Tripp. She goes by Shelly. I’ve known her for almost twenty years. She’s one of my clients and is one of the top real estate agents in Pasadena. She helped me find my office and negotiate the rate. She’ll take good care of you.
“I know this is a little overwhelming, but most everything I’ve just told you you’ll find typed up inside the top drawer of my desk next to the keys. It’s in a yellow file folder. You can’t miss it. It has your name on it.”
I wrote this down on my pad. When I looked back up my father was staring at me. “Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’re not thinking about it hard enough.”
“I’m sure I’ll have questions later.”
His gaze faltered, and he rubbed his chin. Then he said, “It’s good that you’re prepared. Who knows if I’ll ever leave this place?”
I felt anger rise up in my chest. “Why all this talk about death? You’re still young.”
“Everyone dies.”
“Not at your age,” I said. We both knew it was foolish to say. My mother had been much younger when she died.
“You’re right,” he said. He looked down for a moment as if he were thinking, then he said, “You know that dream I told you about? The one about your mother and McKale?”
“Yes.”
“You asked what I left out . . .” He paused. “Mom said I wasn’t expected yet . . . but that I’d be with her very soon.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then I said, “It was only a dream.”
He looked at me sympathetically and said, “You’re right. It was only a dream.” The room fell into silence again. After a moment he said, “Let me look through your notes.”
I handed him the notepad. He looked through it, then gave it back to me. “You got everything.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll take a nap. You can go if you like.”
I sat there fighting my growing emotion. Finally I said, “Okay. Have a good rest.”
“Al.”
“Yes?”
“I love you, Son.”
The words caught me off guard. “I love you too,” I said.
I drove back to the house, my mind reeling from our conversation. I realized that I had preferred living in denial,something my father, always the pragmatist, did not. It didn’t mean he was going to die , I told myself. He was just being prepared . My excuse rang hollow.
My cell phone rang a little after ten. It was Nicole.
“Your father told me he’d had an uncomfortable discussion with you, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was about.”
“We went over his funeral plans.”
She hesitated. “You know how he is. Planful.”
My father loved to use that word. Planful .
“Is that even a real word?” I asked.
“Your dad might have invented it.”
I breathed out slowly. “He told me that he loves me.”
“He does love you.”
“I know. But it’s not like him to say it.” I hesitated a moment. “He’s planning on dying.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Yes, I can. It’s like you said. He’s planful.”
There was a long pause, then she said, “What can I do for you?”
“Just being here is enough.”
“Call if you need anything. I mean it. Call anytime.”
My reply caught in my throat. “Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, Alan,” she said.
I slowly hung up the phone. Part of me wanted to be back out on the road, where I could hide from this. I tried to watch television, but nothing kept my interest. I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Finally, at two in the morning, I surrendered to my insomnia. I turned the light on and opened the family history. It was time to finish reading what my father had written.
VII
A New World
Kate’s death was the most difficult thing I have ever experienced. I felt as if I had been ripped in two. As hard as it was for me, I think it was even worse for Alan. His entire world seemed shattered. He was changed. Once I had to get angry with him to get him to eat because he’d lost so much weight. A couple times I found him crying, once in his
“I know this is a little overwhelming, but most everything I’ve just told you you’ll find typed up inside the top drawer of my desk next to the keys. It’s in a yellow file folder. You can’t miss it. It has your name on it.”
I wrote this down on my pad. When I looked back up my father was staring at me. “Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’re not thinking about it hard enough.”
“I’m sure I’ll have questions later.”
His gaze faltered, and he rubbed his chin. Then he said, “It’s good that you’re prepared. Who knows if I’ll ever leave this place?”
I felt anger rise up in my chest. “Why all this talk about death? You’re still young.”
“Everyone dies.”
“Not at your age,” I said. We both knew it was foolish to say. My mother had been much younger when she died.
“You’re right,” he said. He looked down for a moment as if he were thinking, then he said, “You know that dream I told you about? The one about your mother and McKale?”
“Yes.”
“You asked what I left out . . .” He paused. “Mom said I wasn’t expected yet . . . but that I’d be with her very soon.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then I said, “It was only a dream.”
He looked at me sympathetically and said, “You’re right. It was only a dream.” The room fell into silence again. After a moment he said, “Let me look through your notes.”
I handed him the notepad. He looked through it, then gave it back to me. “You got everything.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll take a nap. You can go if you like.”
I sat there fighting my growing emotion. Finally I said, “Okay. Have a good rest.”
“Al.”
“Yes?”
“I love you, Son.”
The words caught me off guard. “I love you too,” I said.
I drove back to the house, my mind reeling from our conversation. I realized that I had preferred living in denial,something my father, always the pragmatist, did not. It didn’t mean he was going to die , I told myself. He was just being prepared . My excuse rang hollow.
My cell phone rang a little after ten. It was Nicole.
“Your father told me he’d had an uncomfortable discussion with you, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was about.”
“We went over his funeral plans.”
She hesitated. “You know how he is. Planful.”
My father loved to use that word. Planful .
“Is that even a real word?” I asked.
“Your dad might have invented it.”
I breathed out slowly. “He told me that he loves me.”
“He does love you.”
“I know. But it’s not like him to say it.” I hesitated a moment. “He’s planning on dying.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Yes, I can. It’s like you said. He’s planful.”
There was a long pause, then she said, “What can I do for you?”
“Just being here is enough.”
“Call if you need anything. I mean it. Call anytime.”
My reply caught in my throat. “Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, Alan,” she said.
I slowly hung up the phone. Part of me wanted to be back out on the road, where I could hide from this. I tried to watch television, but nothing kept my interest. I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Finally, at two in the morning, I surrendered to my insomnia. I turned the light on and opened the family history. It was time to finish reading what my father had written.
VII
A New World
Kate’s death was the most difficult thing I have ever experienced. I felt as if I had been ripped in two. As hard as it was for me, I think it was even worse for Alan. His entire world seemed shattered. He was changed. Once I had to get angry with him to get him to eat because he’d lost so much weight. A couple times I found him crying, once in his
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