Blood is thicker than water.
Even when that seed is spread like wildfire.
Even when that seed is spread like wildfire.
Spare Tires by Geoffrey Philp
I
knew something was up when one of the ushers whispered in my ear that the bride
had arrived, but that Charlie, my father, couldn’t be found. Typical, I thought.
Charlie
was always a careless man.
Maybe
it was because of my father that I’ve lived such a cautious life. I’ve held the
same job as an accountant for fifteen years and I’ve been married to the same
woman for ten. So when my father told me he was getting married for the fifth
time and that he wanted me to be the best man, I took a leave of absence from
my job in Miami, flew down to Kingston, and took over the planning of the
wedding. I wanted everything to be perfect.
I’d
left Jamaica because I was tired of watching out for Charlie in his affairs,
business and private. As my mother, his first wife, told me, “Wha’ eye no see,
heart no leap.” But I still felt guilty because as his eldest son, I always thought
it was my responsibility to make sure he stayed out of trouble.
I got
up from my chair and eased past my younger brother from Charlie’s second
marriage, who was only six months younger than me.
It
must have happened before I was born or maybe after my mother left him, but
Charlie always seemed to have some distraction in his life.
I
went straight to the bar. Charlie wasn’t there.
The
bartender pointed with his lips to a closet in the hallway.
I
marched down the hallway and opened the door where I found Charlie with the
bride’s cousin.
“Stay
there,” he commanded her and shuffled over to the door. She covered her face
with her dress.
“Again,
Charlie?” I said.
“Son,
you know me. Even if I’m buying a new car, I always have to make sure I have a
spare tire.”
