The Vacation House

18 years old already! Home for only two weeks from my freshman year at the University of Rhode Island. I find myself lucky to have been offered a part time job landscaping at my local ice rink. I've played hockey my entire life, well as long as I can remember. No longer playing on a league team because URI does not have league organized hockey. I still play on a local team but my studies finally are more important. I've had too many concussions over the years, wear and tear on my body has taken its toll.

My parents, sister have always been important to me but it seems I've become an outsider. Mom works full time as a nurse in a retirement home, my sister is involved with cheer-leading, soccer as well her high school swim team. Dad is a builder, he doesn't own the company but he's been with the same firm forever.

My dad is not the most handsome guy but he is one of those Italian lookers that seem to not age. A very modest man, a bit of a hot head temper when provoked, he is Italian by decent after-all. Standing 5'8" tall, his skin is sun darkened from the years of working outdoors. His hair is beginning to thin a bit on top, black with hints of white at his temples. His whiskers come in course and heavy, a bit more white these days. Dad is all Italian in more ways than one, he is pretty hairy almost everywhere.

Seeing dad walking around the house in his boxers is something that I'm accustomed too. When he comes home, he routinely shucks off the heavy fabric tan work overalls, the hard toed work boots, while the only things he leaves on are his T-shirt and boxers. After getting out of his evenings much needed shower, his hair is wet, slicked back from his rugged face.

Robert this, Robert that, it's all any of us hear from mom throughout dinner these days. Dad just goes on eating, seemingly oblivious to her constantly pointing out what's not working or what needs immediate fixing. Nagging, there is really no other way to put it, nagging 101.

Our house isn't large nor really much of anything special but it is ours and it sure is clean. Mom's adamant about the way she keeps everything spotless, gets us to help her with pretty much most of the household chores. My mom works a good 40 hour week, overtime on Saturday mornings whenever she can get her boss to offer it. Dad is out of the house by 6:30 am every morning, back by 5:30 every evening, Monday thru Friday. Saturday and Sundays are his days off.

By the time that I was in my sophomore year in high school, my parents had finally set aside a small amount of money in order to buy a modest piece of property in Vermont. They've always wanted to build a vacation home the family could use for summer vacations as well as winter ski weekends. Mom skied as a child having grown up in Canada and being of northern French ancestry, it's in her blood.

I take after my mom in many ways, my love of winter sports. Like mom, I have a relatively fair complexion compared to dad and my sister. They're both compact, very dark with dark eyes and tan just by walking past a light bulb. On the other hand, I have sandy blond hair like mom. By the time I had finished growing in my mid teens, I topped 6'2, slim toned body created from years of playing hockey.

During the summers, dad and I hop into his pick-up truck, drive from Rhode Island to the Vermont property. We work all day Saturday and Sunday only to return home very early Monday morning. This is our regular working trip on the vacation house. This is when I really get to appreciate the time dad and I spend together.

I've found that my parents have been having some relationship issues. Seems dad has gotten to the point where he's finding it impossible to ignore mom's nightly nag fest. Dad's temper is beginning to get out of control, arguments occurring with greater frequency. It's not uncommon for my him to be sleeping in the downstairs den. His cloths have been moved into a dresser brought down from my bedroom. His favorite recliner and a television that had also been in my room are now taking up residence down there as well.

The hours of my landscaping job allow me time at home alone before my parents get out of work. My sister is usually out until 9:00 every night with her practices, clubs or friends. It seems as if she's decided to keep out of the way of arguments by throwing herself into activities.

Friday evening comes, dad and asks if I'm up for going to the Vermont house. Not even thinking twice, moves my head in an up and down motion, yes!

It seems as if Saturday morning came quicker than ever. I place a small bag of clean cloths, cooler chest filled with food, several pony sized Miller High Life beers for dad, several bottles of iced tea for me by the front door. I hear dad's pick-up pull into the driveway, gathers up the items along with a paper bag of cloths that dad had put together earlier in the morning. Out the front door I sprint, a sudden reversal, I had forgotten to give mom a kiss goodbye, then off again to the awaiting truck.

I place my bundles on the floor of the truck, which by the way is pretty much a disaster area. Dad's most important power tools are kept in the cab of the truck while the rest of his work items are in the cap covered back. As soon as I hop in, dad reminds me to buckle up, he always says this. He's a bit of a stickler about safety, will not budge one inch until everyone in any vehicle he is in is securely belted in.

Unrolling the passenger window is an instant must, it's hot in the truck, hot as all get out. Dad seems to be immune to the stifling heat and heavy smell of old cigars. He never smokes at home or on his job sites because he considers it to not be a good example to set but as soon as he gets into his truck he reaches to the dash board, locates a box of White Owls and lights one up. I guess it's his guilty pleasure.

We drive north, our surroundings become wooded, the radio is full of static, I press the second button from the left, the soothing voice of Frank Sinatra, dad loves Sinatra. I've become a lover of his music too, having been exposed to it over the many years of long weekend trips to Vermont.

The scenery becomes greener, pines line the parkway. I know in a short while we will arrive at the familiar road side rest station, it looks like a great log building. Inside are rest rooms that are such a welcome a sight, having been in the vehicle for such a long time.

Dad parks in his usual spot, I hop out and run in before him. Dad digs out his thermos bottle which had earlier in the day contained coffee. He takes off the top, empties the remains onto the grass, then walks in behind me. Over to the stall he goes, I hear the familiar unbuckling of his belt, fabric against his sturdy thighs being lowered.

I walk over to the sink, dad had placed the empty thermos on the counter for me to wash out and fill with cold water. The plumbing is not completely finished in the vacation house so we make due with things we bring. The only water available at the house is from a large container on the roof that captures rain water. The wells that had been dug so far have not yielded potable water. Every one of the wells so far have produced water with too much iron in it, rusty in color and a foul smelling sort of like rotten eggs.

We arrive at the vacation house, work ourselves weary only to find it is already Sunday morning. Dad gets up at the crack of dawn, allows me to continue to sleep in on the one king sized mattress we share in the master bedroom. He jumps into the truck, drives a few miles into town, gets a large bottle of water, food and a few donuts from the local shop.

I'm awakened by the alarm clock, gets up, starts gathering things together for our breakfast. We have a long day of working on the water heater and pipes ahead of us. The sound of dad's truck pulling up to the front of the house gets me moving quicker.

The bag of food is placed on the counter, dad grabs the thermos, walks a short distance, sits at the end of the long scrubbed wooden table. Dad and I had built the table from spare pieces of lumber the first year we had outside walls up and the roof on.

I bring his favorite mug and another one for myself to the table, sit down on the long family style bench. I dig out the donuts, place them on paper towels. There was no sense in using dishes, forks or utensils, our hands work just fine. The water is so limited that it's practical to just throw our rubbish into the fireplace, burn it before we leave, no trash to take home.

Dad's already sitting at the table, the local newspaper opened up in front of him. He reaches forward grabs his breakfast, takes a bite out it, then a big slurp of the black coffee all without loosing his place in the paper. I sit quietly, still a little groggy, sip my coffee. I usually drink a cup of coffee before diving into the jelly filled pillow of sugary dough.

"Robbie?"

Dad's voice comes from behind his newspaper, he begins to lower it, folding it into quarters. Lays the paper on the table next to his coffee cup, drops his gaze downward toward it. I reach for the thermos, pour more of the dark brew into his mug. His voice comes again, for some reason it sends a little shiver up my spine.

"Robbie?"

"Yes dad?"

"Robbie, I know that you have been cleaning my room for me, I appreciate that but I also know that you found my stash of magazines."

Fear sets into me quickly. It's true, in my down time between getting home from my landscaping job and my parents return from work, I found myself going into the den, looking through the stack of adult magazines I had found under dad's recliner. I thought I had been careful, placed them back exactly as I had found them. I was so sure that I would not be found out for having invaded dad's privacy, that I had found a particular magazine on the bottom of the stack of Penthouse, Playboy and Hustler magazines.

There was this one magazine, devoted entirely to images of naked men. I found it very stimulating, jerked off a bunch of times to the pictures in it. I was confused why Dad would have it so I convinced myself that he had bought it by mistake. Maybe he just wanted to see how he measured up against other guys, heck we all do that in the locker rooms after hockey practice, it's really no big deal, right?

I have known for some time that I am attracted to some of the guys in the locker room. I keep this all to myself find I can keep myself under control. Well, that is until I'm home alone and able to take things into my own hands. No one knows about this and I do have a regular dating history.

"Robbie, I know that you have been going through those magazines, I can not tolerate your snooping through my private things. It is one thing that your mother and I can barely look at each other without getting into an argument and the fact that I have lost pretty much everything in my own home, relegated to the den. I work my ass off to keep the bills paid, your sister, you in new cloths, schooling that costs more than all of our other bills combined. Listen, I don't care one iota what your education costs, I want both of you to have the life that your mother and I will never be able to have. But,, if you think that I am going to just sit back, let you go through the very few personal things in the only place that I can call my own anymore, you sure as hell have another thing coming."

Stunned, tears well up in my eyes. I gnash my teeth together, prays that he will not notice that I'm shaking. Tears run down my face, burn my red hot cheeks. Feels my ears burn, the pit of my stomach drops to the floor. I become light headed with ringing in my ears.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

It's short, a demand for an answer, not a question. I don't know what to say, wish to get up and run out the front door, hide in the truck. It's a foolish thought that passes quickly, my body begins to feel as if it were made of rubber.

He looks directly at me, his eyes burn into mine. Sense's that he knows my fears have been revealed, that he is not going to give up, that he's going to get an answer.

"I, I, I, don't know dad. You're right, I'm so sorry but I don't know what to say. It's up to you, I'm sorry, really sorry."

Panic, fear washes over me, then I feel compassion from dad. He breaks his stare and looks down at his coffee.

"You know, you are not a little kid anymore Robbie. You are an adult, you should know better by now. Right from wrong is not that hard a thing to figure out. Had you still been little, this whole thing would have been easy, spanking you would have given you what you deserve but like I said, you are no longer a little kid."

Stunned, I see the hurt in dad's face. This is worse than anything that I could have anticipated. I see all the tension that's been building up between him and mom, now this. Damn it, I'm his son, the one person that he continuously gives to, trusts in. I'm his right hand man, helps him build this house we're sitting in at this very moment, shit, what was I thinking? I blurt out the very first thing that comes to me, it just falls out of my mouth.

"Well dad, I guess I acted like a sneaky little kid so maybe you should treat me like a bad kid. Do it, pull down my pants, give me the spanking of my life, I need to make it up to you, make you feel better, show you that you can trust me again."

I regret what came out of my mouth the second I finished this ridiculous proposal.

Dad looks up at me with the most stunned expression on his face. His mouth opens slightly as if he's prepared to say something but nothing comes out. He looks down at his newspaper, picks it up, unfolds it. He's making believe he had not heard what I had said or maybe that the whole thing had turned around so quickly in a way that he hadn't expected that it just needs more time to sink in.

The days work seems so much longer, more difficult than it normally does. We work pretty much in silence the entire day, the only time that dad speaks to me is when he needs a tool that was no where near him. We get an awful lot done though, the water heater is installed, the pipes put in place and sweated. We stop for a quick lunch of pressed ham and mustard on hard rolls which Dad had gotten when he went into town.

We finish up working, take a shower together, same as we always do, this to conserve on the little bit of water that had been stored up. Cold showers do help me to keep things under control too. Being this close to dad after such a horrific confrontation keeps me from even looking at him, we both rush though our clean up, then into the bags of fresh cloths. We sit down in the living room, a simple lamp plugged in on an overturned old milk crate. Two folding chairs, another crate for Dad to use as a foot stool.

He walks past me in his clean boxers, white T-shirt, gives me a little nudge of his elbow. I know instantly that things are going to be all right. I look into his eyes, he nods toward the small Styrofoam cooler. I run over to the cooler, grab a pony beer for dad, an iced tea for me.

The ice packs kept cool all day, it feels so good in my hand. I run my bottle of tea over my forehead, it cools off some of the heat that has built up in the non air conditioned house. All of the windows are open but there is not much of a breeze. Hands dad his beer, I sit down on the floor by the side of his foot rest.

Dad puts his bare feet up on the box next to me, I feel his large rough hand tussle the top of my hair. I turn toward him, see's a little smile.

"It's OK Robbie, we'll work this out."

He takes a long draw on his small bottle of beer, it is emptied in a moment. Gets him his second bottle, he does not have to ask me to do this, I know he is thirsty. These pony sized bottles are only about half the size of a regular bottle of beer. Dad is not one to drink in excess, the fact that only a few bottles would be brought each time we come up here proves this.

The sound of carbonation being released from the bottle shortly after I hand it to him lets me know that things will get back to normal. I sit at the foot of his folding chair, he continues to relax, we both listen to the oldies on his old portable work radio. Dad finishes his second beer followed by a large belch. Lets me know that he has to take a leak, will be in shortly to go to bed for a few hours before we set out again for home.

I turn off the radio, heads to the bedroom, strips down to my boxer-briefs, crawls under the single sheet. We have three pillows, I take just one leaving the other two for dad. A small light bulb on the ceiling keeps the room aglow until he returns. The click of the switch, our darkened room signals it is time to get some shut eye.

Moonlight floods the room, I make out dad's outline, he crosses to his side of the mattress. He takes off all of his cloths, all except for his boxers, lay's on his side of the mattress, soon he's sound asleep. Dad always snores but it is not one of those hard, disturbing snores. It is more like having white noise, it lulls me into a quick deep sleep.

It is all too short a time when dad awakes me. I find all of our dirty cloths, stuffs them back into the wrinkled paper bag. I collect the other items that we had brought with us, totes them out to the truck. I will soon find myself once again falling asleep, this time to someone talking in a low monotone voice along with the constant hum of the trucks engine.

Almost a week passes, Friday is here once again. Dad asks me the very same question that he has asked me for years. Sure enough Saturday comes and we are stopped at the familiar rest station. I'm washing out the thermos and before I know it we're walking into the partially completed vacation house.

It's sweltering hot this weekend, stagnate. The sky is dark, you can smell rain in the air. We quickly unpack, set to getting some stacks of sheet rock into the garage after having been delivered earlier in the day. Impending rains cause us to work ourselves into a pair of massive sweaty and exhausted messes.

It's late, dad suggests we shower in the morning since as we will have more after tonight's rains. I readily agree, go in, gets him a pony beer, settles down on the cool floor next to his chair. The radio is turned on, Saturday with Sinatra is playing. Heat has my head buzzing , the massive amount of work we had somehow squeezed into a few short hours time is taking it's toll.

The sky's open up, the rains come down in buckets. A welcome breeze picks up, sending cooler air into the living room. The windows are left wide open, some rain comes in through the screens yet it is all right with us, the floors are still in their bare plywood state.

My head to tilts to one side, I find myself falling asleep while seated on the floor along side dad's chair. I feel his large hand rustling through my hair, the sound of his small empty bottle being placed on the floor opposite side of me.

"Robbie, come on let's get to bed, it's late, we have a long day ahead of us.. Come on kiddo, let's go."

Walks to the bedroom, pulls my shirt over my head at the same time, almost falls over. I remove my shoes, then my pants, crawls under sheet. So thankful for the rains as cooler air filters into the room.

Dad follows shortly, lays heavily with a long sigh of pure exhaustion. It is in no time that I hear the familiar snore. I awake sometime later, not sure of how long I have been asleep. By the darkness that the room is still consumed, it must be some time around 1:00 in the morning.

I feel heat against me as I find myself between sleep and awake. Not sure of my surroundings, there is this feeling of damp, wet heat. My pillow is damp, my short crew cut hair is damp, everything just seems to be clammy. Lays on my right side faces the wall next to me in the position I normally sleep in. I realize that the heat down my neck, back, side and legs is not caused by the weather, it's dad spooned up to me.