he
says as he sits beside me, trying to hand me a glass of wine. “This will go
better with your dessert than tea.”
I shake my
head, refusing it. “I’m not much of a drinker. All it does is give me
nightmares and bad headaches.”
He shrugs
his shoulders and downs all of the wine in one long gulp. He places the empty
glass on the wood-planked floor and then sets out to nurse the beer.
“Where’s
your food?” I ask.
“Not
hungry,” he says. I try not to worry, but he looks a bit gaunt tonight.
We rock in
silence as I finish the cake. It was almost too much, and I think I overdid it,
but it will be worth the bellyache. As I toss my empty plate Frisbee-style over
to the garbage bin on the porch, the front door opens. Two ladies shuffle out,
surprising John Paul and me.
The short,
pudgy one from earlier says, “We put the food away. We’ll be back in the
morning. Good night, children.” They both wave goodbye.
Once they
drive off, we burst out laughing.
“Where in
the world were them two hiding?” I ask.
“I don’t
know. I thought I kicked everybody out earlier.” John Paul chuckles.
“They must have
been upstairs tending to your mother.” We laugh some more before settling into the quietness of the night.
I finally
break the silence after a while. “When was the last time you saw Dad?” I glance
over at my brother and really give him a looking over. The dark circles under
his red, swollen eyes are evidence to his loss, and it causes a deep ache of
anguish for him to resonate in the pit of my stomach.
“Only three
nights ago,” he says. “He popped in the restaurant at closing and helped me
finish up the night duties. We ended up hanging out in one of the booths for a
couple of hours afterwards, just running off at the mouth. He told me how proud
he was of me and encouraged me to keep up my photography business.” He pauses
before muttering in disappointment, “I’ve been debating on giving it up.”
“I didn’t
know you were into that. I think it’s great. Those pictures in the kitchen are
impressive.” I compliment him, but he seems far away. I place my hand on his
arm. He looks over at me with tear-filled eyes. A thought clicks into place.
“You took that picture of Dad on the pier, didn’t you?” John Paul nods
somberly. “I would love a copy of it, please.” He nods again.
We swing
another stretch before John Paul speaks again. “I knew that night something bad
was going to go down. I just didn’t know it was going to be this.” He hangs his
head and quietly weeps. After he regains his composure, he whispers, “He really
listened to me that night when I was telling him about a photo shoot I just
wrapped. Not the normal way with him grunting every now and then through the
conversation and not really listening, you know. The way he normally would. It
was a great final gift the other night.”
I’m
grateful for my brother and jealous at the same time. I have no final gift of time
with my dad. I have blown it and understand there’s no second chance in this
situation. I can’t manage another word, so I leave John Paul on the porch to
mourn alone and head upstairs to do some of my own.
After
changing, I settle on the bed and call Lucas from the neon-pink phone on my
nightstand. This was a phone Julia insisted I have in our youth, but I never
really used it, being the loner in my young days.
“Hello?”
The calmness echoes in his quiet voice as it always does and is an instant
salve to my tender heart.
“It’s me. I
needed to hear your voice…I miss you too much.” I feel the tears prick my eyes
but know they won’t escape. I’m not a crier. I wish I were. Maybe then I could
wash away some of this overwhelming grief.
“I can get
on the road right now. I can be there by midmor—.”
“It’s
okay.” I bet he is already on his feet, heading to his closet to pack. “You’ve
got that business meeting tomorrow.” I hear a door close, and am pretty sure it
was
says as he sits beside me, trying to hand me a glass of wine. “This will go
better with your dessert than tea.”
I shake my
head, refusing it. “I’m not much of a drinker. All it does is give me
nightmares and bad headaches.”
He shrugs
his shoulders and downs all of the wine in one long gulp. He places the empty
glass on the wood-planked floor and then sets out to nurse the beer.
“Where’s
your food?” I ask.
“Not
hungry,” he says. I try not to worry, but he looks a bit gaunt tonight.
We rock in
silence as I finish the cake. It was almost too much, and I think I overdid it,
but it will be worth the bellyache. As I toss my empty plate Frisbee-style over
to the garbage bin on the porch, the front door opens. Two ladies shuffle out,
surprising John Paul and me.
The short,
pudgy one from earlier says, “We put the food away. We’ll be back in the
morning. Good night, children.” They both wave goodbye.
Once they
drive off, we burst out laughing.
“Where in
the world were them two hiding?” I ask.
“I don’t
know. I thought I kicked everybody out earlier.” John Paul chuckles.
“They must have
been upstairs tending to your mother.” We laugh some more before settling into the quietness of the night.
I finally
break the silence after a while. “When was the last time you saw Dad?” I glance
over at my brother and really give him a looking over. The dark circles under
his red, swollen eyes are evidence to his loss, and it causes a deep ache of
anguish for him to resonate in the pit of my stomach.
“Only three
nights ago,” he says. “He popped in the restaurant at closing and helped me
finish up the night duties. We ended up hanging out in one of the booths for a
couple of hours afterwards, just running off at the mouth. He told me how proud
he was of me and encouraged me to keep up my photography business.” He pauses
before muttering in disappointment, “I’ve been debating on giving it up.”
“I didn’t
know you were into that. I think it’s great. Those pictures in the kitchen are
impressive.” I compliment him, but he seems far away. I place my hand on his
arm. He looks over at me with tear-filled eyes. A thought clicks into place.
“You took that picture of Dad on the pier, didn’t you?” John Paul nods
somberly. “I would love a copy of it, please.” He nods again.
We swing
another stretch before John Paul speaks again. “I knew that night something bad
was going to go down. I just didn’t know it was going to be this.” He hangs his
head and quietly weeps. After he regains his composure, he whispers, “He really
listened to me that night when I was telling him about a photo shoot I just
wrapped. Not the normal way with him grunting every now and then through the
conversation and not really listening, you know. The way he normally would. It
was a great final gift the other night.”
I’m
grateful for my brother and jealous at the same time. I have no final gift of time
with my dad. I have blown it and understand there’s no second chance in this
situation. I can’t manage another word, so I leave John Paul on the porch to
mourn alone and head upstairs to do some of my own.
After
changing, I settle on the bed and call Lucas from the neon-pink phone on my
nightstand. This was a phone Julia insisted I have in our youth, but I never
really used it, being the loner in my young days.
“Hello?”
The calmness echoes in his quiet voice as it always does and is an instant
salve to my tender heart.
“It’s me. I
needed to hear your voice…I miss you too much.” I feel the tears prick my eyes
but know they won’t escape. I’m not a crier. I wish I were. Maybe then I could
wash away some of this overwhelming grief.
“I can get
on the road right now. I can be there by midmor—.”
“It’s
okay.” I bet he is already on his feet, heading to his closet to pack. “You’ve
got that business meeting tomorrow.” I hear a door close, and am pretty sure it
was
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