Into White by Randi Pink Read Free Book Online

had to push. Plus, I made sure there were only a few cars left when I told her to get out,” he re-tattled.
    â€œMan, you must be senile,” said Mom.
    â€œNo, I’m not,” he replied. “That’s it. I’m going for a walk.” I heard the front door open. “Hampton! Come on.”
    Hampton gave my door a single, respectful scratch, careful not to leave an indent. “That wasn’t right what you did—stealing my dinner like that,” I said before cracking the door. He took off down the stairs. When he reached the foyer, his unkempt toenails lost traction on the oak floor, and he barreled headfirst into Mom’s knees.
    â€œOuch! Hampton!” she yelled, and he tucked his tail. “Aww,” she said before squatting to scratch behind his ears. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, buddy.”
    â€œWhy does the dog deserve an apology, but I don’t?” Dad asked sharply.
    She stood to meet his line of sight. “The dog didn’t move us into this empty house,” she said with her hand glued to her hip. “The dog doesn’t spill coffee all over the floor. The dog—”
    â€œCome on, Hampton,” Dad interrupted.
    â€œWhat about Unsolved —” The front door slammed behind my father before my mother could finish. “ Mysteries ?”
    *   *   *
    Winston and Camilla Williams, middle-aged tattletales with mutual zeal for Unsolved Mysteries . They bickered constantly, but they were hopeless without each other. They were like inoperable Siamese twins, conjoined at the heart. This became glaringly apparent when Mom went to live with Aunt Evilyn.
    The threats were nothing new. Over the years, when Mom got mad or irritated at Dad, she’d say, “Don’t play with me, man. Or I’m going to live with Evilyn.” I’d heard it so often, it started to blend in as a part of our household, like black-eyed peas and praising the Lord. Then one day, it wasn’t a threat. Mom actually left.
    There was no one event that tipped the scale; nothing earth-shattering. After what was just another day of running late for school and work, and breaking down in the Fiat—a typical Williams Tuesday morning—Mom had enough. By Wednesday she was in the wind.
    Since he sat next to her all day at work, Dad took it the hardest. He went through three distinct phases: internalized anger, deep depression, and finally, complete and utter confusion. The first two were mildly tolerable. Internalized anger consisted mainly of midnight walks with Hampton that sometimes lasted until dawn. When he walked, he looked like a man in prayer. Sure, he loved Jesus as much as any Southern-born man, but walking was his true religion, where he found peace in his scattered brain. The soles of his cheap white tennis shoes could be worn to the concrete, and he’d still walk the dog all night long.
    Tack a six-pack of Bud Light onto the end of the first phase, and you’ve got phase two, deep depression. The little free time he had between bleak 9-1-1 calls at work and aimless walks, he’d slump on the couch, drinking and watching reruns of Unsolved Mysteries alone. Every now and then, Dad would say, “Camille would’ve loved this episode.” And once, he said, “Kids, I love your mom more than life.” I never knew if he was being honest about his feelings for the first time, or drunk.
    Dad stayed in the complete-and-utter-confusion phase for the whole month. It was a horrible time. I worried about him from the moment I woke up in the morning until I fell asleep at night. All I knew to do was pray, and I did so faithfully. I called on the Lord from my upstairs bedroom every single day of that month, invoking every ounce of God’s grace to help my father hold his head up again, reciting the Lord’s Prayer and singing hymns with my fingers clasped together so tightly my knuckles hurt.
    It broke my