I pulled against the curb in front of the house, not wanting to block my father’s red sedan in the driveway. The old house was nice in size, white with dark blue shutters, with no garage but a second story with a cellar. I was always told the story of the house, the first big purchase my parents made together when they were young and in love. They didn’t travel or go out to fancy dinners. They did the sensible thing at the time, and invested in the house, but since then they haven’t been able to make it back on their feet.
Mom was unemployed at the moment or, ‘taking a break’ as she put it. My father just started working again, at the Edgarr Casino. It was one of many casinos in the area, up and coming as the new hangout spot, and thankfully because they needed more hands. After working forty years in pool maintenance, my father’s reward? Returning to the work field after three months of early retirement.
The house inside was live with noise from the TV, speaking softly in the background. The hover of footsteps upstairs getting ready, let me know Dad was still home. Polly, our little white deaf dog, snored quietly on the couch. Our apartment was always so quiet, not quiet in a peaceful way, but like the calm before a tornado touches down. At least, that’s how it felt lately with Evan.
My bag hit the table by the front door with a leather slap and the soft jingle of coins inside. The plastic coil that secured my keys bounced as I hung it up onto the worn brass hook above my bag. Next to them hung the little green alien on the set of keys, making me feel nostalgic, reminding me of a simpler time. Every Saturday, Dad would take me to get ice cream, the little alien clinking against the console as it hung from the key in ignition.
The sound of feet against carpet on the stairs made me turn around but the slim bare legs I saw didn’t belong to my dad.
My mom came down in brown shorts and a tan tank top, tipping back a clear liquor bottle, unaware of my presence. I checked my phone for the time; it was only 3p.m. When I stepped forward, she continued down until she reached the bottom of the stairs, jumping and dropping her hands to her sides. The bottle was half-concealed behind her thigh.
“Jesus Christ! Wear a bell, would you!” she yelped, her tone annoyed. I sighed, walking past her to the kitchen. She flinched hard, turning to hide the liquor from me.
“You don’t have to hide it Mom, I know,” I said, opening the fridge. Since high school, she had been an on and off alcoholic. Maybe it was her old job at the nursing home. God knows I have a hard time at my own job without people shouting at me or throwing their mashed potatoes. Maybe it was the fact that my parents’ divorce was long overdue and the alcohol had been her coping mechanism for years.
But the fact that she still hid it from me, as if I were a kid, made it sad. The look of horror in her eyes when they met mine the first time I caught her. She must not have noticed I stayed home because the bottle in her hand was cracked open before noon. Her secret was laid out on the table, unprepared and ashamed, her face glowing red. That was the first time I saw her as someone who wasn’t perfect, my mother changed, like glass shattering over her image. I think she resents me for it.
“Have you called Evan?” my mom asked, making my stomach sink.
“Has Dad gone to work yet?” I asked. She paused and shook her head and turned into the other room. I heard pounding footsteps against the stairs, my father coming into view. I needed to talk to him, needed advice on what to do with Evan. I walked towards him and opened my mouth to call him but he stepped into the living room.
In the living room, I heard the soft hum of the TV. My father was standing in front of it with his arms crossed. He turned around at my entrance, his face pale and severe while watching the news on the TV. There was a woman taking an interview from someone with the news channel, talking about The Casino Killer.
“Jeez, it’s getting serious,” I said, stepping closer to my father. He pulled me close by his side, something he hadn’t done since I told him I was moving out, looking over the barren room upstairs that I used to call mine. His grip held for longer though, feeding into my anxiety about the whole Casino Killer thing, a feeling I had been eagerly trying to ignore.
“Are you going into work?” I asked, my voice lower than it had been. As an answer, my father gripped me tighter.
“They’re making cuts though, since all of this.” No surprise to me, with a new curfew coming and likely a lack of patrons in the Edgarr. Between the two of us working, I thought Dad could stay home from all of this madness, but he had refused.
Dad checked his watch and pulled away from me, the dress clothes he wore crinkling against themselves. He plunged his hands into his pockets then patted the ones behind him.
“I’m running late, could you check for my name tag?” Dad asked, grabbing his lunch bag and looking in the fridge. I wasn’t sure what he expected to find in there so I headed towards his room.
“Where’s it at?” I shouted, halfway up the stairs. I turned into his room looking around the floor, on top of the dresser.
“Check my pants,” he said, his voice rushing. “In the laundry,” he amended. I circled out of the room and into the bathroom upstairs, where the laundry machine was. It wasn’t running, but the dryer had still-warm clothes inside. On an aqua-colored laundry basket that was filled to the top, overflowing a bit where the handles were, I saw them. There was a pair of black slacks, bunched up and smelling of cigarette smoke and tobacco.
I scanned the little pink stub for any indication that of all people, my dad, sensible, quiet-tempered and most notably poor, could be spending any amount of money at the casino.
It was meant for any person who entered one of the high stakes gambling rooms.
