The Hudson Boys

C H A P T E R 3 8

C H A P T E R 3 8

Fifteen minutes later Tate and I are buckled into his ute and pulling into the main road out of town, and I as still none the wiser as to what is happening. I assume that Marcia must knows where we are going because she hugged us both goodbye as we went out the door and before I could follow Tate to the vehicle she made me promise to look after him, which I did not understand but assured her I would anyway. This has however made me even more curious.

"So," I begin, "where are we going?"

"Houston." He says vaguely.

"Houston? Why are we going way up there?" Now I am really confused.

"There's someone there that I want you to meet. Besides, they may make it easier for you to understand the situation." He explains vaguely.

"Tate," I sigh. "I told you. I understand and I'm not going to pry. You don't have to tell me everything." By now we have left Fordman and are out on the main road, which at the moment is completely abandoned. Although this is not that surprising considering the Hudsons live in the middle of nowhere.

"I know, and I believe you." Tate says as he reaches across the center console to fiddle with the radio station. An inaudible crackling fills the silence between his words. "But you deserve to know. I want you to know. I trust you Maya." He glanced at me, a vulnerable look in his eyes. "Besides, it's about time I talk about all this with someone." I cannot help but smile back at him softly. Looking into his eyes I get the feeling like I am drowning. Their expansive blue leaves me stranded with no desire to return to the shore. They make my own brown ones feel like dull marbles in comparison.

"Thank you." I smile shyly at him. He look at me oddly for a moment before nodding sharply and turning his attention back to the road.

Soft music hums through the stereo system, the strumming of an acoustic guitar fills the cab as it the opening line of an unfamiliar country song begins.

"What's this song?" I ask Tate who looks confused for a moment before replying.

"I think it's called; From the Ground Up. I wouldn't know who it's by though." He mumbles concentrating more on the road then the conversation. It is a similar concentration to that which I noticed in Alec when he was driving. That cautious capability to take even turn at a precisely calculated speed and to only go as fast as needed on the straights. He is obviously thinking about something else at the same time and so I decide to give him the space he needs to clear his head. It has already been a stressful weekend and I get the feeling that this trip is to be an eventful one.

I settle back into my seat, tuning my hearing to the hum of the radio once again. The low tone of the artist's voices fill my ears, drowning out the road noise and a felling of nostalgia rises in my stomach. It seems strange that lyrics about building a family are now reminding me of my father, but I cannot stop my mind from drifting to his surprise visit.

Since the incident I have not allowed myself to think to deeply about his sudden reappearance. It was unpredictable. To me he had always been fogey. Just like every memory I have of him, lost in the past, gone for good. But seeing him standing on that doorstep, regardless of his obvious drunkenness, made me realize how much I had missed his presence. Growing up without a father had been difficult for both Emmy and I, and I know it took its toll on our mother. She had no one to lean on and there where many situations that had arisen over the years when my sister and I could have benefited from some fatherly advice or presence. I remember one year when I was about six and my school was holding a father-daughter afternoon tea. Although I knew why I didn't have a dad coming to school with me that day, when the afternoon came and all my friends were laughing with their own fathers, I could not help but feel alwfully alone even as the teachers tried their hardest to cheer me up. It wasn't until Mum burst through the door an hour later, dress in clothes that she had borrowed from a male neighbor, dressed as my "father". She spent the rest of the afternoon speaking in the deepest voice she could manage and chatting animatedly with the other fathers. Very early on in my life I realized that she was playing both mother and father, even outside of school events and I will always be eternally grateful for.