Read When Dad Came Back for Free Online Page B

picnic table bench. He appeared exhausted as he lowered his head. “I could use a cold drink, though.”
    Without hesitation, Gabe climbed the back steps into the kitchen, poured a glass of water with ice, and returned in a hurry.
    â€œThis is nice,” his dad said. He took a long drink and pressed the glass against his forehead. When he pulled it away, liquefied dirt began to form rivulets on his brow. He touched the muddy moisture, studied it for a moment, and then wiped it on his pants.
    â€œDad,” Gabe began. “I'm sorry.”
    â€œYou're sorry?” his dad asked. “That's what I'm supposed to say.” He took another long drink from the glass, rattled the ice cubes, and confessed, “I'm an alcoholic, Gabe. I drank and drank. One time I even downed a bottle of mouthwash for the alcohol.” He paused and rattled the ice again. “I was a lousy father. Guess you know that.” He sent the ice cubes flying from his glass and tumbling like dice across the patio. “How long do you think they'll last?”
    Gabe looked briefly at the ice cubes but didn't answer.
    They sat in silence, watching flies methodically doing figure eights in the shade. His dad rose and washed his face from the garden hose, and moved it to the flowerbed, splashing water on the cement patio and sending Gordo scampering away.
    â€œDad, let's get cleaned up.” Gabe could smell the stink of street living, and he believed that his dad would feel better if he just stood ten minutes in a shower. He would get some of his own clothes, jeans that might not reach his dad's ankles but at least would be clean. He would get him a fresh T-shirt, socks, underwear.
    â€œNah, your mom wouldn't like it.” His dad shook his head. He glanced at the cat, let a smile rise on his stubbly face and asked, “What's its name again?”
    â€œGordo,” Gabe answered.
    His dad chuckled and tickled the back of Gordo's scruff.
    Gabe disappeared into the house and into his bedroom, where he pawed through the drawers for clothes. In the bathroom, he retrieved a toothbrush from a drawer and a partially used tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap, and tiny bottle of hotel shampoo. On the back lawn, he would have his dad lower his head, and Gabe would bathe him. It would bring him back to clean living. First he would shampoo his dad's wild hair and splash his feet with the garden hose. Maybe he could make his dad strip his shirt off, and his pants. He could keep on his underwear if he wanted.
    â€œOh, Dad,” he muttered, his lower lip trembling. “I won't let you die.”
    Gabe sensed tears beginning to drip from his left eye. He wiped away a long tear sliding from his right eye. He searched frantically for a razor, but when he couldn't find one, he hurried outside to the patio.
    â€œDad?” he called.
    A pie tin banged among the tomato plants. The neighbor's dog barked. Somewhere down the street, a heat-struck gardener was starting up a leaf blower.
    â€œDad!” he shouted. In flip-flops, he shuffled to the back fence and peered over. No one. There was just big-eyed Gordo standing in weeds along the neighbor's graffiti-marked fence.
    He returned to the shade of the patio. He stared at the place where his dad had sat. His eyes fell on the ice cubes that his father had tossed. They were now puddles, disappearing just like he had.
    At five his mother came home, fanning a newspaper at her pinkish face. On her white blouse, her name tag sagged.
    â€œWe were robbed today,” she said, slipping out of her shoes. “Gabe, get me a glass of water, lots of ice.”
    â€œRobbed?” Gabe was in front of the television. He punched the remote and the image of a baseball player collapsed and disappeared.
    â€œThese stupid kids!” she scolded, as if it was his fault. “Never mind, I'll get my own water. It's so hot I can't sit still.” She disappeared into the kitchen, returned to the