“I feel sorry for you, Dad,” I said.
He blinked rapidly.
John nudged me with his elbow. “Ready to go?”
“I’ve said everything I needed to say,” I said.
John and I made our way out of the living room.
Our father was hot on our heels yelling obscenities at us as we passed through the kitchen and the grand dining room. Out in the foyer, Anna waited by the door with her head down.
I stopped, gathered her hands in mine, and held them up to my chest. “You should leave, too. I’ll help you. Whatever you need. If you want to start over here, I’ll find you a place. If you want a change of scenery, I’ll fly you to San Francisco and find you work. Hell, you can work for me.”
Her eyes watered. “This is my home.”
“Your home is where you choose to be,” I said. “My number is the same. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, Anna. Okay?”
She nodded and her bottom lip trembled. I let her hands go. John and I moved out onto the porch and down the rickety steps. We headed for the rental truck parked two dozen feet away on the gravel drive.
Our father hobbled out onto the porch. “If you leave, you ain’t ever welcome back here! You hear me? Never!”
I opened the passenger door. John opened the driver’s side.
He met my eye over the roof of the truck. “Never sound good to you?”
“Hell yes.”