Page 51 of All We Thought We Knew

FIFTEEN:MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

NOVEMBER 1969

I couldn’t believe I slapped Nash.

And I couldn’t believe he let me get away with it.

We sat on the sofa, dim light from the kitchen giving shadowy illumination to the room. I’d cried until my body couldn’t create another tear. I honestly couldn’t say what prompted them. Embarrassment. Grief. Mental exhaustion. Yet throughout my sobbing, Nash’s arm stayed wrapped around me, tucking me against his side like one of the footballs he’d carried across the end zone during high school.

When my hiccups subsided and I felt I could speak, I whispered, “I’m sorry I hit you.”

He chuckled. “I have to admit I didn’t expect it.” He worked his jaw, as though making sure it functioned properly. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a right hook. I might’ve lost some teeth.”

I groaned. “It isn’t funny, Nash.” I sat forward, sniffling. “I’m a horrible person.”

He removed his arm from my shoulders. “You’re not a horrible person.” His mouth quirked. “A bit temperamental and overly sensitive, but not horrible.”

Considering what I’d done, I appreciated his humor. He had every right to bawl me out, but instead he tried to makemefeel better.

“Mark used to call meFourth of Julywhen I’d get angry with him. He said I was like a bundle of Black Cat firecrackers, ready to take someone’s arm off.”

Nash grinned. “I remember.”

I studied him for a long moment, seeing the boy Mark and I had known most of our lives. “You were a good friend to him. He loved you like the brother he never had. I sometimes used to think it would’ve been better if I’d been his identical twin rather than a fraternal twin. He would’ve been happier with a brother, I think.”

“Don’t say that. He loved you more than anyone else.”

“I loved him more than anyone else, too.”

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed ten times into the stillness.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We better turn in.” Yet neither of us moved.

“Can I ask you something?”

I nodded but added, “You may not like the answer.”

My forthrightness didn’t deter him. “Why have you always been angry with your dad?”

The question wasn’t what I expected. “I haven’t always been mad at him.”

“You have. At least from what I remember. Even when we were young, you’d act like he was the worst person in the world, usually because he was working and wouldn’t stop to do whatever it was you wanted.”

I gave him a hard stare. “That’s because he wasalwaysworking. He never took time off to do anything with us. Mama did all the parenting. He didn’t help with homework or come to any of our school plays or go to church with us, no matter how many times we asked.” I shook my head. “I don’t have a single memory of him playing with me. No piggyback rides. No dancing with my feet on his shoes. No bedtime stories. No nothing. On rare occasions he’d take Mark down to the creek to go fishing, but I wasn’t invited. When they’d return, I’d ask Mark what they talked about, and he’d say they didn’t talk at all.”

Nash seemed thoughtful. “Maybe it isn’t fair to compare, but I would have rather had a dad like yours than one like my old man. At least your dad wasn’t a drunk who beat up his wife and kids. My old man couldn’t keep a job, so he didn’t go to work. He stayed home and drank.” He looked away. “Count yourself lucky your dad didn’t show you the kind of attention mine showed my sister when she turned thirteen.”

I didn’t know what to say. Mark had told me stories about Nash’s father over the years, but either I hadn’t truly been listening or life had taught me that nothing in this world is good. Not even fathers.

His revelation now, however, hit me in the gut. I reached for his hand. “I’m sorry, Nash,” I whispered.

His grip tightened as he met my gaze. “If it hadn’t been for your folks letting me stay over here so much, I don’t think I would’ve survived.”

We sat in silence a long time, our fingers locked. The enormity of what he was saying, what I believed he was confessing, reminded me that everything would have been different without Nash.

The way it was different without Mark.