by Bonnie Dee
He shook off my hand at his elbow. “I can fucking walk by myself.”
I let go but remained beside him as he took baby steps toward the front porch. J.D. ran to join us and slipped a firm arm around the old man despite his complaints.
Together we got him up the steps and inside. Dad shivered, not an ounce of extra fat on him to keep him warm. He went into a coughing jag, dry and wheezing like that old truck. Sounded as if he was about to lose a lung. And when he finished, he wiped his mouth with a stained kerchief from his pocket.
He stood in my foyer and gave each one of us a long, hard examination. “Looks like y’all are doing well for yourselves.”
“Looks like.” Micah’s eyes narrowed as he stared back at Dad as if searching for any glimmer of the man we’d once known.
“You should sit by the fire and warm up.” J.D. took his coat.
Dad swept a gaze up and down him. “Spittin’ image of your Uncle Tate.”
J.D. shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”
“My older brother. Died in Nam in ’72.”
I realized we didn’t know shit about our relatives. Dad hadn’t mentioned any stories of his past. Neither had mom talked about hers. It was as if they’d sprung out of the ground fully formed into two messed-up people entwined in a codependent dance.
“Heard you were in the army,” Dad continued. “Good man.”
“It was a job.” J.D. moved him along, and this time Dad didn’t protest when he took his arm.
Micah and I followed behind, exchanging a glance. I couldn’t read what my brother was thinking, and my expression must have been equally blank. It was hard to know what to feel. All these years of despising the man who’d left us to fend for ourselves, and now here he was, a pale shadow of the overbearing, frightening bully who’d terrorized our childhood.
While J.D. got him settled on the couch with a throw around his shoulders, I took the opportunity to breathe by going into the kitchen to get hot coffee and a bowl of soup.
When I set them on the table beside him, my dad picked up the coffee and sniffed it. “Don’t have a drop of whiskey, do you?”
“No.” I sat on the chair facing him. J.D. sat beside him. And Micah prowled around a little bit before leaning near the fireplace mantel.
“So. You’re here. What is it you want?” I asked flatly.
He pushed back a hank of his dark hair, salted with white. “I’m dying, boys,” he answered equally bluntly. “I wanted to see my kin before I do.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Micah shot the question as if he suspected a lie or a trick. Like maybe Dad had assumed this disguise of frailty and might leap up at any moment and lay into one of us.
“Emphysema to start. A bad liver for another. Plus a whole lot of other things living hard will do to a man’s body.” He chuckled, and it turned into another croaking cough. “I earned this. Nothing to be done about it now.”
“You’ve been to a doctor or the hospital?” J.D. asked.
Dad waved a hand, dismissing the question. “I’m past all that. It’s a done deal. I got maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months left. I wanted to come home.”
“You don’t have a home here. You left Sawville a long time ago.” Micah pushed away from the fireplace and stalked over to stare out the window.
Dad nodded slowly. “Point taken. I know I didn’t do right by y’all, leaving the way I did.”
“Ya think?” Micah muttered.
“But appears like you all turned out all right, strong, handsome, and happy.” He glanced around at each of us.
J.D. leaned to meet Dad’s gaze. “How would you know if we’re happy? How would you know the first thing about any of us? If you and I had run into each other on the street, you wouldn’t even have known who I am. I was eight years old when you left. I hardly remember you at all.” He took a quick breath. “Jonah was more of a father to me than you ever were.”
My chest burned a little as if I were the one with the racking cough. When J.D. had left home to join the army after a big blow-up between us, I’d felt I failed him. We’d patched things up since, but this was the first time he’d ever said anything that made me feel maybe I’d done okay after all.
Dad clung to the cup of coffee and faced J.D. “I know that’s true. I ain’t shirking the blame. I already said I done wrong by you. No changing it now.”
“Accusations are a waste of time,” Micah said from over by the window, his back still turned to the room. “I guess apologies are too.”
“I’m sorry. That what you want to hear?” Dad shot back at him, sounding more irritated than contrite.
“Doesn’t hurt.” Micah turned and gave him a sour look. “I think a little groveling would be pretty great right now. Especially if you want something from us, and I’m sure you do. Money, a place to stay, both? Jonah’s not going to move you in here, you know. He’s got a life of his own. We all do, and you’re not part of them. We don’t owe you a damn thing. Not our respect or our loyalty. Certainly not any love.”
That felt almost as good as if I’d spat it out myself. I didn’t need to drive the point home by repeating it. I rubbed at my temples. I didn’t know if it was the surreal experience of having my dad back from the dead or if I was coming down with something, but my head ached like crazy. I just wanted this heartwarming family reunion to be over with so I could slink off to bed and sleep for about a year.
“Let’s get down to it,” I said curtly. “What exactly do you expect from us?”
He took another sip of coffee before setting it aside. And when he faced me this time, his face was the one I remembered, hard and calculating.
“All right, then. Cards on the table. Like I said, I ain’t got much longer. I thought to make a clean slate of it with you kids, but I can tell that’s not gonna happen. So, I guess I’m asking for a little financial help. I can’t crash with Huckaby much longer, and I got no place else to go. I’d as soon die someplace comfortable and warm.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Micah came over and dropped into the other chair. “Nice to have heat in the winter, isn’t it? There were times growing up we didn’t have that.”
God, he carried a lot more anger than I’d ever realized. But taking jabs at Dad wasn’t helpful. My only goal was to come to some kind of agreement, pay him off, and get him out of here.
“I won’t give you cash. But there’s a nursing home in Sawville. I can help you do the paperwork to get in there,” I said.
He scowled. “A fucking nursing home?”
“Shelter from the cold. It’s what you said you wanted,” J.D. reminded him. “I’ll chip in on any costs. I can’t help out a lot, Jonah, but…”
“That’s okay. I’ll take care of this,” I said.
Micah’s restless leg jiggled. “I’ll throw some cash in the pot too.” He glared at Dad. “But damn it, you better really be dying and not scamming us. If you suddenly rally, I swear I’ll beat your scrawny old ass.”
Dad gave a twisted smile, and I could see where Micah got his dazzling grin from. “Trust me. You’ll be planting me in the ground with the spring crops.” Dad glanced at me. “By the way, how’s the weed business going, son?”
“Just fine.”
“Remember when we had that little garden out back, the summer I showed you how to grow?” He sounded suddenly melancholy, romanticizing our father-son bonding experience.
“Yeah, I remember,” I snapped. “I remember a lot of things.”
I was mentally finished. Wiped out. All this was too much to process, especially with a brain that throbbed inside my skull. “I’ll call the facility and see if they have a room available, and I’ll be in touch soon. You got a way to get back to Huckaby’s place?”
“Well, damn, if I’da known you were going to kick me out right away. I’da asked him to hang around,” Dad whined.
“I can drop him off.” Micah stood. “And swing by the nursing home and make the arrangements. You don’t have to do everything,
Jonah. J.D. and I are here too.”
J.D. nodded and rose too. “You look like crap. Why don’t you get some rest? Let us take care of this.”
The weight I’d felt on my shoulders from the moment Dad first turned up on my doorstep lifted. I actually felt it slip away like a physical thing. And for the first time perhaps in my entire life, I realized I didn’t have to handle everything. I could relax my control, and things wouldn’t fall apart. My brothers were capable of taking on part of the burden. And it occurred to me if I’d learned that lesson a long time ago, our relationships might have been better.
Micah grabbed Dad’s arm and hauled him up. “We’ll be back later, but in the morning, we need to head home, if that’s okay. Too much work stuff happening to be gone long.”
“Sorry,” J.D. added. “But we’ll be back whenever we can, and if things take a turn”—he gestured at Dad—“you give us a call, and we’ll make the trip again.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said. “Good-bye, Dad.”
He nodded and lifted a hand, but he was too busy hacking into his handkerchief to say anything. It wasn’t until the three of them were out the door and getting into Micah’s car that I realized the old man hadn’t even managed a thanks.
Chapter Nineteen
Rianna
Driving back from Gran’s, I did a lot of thinking about what family meant. When I was growing up, it had basically meant a person who had to take you in, like it or not. Someone I was stuck with—like Gran.
Having Travis showed me what the real love between parent and child should be. Even the brief months we’d lived with Clay, it had really been just the two of us, Travis and me. I’d convinced myself that my boy was all I needed or would ever need.
But now I’d opened my mind and my heart to the possibility of more. Being with Jonah had given me a glimpse into what it would be like to have a whole family unit. Though it was entirely possible to have a family made up of a single mom and her kid, having a partner, a lover, and friend would have been awfully nice. And not just any man, but Jonah, who drew me to him like an undeniable force and made me want to wrap myself up in him.
It wasn’t to be, I reminded myself when I got sad and weepy over the next few days. Jonah Wyatt was trying you on for size and didn’t think you were a good fit. I’d return to the way things used to be, just me and Travis, and that would be enough. I repeated that mantra a lot as I searched for other work to fill the hours I used to spend cleaning Jonah’s place. I applied for a waitress job at the local diner to supplement my housecleaning. And the check Jonah had promised to send never came that week.
The point wasn’t that I wanted or needed it. The check merely represented how I’d come to rely on Jonah to supply me with too many things: affection, support, sexual attention, and someone who was interested in me and my welfare more than anyone ever had been in my life. The abrupt withdrawal of his attention hurt more than I wanted to admit. I should never have allowed myself to trust in some guy. It always ended badly for me.
By the following weekend, I was still heartsick, but it was a little less like a shotgun hole in the chest and more like a 35mm slug. It ached, but I could work around it.
Then, as I cleaned Travis’s room, I found Jonah’s old bird whistle wedged between the mattress and the wall. I took one look at the battered, barely blue piece of tin and burst into tears. Clutching the toy, I sank down on Travis’s bed and cried until there was nothing left but choking hiccups and sore eyes.
I caressed the bird whistle with my thumb and recalled how Jonah had told me his mom gave it to him. It meant something to him, and he’d casually given it to Travis just to be kind. Suddenly, I felt compelled to return the whistle. Travis had already gotten over his fascination with it. He’d never miss it. The keepsake value to Jonah was much more important. Especially given how his dad’s crazy reappearance into his life must have stirred up all sorts of buried memories. Jonah had to be in turmoil, and all I’d been doing was whining over him dumping me. Maybe, instead of accepting what he’d said at face value, I should be reaching out to him, acting like a friend instead of a jilted sort-of girlfriend.
If I called, it would be too easy for him to reject my offer. Instead I’d drop by the house and take cookies or a crock of soup, a peace offering, a friend offering another friend support during his time of need. Surely Jonah couldn’t refuse that. I grabbed my phone and made a call to my babysitter, and in fifteen minutes, I was on the road.
Once again, I was showing up unannounced. My nerves jumped like tadpoles in my stomach. But I clung to the idea of the plate of cookies beside me on the front seat, my excuse for stopping by, a little thank-you gift for all Jonah had done for me, and a period on the end of the sentence if he shoved me out the door.
I turned in the drive to find his car there, though the windows of the house were so dark it appeared nobody was home. I hurried to the door and rang the bell. No answer.
I rang again—a distant sound of footsteps approaching.
I straightened my back, clutched my cookies, and fixed a smile on my face. Just a pal coming to say how ya doin’? No big deal.
Then Jonah opened the door, and I gasped, and not because he always stole my breath away with his incredible hotness. The man looked like a zombie. His skin was pale and sweaty, tendrils of hair clung to his forehead, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his lips were cracked and bloodless. He took one look at me, then turned away to hack into the crook of his arm. He waved me away with his other hand.
“I’m sick. You should go before you catch my germs.” His already deep voice was about a half octave lower. It rasped and rumbled from his congested chest.
“Oh. Jeez.” I remained there, frozen for a moment. He was right. I couldn’t afford to get sick or risk bringing some virus home to Travis. But, damn, the man was so miserable. and he needed someone to nurse him.
“Have you been to the doctor?” I asked.
He shook his head and sniffed.
“Do you think maybe you should? You look terrible.”
“I just need to sleep,” he mumbled. “I forgot to send your check, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I’ll write one.”
“Don’t be an idiot. That’s not why I came. I just wanted to see how you were doing with your dad stuff. How many days have you been sick? Is it getting better or worse? What are you taking for that cough?”
He shrugged, then repeated, “I don’t want you to catch it.” But he didn’t close the door, and his eyes seemed to telegraph help me!
I pushed past him and entered. “All right. Let me get you squared away with some hot broth and fresh bedding, some cold medicine, and a vaporizer. You have a vaporizer, don’t you?”
“Um.” He shuffled out of the way, and I frowned at his bare feet.
“When you’re sick, you need to wear slippers or at least socks so you don’t catch a chill. Let’s turn up the heat. It’s a little cool in here.”
Jonah was docile as a lamb as I ordered him around and took over his house. I changed the sheets on his bed first thing, had him climb in, then piled extra blankets on. I found a heating pad for his chest and wanted to get steam going as I did when Travis had a croupy cough, but Jonah didn’t own a humidifier. Instead I brought him steaming-hot tea and soup, which I would have spooned into him if he’d let me.
Jonah drew the line at that, taking the bowl from me. “I’m not an invalid,” he croaked.
I put my palm on his forehead. He felt feverish, but it wasn’t too high. Then I stood, arms folded, and watched him eat the soup. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“This is good. Thanks.” He looked up at me, and, with his hair tousled and the normally grim lines of his face relaxed, he looked like a boy.
I couldn’t help but brush my hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. “So, when did you come down with this?”
He squinted at the soup. “What day is this?”
“Friday.”
“After my brothers left
. That was last weekend.” He looked up at me. “You were right. I had to tell them. I just didn’t want to hear it.”
“Did you figure out the situation with your dad?” I asked, glad he’d taken my advice and trying not to feel a little bit smug about it.
He nodded. “He’s in the nursing home in town.”
“I’m glad. That has to take a load off your mind.”
Setting the spoon in the bowl, he sucked in a breath and fought through another coughing jag. I took the soup away and offered him the box of tissues. Then I rubbed his back while he barked. The cough sounded dry rather than congested, and I figured, if this was like Travis’s croup, there was nothing to do but work through it. A doctor wouldn’t prescribe anything.
When Jonah had caught his breath, he looked up at me again. “I’m sorry if I was rude to you the other day. I didn’t really want to push you away. It’s my default mode to shut people out.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “I understand you’re dealing with a lot. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m happy to listen, and I promise not to offer advice again unless you ask.”
“Micah tells me I have a savior complex, that I have to stop thinking I’m the only one who can handle things,” he said.
“Your brother sounds wise.”
I smiled, and Jonah smiled back, and the world was all sunshine and roses. The disappointment and sadness of the past week and a half evaporated like dew burning off. I had to work to remember the promises I’d made to myself to do just fine on my own again. Remember the disappointment. Remember how quickly things can go from great to terrible at his whim. Do you really want to give him that sort of power over you?
I did and I didn’t. It was too soon to throw my trust to Jonah like a bouquet for him to catch. He wasn’t the only one whose default mode was to shut people out.
I rose from my perch at the edge of his bed. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Otherwise, I need to get going. I only have a babysitter for a short time.”
