The Swailing

Maine: Running

My dad plans to stay only a couple days. I think a part of me had hoped that, despite the odds, he and my mom would get back together, that their former love would rekindle and my dad would be willing to face his fears and make a brave choice. Maybe if they were still in love it would make everything better somehow. But it's clear that whatever they once felt for each other has faded with time. They've spent far more years apart than they did together, and living in two polar opposite sovereigns has changed them into very different people. Their relationship is polite, peaceful ... kind of like mine was with Logan. Maybe it was never a relationship meant to last a lifetime.

Or maybe it's not so peaceful. On my second night in Maine, I wake to hear their hushed voices in the living room. I can tell they are arguing by their fierce whispers and clenched teeth. I can't make out everything they are saying over Camden's snoring, but it goes something like:

Mom: "I tried. You said it was too late!"

Dad: "It was too late! I had already told her you were dead! It was ten years too late!"

Mom: "That's not my fault, Reed. I couldn't leave."

Dad: "Maybe you shouldn't have left without us in the first place."

Mom: "You didn't want to come! At least be honest about that."

Dad: "I didn't want to. Of course I didn't want to. We had a good life! But I would have, for you and Camden. You didn't give me the chance."

It is suddenly quiet and for a moment I feel bad for my dad. My mom took his son and left him. Sometimes I forget how that must have made him feel.

My mom mumbles something I can't hear. I slide out of bed and tiptoe closer to the door.

Dad: "That would have made things worse."

Mom: "You were punishing me."

Dad: "I was not."

Mom: "You were! I took your son, so you were going to keep my daughter from me."

Dad: "Really? You think I'm that petty?"

Mom: "I think you're that angry."

Now my dad mumbles something and I strain to hear.

Dad: "I told you I was going to tell her. When she finished school and she'd be old enough to make more careful decisions."

Mom: "I'm not sure she'll ever be careful enough for you."

Dad: "You can see how she is, can't you? Even after just a couple days? She is stubborn. Relentless. If I had told her about you and Camden, she would have done exactly what she did two weeks ago, only when she was 14. As it is, it's a miracle she made it here alive."

I roll my eyes at my dad's exaggeration. But then I think of the gunfire in the Rockies and the party drugs in Prospera and the police chase in Malkut and I wonder if maybe he's a tiny bit right.

Dad: "I suppose I owe that Finn kid big time."

Mom: "The world is not as dangerous as you think, Reed."

My dad is quiet for a minute. I press my ear against the door. I think I hear my mom sigh.

Mom: "It doesn't matter. What's done is done."

I hear footsteps that sound like they are coming to Camden's room, so I leap into my bed and plop my head onto the pillow just as the door opens. A slant of light slides across my face and I force myself to remain completely motionless. I don't know why I feel the need to pretend to be asleep. Maybe because I'm not sure which parent is peeking into the room. Not that it would matter, really. I'm equally fed up with both of them.