking himself in his office. My fist pounded against the door. “Let me in, Dad!” I shouted, the back of my throat burning. “Let me in!” I begged.

I pleaded, but he didn’t relent, and in the pit of my stomach I knew he wasn’t going to let me back in.