The sound sent Jake's gut into a knot, and he involuntarily began to grind his teeth.
Knock knock knock.
"Jakey, is that somebody at the door?" Helen called from the kitchen, one hand over the mouthpiece of her cell phone.
"Yeah, honey, I'll go see who it is," he replied with false enthusiasm. He already knew who it was.
He had told Jake that, with the family moving to Lawndale, they would be a lot closer, and he would be able to visit more often. And he never rang the doorbell. Just the same three -
Knock knock knock.
There it was again! As stubborn and insistent as he was. Jake finally reached the door, the moment he had been dreading ever since driving over the Maryland state line, and wished for the millionth time that his mother was alive, instead of the Old Man.
"Hello, Jacob," Mad Dog greeted with a hint of a snarl. "Took your sweet time answering the door, leaving an old man out in the elements." It was a crisp autumn afternoon, temperatures in the low sixties. Jake's teeth were in full grind mode, and he was grateful that the originals had worn down years ago, allowing him to purchase much more durable replacements.
"Mad Dog," he replied curtly. "Please, come in." That he didn't bare his teeth to his father marked a victory for the restraint he had.
"Jake, who - Oh! Hello, Mad Dog." Helen had apparently finished her business with Schrecter and now had the look of a deer in headlights.
"Helen," Mad Dog nodded in reply. He didn't hold her in very high regard, but had never been less than civil to her. The biggest point of contention he had with Helen was that she worked, but let it pass, as he was of the opinion that Jake was incapable of supporting the family on his own anyway.
"Is that for me? ...Oh." Quinn had bounded with enthusiasm halfway down the stairs until she saw her grandfather. "Hi, grampa."
"If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, Quinny, you're to address me as Mad Dog!" He thumped his cane on the floor once for emphasis.
"Sorry, Mad Dog," Quinn muttered, not really sorry.
"Look me in the eyes and say that, girl!"
Quinn petulantly met his gaze and repeated: "Sorry, Mad Dog."
"That'll do, if that's the best you can come up with." He turned to Jake. "I still cannot believe how disrespectful you allow her to be," he said, talking as if Quinn wasn't still in the room. "And you still let her dress like a common street-walker!" At that, Quinn gasped with indignation and fled back upstairs to her room. "Your sister tried the same nonsense with me when she was growing up, and I straightened her out good."
He glanced down at his cane, the same one he had been using since coming home from Korea with a Chinese bullet lodged in one leg. "Anyway," he carried on. "Now that I'll be able to visit more often, maybe I can drill a little discipline into that thick skull of hers."
Suddenly furious, Jake felt his face flush with fury. "You won't lay ONE DAMN HAND ON HER-!"
Mad Dog put up a hand, interrupting his son. "I'm not stupid, Jacob. I'm fully aware how illegal it is to cane your kids nowadays. Damn stupid law, though." He muttered the last under his breath. "Your sister turned out pretty well, anyway, and I hardly had to take the cane to her."
Jake figured it would be futile to point out that she went on to marry a domineering hard-ass just like him, since Mad Dog would probably consider that a positive.
"Now, where is Daria?" Mad Dog asked, looking expectantly upstairs for the elder daughter.
"At a friend's house," Jake answered, grateful.
"Made a friend, has she? Small wonder." He made his way to the couch in the living room and took control of the remote. "I'll just wait until she comes back."
He would, too. The stubborn old bastard had (allegedly) waited outside their old house in Highland for 36 hours when a surprise visit on his part happened to coincide with a family trip out of town. (Jake suspected, however, that his father had simply spent most of his wait at a hotel).
So, Mad Dog waited, and Jake watched him. Jake was half-tempted to phone the Lane household and suggest that Daria stay the night, but he knew that would only make Daria curious and come home early.
One hour went by, then another. Jake began to hope that Daria decided to forego her years of responsible behavior and stay at Jane's place overnight without calling ahead to let him and Helen know. However, finally and inevitably, the front door opened and Daria made her way to the kitchen. "Hi, dad," she greeted in her usual monotone.
In the time it took her to remove last night's lasagna from the refrigerator and place it into the microwave, Mad Dog had left his perch in the living room and made his way into the kitchen. When Daria turned from the microwave, her eyes widened in surprise. "Hello, Mad Dog," she greeted.
Mad Dog stared sternly at his eldest granddaughter for a moment, then broke out in a wide grin. "Now kiddo, how many times have I told you to call me 'grampa'?"
He leaned his cane against the counter and leapt forward, grabbing her in his arms and spinning her around. Daria squealed with laughter as she protested, "Cut it out, you old coot!"
"I'll 'old coot' you, whippersnapper!" he countered, but gently let her go from his bear hug and took his cane back up. He planted a peck on her forehead before smoothing her hair back down from its spin-ruffled state. "It's good to see you again, Daria," he said, love in his smile.
"It's good to see you too, grampa," she responded, her own smile matching his.
"Now, I'd like to see your room, and maybe hear about your new friend."
"Well, her name's Jane..." Daria and Mad Dog's voices grew faint as they left the kitchen and headed up the stairs.
Jake, who had been standing on the sidelines for the whole event, marched over to the liquor cabinet, wrenched the cap off the vodka bottle, and took a large swig from it.
The microwave beeped. Jake grabbed the dish out of the microwave, not minding the pain of the heat on his hand, and began angrily shoveling the food into his mouth. After all, the Old Man would probably offer to take Daria out for dinner that night, and she would almost certainly accept.
Jake didn't know who he hated more: his father, for getting all the love from his daughter that he had never had, or his daughter, for getting all the love from his father that he had never had.
XXXXXXXXXX
I think I'm going to leave this as a one-shot, but with the possibility to write sequels in the future.