Chapter 10 - Hank's Restitution
On Friday evening, Hank came over to my house in midtown.
He didn't bring anger, and he didn't bring pride. He brought a cardboard box filled with old family photo albums and an envelope containing the newly executed deed from Richard Vance's office.
We sat on my back patio, wrapped in heavy wool coats against the December chill, watching my two rescue dogs chase each other across the frozen grass.
Hank handed me the envelope.
"The trust is active," he said. "The house belongs to you. I’m just a tenant now."
"You're not a tenant, Dad. You're my father."
"A father protects his children, Ivy," he said, staring down at his coffee mug. "I didn't protect you. For six years, I let your mother treat you like a second-class citizen because you didn't follow the traditional path. I sat at that table on Thanksgiving and let Megan strike you. I said words I can never take back."
"You didn't know, Dad."
"I should have known," he replied fiercely. "I was lazy. I let Sharon manage everything because it was easier than looking at the bills. I let my pride get in the way. When Roy told me you were doing better than me, I felt small. So when Sharon told me you were paying garage rent, I let myself believe it because it made me feel like the head of the house again."
Tears welled in the old man's eyes, the first time I had ever seen him cry in my thirty-nine years.
"I am so sorry, Ivy," he choked out, his shoulders shaking. "I am so damn sorry."
I reached out and took his rough, scarred hand in mine. "I forgive you, Dad. I really do."
May you like
We sat in the cold for a long time, holding hands, letting the poison of six years slowly drain away into the Oklahoma earth.
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