by Wilder, L.
“Morning.”
“Sorry, I’m late. Your father had one of his spells last night, and I wanted to make sure he was okay before I left.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked as I offered her a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t see the point in bothering you. Besides, after he had a breathing treatment, he was fine.”
My father had COPD, a lung disease that obstructed airflow to, well ... the lungs, and he was on a shitload of medication that was supposed to help him breathe. Unfortunately, he refused to give up smoking, so he was only getting worse. “He wouldn’t have to do so many breathing treatments if he’d just stop smoking.”
“I’m well aware of that, Sawyer,” she grumbled, “but your father has a mind of his own.”
She was right. He’d always been one to do things his way and wouldn’t listen to anyone, especially my mother. It was one of the reasons I was glad they lived close by. After I fixed my coffee, I turned back to her and said, “I don’t know why he has to be so damned stubborn.”
“You’re one to talk,” she said in a huff. “Leaving home at all hours of the night, doing who knows what and leaving Kevin with strangers. It’s just not right.”
“Angie isn’t a stranger. She’s been living next door to us for six years, Mom. She’s a teller at the bank, and she goes to your church. I think it’s safe to say that she can be trusted to stay with Kevin for a couple of hours.”
“Yes, well ... That doesn’t make it right,” she chided. “Are you done? Cause I need to wake Kevin up.”
“He’s still asleep? We need to leave in twenty minutes!” “Yeah, but I’ll get him up and going,” I yelled to her as I started down the hall. I opened his door and walked over to the bed. “Hey, buddy. You need to get up.”
His shaggy blond hair fell over his eyes as he rolled over and groaned, “Ah, man. Do I have to?”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and ran my hand roughly over his back. “Yep. You know how your grand‐ mother gets upset when you’re late.”
“She’s taking me to school again?” he whined.
“I told you last night that I had a run today.”
He sat up in the bed and his blue eyes grew intense. “When will you be back?”
“Sometime late tonight.”
“So, you’ll be back in time for my game tomorrow?” he asked sounding hopeful.
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it, bud. You know that.” “Good, because coach said he was gonna put me in as quarterback,” my little man’s voice boasted with pride. Kevin had wanted to play ball since he was old enough to walk, but that got put on hold when we found out he had leukemia. After losing his mother at such an early age, it was a hard pill to swallow, but he got through it—we both did. Since he’d been in remission, Kevin was bound and determined to make up for lost time, and when he asked to play peewee football, there was no way I could tell him no. I smiled as I stood up and said, “Of course, you are. You’ve got the best arm on the team. Now, move it, kid, or you’re gonna be late for school. I’ll have your breakfast ready in two minutes.”
“Okay.” Just as I was about to walk out of the room,
Kevin called, “Hey, Dad?” “Yeah?”
“Be careful today.”
“Always.”
