Heart of Georgia

Chapter 1

Chapter 1~

The sound of country music spilling out of the radio combined with the roar of the diesel engine was lulling me to sleep. I had been stuck with my dad in his old Ford pickup for over an hour, and we had barely talked at all. I passed the time by gazing out the window at the lush green countryside. We were driving down a road that cut through endless fields of horses, cows, and summer crops.

"I'm glad I'm finally gettin' to see you after five years," he said, glancing over at me. His voice startled me. I had grown used to the silence.

"Yeah,” I said quietly, “it’s been a while, I guess.”

“I… I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances,” he said, his voice hesitant. I glanced over at him. He looked just as he did five years ago when I saw him last, except that his dark brown hair had more gray in it, and his face had more wrinkles.

"I'm sorry too," I said quietly. 

“I know I haven’t really been around, but I want you to know that you can talk to me. You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he said. I could hear the suggestion in his voice. He wanted me to open up and talk about the “circumstances” that were the reason for me being in his truck, on our way to his house where I would be living from now on. I didn’t want to talk about it, though. It would only unearth all of the negativity between us that had been buried since I moved away. I was trying to start fresh, and it wouldn’t be helpful to be fighting with my dad on the first day.

 “I know. It’s just really fresh, you know?” I said. And it was true. My mom had only died six months earlier. Talking about it would only bring back the bad memories. I didn’t want to be reminded of the sterile smell of the hospital, or the looks of pity I could never avoid, or when the doctors kept repeating the diagnosis to me, but the only word I could latch on to was terminal.

“I get it. Just know I’m here,” he said, glancing at me.

“Thanks,” I said, managing a half-hearted smile. I registered that we were being overly polite with each other, but it was for the best right now. I wanted to be settled in to my new life before we addressed the heavier issues. Even though my brain was screaming avoid avoid avoid, there was something that needed to be addressed right away. Like ripping off a band aid, I told myself.

“So how’s the drinking?” I said flatly. I knew being blunt was the best way to bring it up.

He cleared his throat. “It’s not a problem anymore,” he said quickly.

I put on the cold, hard exterior that I had mastered in the six months since my mom’s death. “Good. That can’t happen again.” Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a drinker. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he just enjoyed his beer. The drinking didn’t get bad until I was ten years old. My uncle, who was my dad’s brother, was killed in combat. After that, there wasn’t a day when my dad didn’t get drunk. My mom put up with it for over a year, until one night when she freaked out at him for coming home wasted again, and he slapped her. The next day my mom had me pack all of my stuff and dragged me off to Knoxville, Tennessee with her.

“Look, Shay, I know that what I did was terrible. I chose alcohol over my family, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I was having a rough time, and I know that’s no excuse, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I regret everything,” he said, his words coming out in a rush. It sounded like he had already been thinking about what he was going to say to me when I brought it up.

“Yeah. I do too,” was all I could say. I knew he was sorry, but just saying it wasn’t enough. I needed him to make it up to me and show me he had changed before I forgave him.