Between the Lines

Chapter 2

Awakening to the sunlight burning into your eyelids is bound to lead to a horrible day; Derrick knows that all about that all too well. The covers where everywhere, some tangled in Derrick's limbs and some tossed on the floor. With a grunt, Derrick threw off the rest of the sheets, put on pair of basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and staggered into the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Good morning Derrick," A rough voiced sounded as he walked through the living room.

Instantly, Derrick reached for a gun in his waist band. Panicking he ran to the couch to retrieve the revolver he had stuffed in the cushions.

"What in the world are you doing Rick?"

He relaxed instantly when his brain registered his dad's voice. He sank into the couch and tried to act normal. "Hey, Dad," he attempted to smile at his dad.

"Hi, Derrick? I made bacon and eggs, do you want some?" He said tossing his thumb back into the direction of the kitchen.

"Yea, let me go get Chloe from the back yard first." Still a little tense, Derrick rose to get his blue and brown eyed, full blooded Husky from the pull barn in the side yard. Opening the old, red wooden doors, he was greeted his face full of licks. Chuckling, he fell to the ground on his back with Chloe on his chest with her tongue out. "Hi, Chloe, how are you pretty girl?" Another lick along the side of his face. "Come on baby girl, let's go get you some food," He baby talked to her. "You want some food, girl, huh?" She barked happily, wagging her tail feverously back and forth. "Let's go baby girl." Turning on his heel, with Chloe on his side, they walked up to the porch and inside the house. Following Derrick inside, she flopped on the kitchen floor next to the seat he took at the kitchen table. "So dad, do you remember anything from last night?" 

"What do you mean, boy?" Gerald asked confusingly.

"You know, anything about oh, I don't know, tackling me? Oh, and maybe nicking me with a damn kitchen knife?" Derrick replied nonchalantly as he slipped Chloe some bacon.

"Son, I would tell you to stop drinking, but I know you don't drink, so I right now, I am completely lost at what you are trying to tell me. Where you high last night or something?"

"Really, Dad? Really? Did you really just ask me that? You know that I have never smoked weed, or drank since Adrian. You know that. Why would you ask that?"

"Because anything is possible with you now-a-days; I don't know about you anymore."

"Me? Really dad?! Look! Look at this," frustrated, Derrick lifted his t-shirt to reveal the blood soaked bandage. "Huh, would you look at that, it looks like you nicked me a little more than I thought Pa. It looks like I don't know you anymore." 

"Derrick! I did not do that! Stop accusing me! Stop it, now go and wake your mother up so we can go to church," he said dismissingly as his diverted his attention to the television screen.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Mom died four years ago," I cracked out.

"Don't say that! How could you say that? Go wake her up this instant!" He rasped out with bugged out eyes.

"I'm twenty three years old, father; don't treat me like I'm nine, and Mom died in a plane crash when she was on her way back from one of her meetings in New York four years ago. You were torn apart because of it; everyone was. Please don't tell me you forgot." Broken, Derrick thought of the worst for his father; tears building up behind his closed eyelids. How could he forget? Why is he making us relive it again?

"No! I'll prove it to you; I will!" Marching off to his bedroom, like a distressed child, Gerald flung open the door; there was no Heather. Stomping to the adjoined bathroom, he discovered there was also no Heather. "She must be at the store," he thought to himself. Dialing his wife's cell phone number on his home phone, he waited, and waited, and waited, until he got the dreadful message, 'this number is no longer in service, please contact you service provider'. Marching to the front window he discovered that his son's motorcycle, Mustang, and his own car was parked in the drive. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! She is not gone! She's not!" Gerald was close to tears; they were welling up in his eyes, glistening like a clear lake. Shuffling back to the kitchen, he looked at Derrick. "No."

"Yes, dad. She's gone." Those four words muttered from Derrick's mouth where enough to send a sixty-four year old tough built male into a fit of silent sobs, on the floor, in the frame of the kitchen doorway. It broke Derrick's heart to see his father like this. He had to see his Dad like this once, and he swore that he would never let his dad ever be that upset, that heartbroken, or that depressed ever again. Derrick let his dad down; he let him down to rock bottom - again. With his head in his hands, Derrick let his own tears trickle down his face. "Why," he asked himself. "Why me? No, why my father? Just why?" Chloe must have felt his distress because she rubbed her fur against his naked calf. It was nice to have someone comforting him, but it no matter how hard Chloe tried, she could never offer comfort that was his mother's.