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Arlow’s response is instant. “No, you don’t get to blame yourself for anything to do with this insanity. You didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t on you.”
Arlow carries in the box of my dad’s things when we get back to our hotel. As eager as I am to see what pictures are inside, I’m also nervous. It’s all I have left of him. All I’ll ever have.
The box waits in the middle of the spare bed, and after I spend a couple of minutes staring at it, Arlow sits beside me, sliding his arm around my middle. “Whenever you’re ready. There’s no hurry. We’ve got all night.”
Nodding, I swallow the knot in my throat as a memory comes back to me. “Did you see the elevators when we came in?”
His head tilts, and he blinks before answering. “Yes, I saw them.”
I’m sure it’s a strange question to hear out of the blue. “They’re made of glass, so you can look down on the lobby when you ride them.” A smile grows on my face. “When I was a kid, I thought that was the best thing in the world. My brother did too. There was this big fancy hotel downtown with a huge lobby that felt like a palace, and it had glass elevators. A lot of places have them now, but back then they were the first I’d seen. Dad never had money and always found free stuff to keep us entertained on his visitation days. One of our favorite things was to walk downtown and ride the glass elevators up and down.”
Arlow smiles at me and kisses the top of my head as I continue. “I can’t remember when we stopped doing that, but it was something I never forgot. Like that day he carried me home in the snowstorm. I dream about it sometimes. Just standing with my hands on the glass, looking down as the people grew smaller or larger.”
With a sigh, I open the box. On top are a few items of clothing. Threadbare tee shirts and ragged jeans. A bus pass, a business card for a free clinic, a couple of paperbacks bearing submarines on the front. The sight of them makes me chuckle. “Some things never changed. He was a big Tom Clancy fan. If there wasn’t a submarine in the story, he wasn’t interested.”
Arlow runs his hand up and down my back. “He had good taste. The Hunt for Red October was one of my favorites when I was in high school.”
The small stack of pictures is stored in a baggie in the bottom of the box. The one on top shows dad and my brother when he was around fifteen. They sit on a porch I vaguely remember, with a beer in both their hands. “Him and my brother. I’ll send this with the letter,” I mumble, setting it aside.
The next shows a group of people I don’t recognize. Dad isn’t in it, and there’s no description or date on the back. It’s just a few men and a couple of women sitting around in lawn chairs. Probably at a cookout judging by the grill in the background. “I don’t know any of them. Some old friends, I guess.”
The next picture shows a smiling blond. “I remember her. They dated when I was ten or so. Damn, I can’t remember her name. I don’t think it lasted long.”
“She must’ve meant something to him to have kept the picture,” Arlow says.
“Yeah, maybe she was the one who got away.”
The last picture chokes me up. We stand against a red brick wall, Dad smiling down at me. Arlow silently pulls me into his arms as the picture blurs through my tears. It takes me a minute to compose myself enough to look again. “I remember the day this was taken. I was about eight years old. We’re standing outside my elementary school. He was a janitor there for a while. He used to leave me little notes in my desk to say hi until they transferred him to another school. A teacher had brought hercamera to school, and she took the picture. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”
I lean against Arlow’s shoulder with a sigh. “I’m glad I came. Just for this.”
“You might not know if he remembered that day in the snow, but he remembered this. He loved you.”
“Yeah.” I swipe at the tears that drip down my cheeks. “I’ve never really doubted that. He wasn’t a good person, I know that. He didn’t take care of us. He was neglectful and probably put our lives in danger more than once. Mom wasn’t wrong about that. She was the one who provided, and she resented us because that didn’t matter to us.”
Arlow nods, his arm around my shoulders. “Kids don’t care who buys their food or pays the electric bill. They care about who is kind to them.”
“I think I would’ve respected her position more, understood more once I grew up, if she wasn’t so cruel. In her mind, if you feed a dog, it’s yours to kick. Our last name—Dad’s last name—became an insult to use whenever we pissed her off. We were a piece of shit like the rest of the Raines.”
With a sigh, I lean against him, so grateful to have him by my side. “I wish I could tell him I was never ashamed to be a Raines.”
“I’m sure he knew that, sweetheart.”
“I hate that drugs took priority over us, but a part of me understands. He was born dirt poor and never found a way out. He had a terrible life. Drugs are what he had. They were the only escape or peace he found. Yet, it never made him hateful. He was good to us when he was there. I think it was as simple as that.”
Arlow holds me for a long time before I finally pack Dad’s things back into the box. The rest of the evening is subdued, and I’m tempted to head back home. It’s late, but we could be homeby dawn. Before I can suggest it, Arlow sets my shoes in front of me.
“Come on, Peach.”
“What? Where are we going?”
His smile is sweet as he holds out a hand to me. “To ride the glass elevators.”
The trip to Indianapolis did me good. I feel lighter, like I’ve finally let the past go. In the month since we’ve returned, Arlow has spent almost every night in his barn, drawing. I love the new project he’s been working on, an outstretched hand covered by crawling bees.
About an hour after he disappears into the barn, I’m surprised to see him coming through the front door of my cabin with a canvas in his hand. He holds it facing his body where I can’t see.
“I have something for you,” he announces. There’s no smile on his face. He seems a little nervous, hesitant. As if I won’t love anything that this incredibly talented man created for me. I get up from my seat as he rubs a hand over his collarbone. “I thought this would be the next best thing to having a picture.”
