Chapter Thirty-Two
Jesse
Before
“Autumn made a promise to herself that day,” my father read from the book he held in his hands. “She would never, ever take anything for granted again.” He shut the large hardcover and looked up, meeting my eyes.
I was sitting in a wingback chair across from him in his library while Tommy sat next to me. This was where my family spent every Sunday. Mom insisted on cooking and Viv would hang out with her in the kitchen, helping her make dinner. Emery could be found on the couch, watching whatever New England game was on. Tommy would be with me and Dad in the library. I’d choose a book off one of the shelves and my father would read to us. Sometimes Tommy would play on his tablet, other times he’d work on art, but he was always listening. I knew a day would come when he wouldn’t want to sit in here with his Papa and me and that was why I was soaking up every second of this.
“I’ve read that one at least four times,” I said to Tommy about the book my dad had just closed.
I wouldn’t classify it as young adult. There were scenes certainly inappropriate for him to hear, words too mature and unsuitable for young ears. But I didn’t believe in sheltering my kids when it came to literature. It was art. I wanted them to experience things the way it was intended.
“You read books more than once?” Tommy inquired.
I nodded. “If I enjoy it enough, I do.”
“So do I,” my father said, slowly pushing himself out of the chair and moving toward one of the rows. The book he grabbed was old and black and severely worn. I knew it well. He handed it to Tommy. “I’ve read this one almost forty times.”
“Forty?” Tommy questioned.
“That’s right,” Dad replied. “My father gave it to me when I graduated high school. He died a few years later and I started a tradition of reading it every year on his birthday. I’ve never missed a June.”
“Wow,” Tommy said, turning the novel over in his hands. “Maybe one day I’ll read it.”
He eventually gave the book back and Dad returned it to the shelf and said, “How about you go check on Nana and your sister and see if they’ve made us something to snack on.”
My son’s face lit up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Tommy rushed up from his chair and I called out, “Please shut the door behind you, thank you.” I waited until he closed it before I turned to my father. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.
“I want to talk to you …” He went back to the same seat, sitting as slow as he had stood. “Something’s wrong.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“I don’t feel right.”
I assessed him the same way I would do to one of my kids, looking for flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. Listening for a runny rose and a cough. I saw and heard nothing.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I asked.
He shook his head. “They won’t be able to help me.”
“Then, urgent care?”
“No, it’s not like that.” He paused, and my heart began to pound. “We need to start with my primary doctor, and I want you to come with me.”
My parents had always been so healthy, the most serious diagnosis only required an appendix removal and that had happened before I was born. Neither of them even got sick in the winter with anything worse than a cold. That was why hearing him tell me he didn’t feel right came as such a surprise.
“I’m sure this is all nothing,” I told him. “When the seasons change, I always feel a little off myself. My allergies kick in and I don’t feel grounded. You might even want a wait a few weeks and see if it blows over. Then, we can always call the doctor and get you in.”
In a tone I rarely heard from my father, he said, “You’re not listening, Jesse. I’m telling you something is wrong with me.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I felt the churning in my stomach. I felt the tremors shaking my entire body.
He would see none of that. Instead, in the calmest voice, I told him, “I’ll talk to Mom and we’ll call the doctor first thing in the morning.”
When he exhaled, it almost sounded like a whistle. “I don’t want Mom to know. That’s why I’m coming to you.”
“What?” My back went straight. “Why?”
He used the same voice again, “Because I don’t.”
He glanced away, telling me that was all I would be getting from him. If he wanted me to know more, he would have said it.
I didn’t understand. My mother was always the first person he went to. Their marriage was strong. They were friends. There was still so much love between them. She should have been in this chair, not me.
I didn’t want to question him again and have push me away, so if this was his wish I would support it—for now. And since Mom wasn’t here to take the lead, I had to. “I’ll call your doctor and get you an appointment for this week.”
He didn’t relax, but I saw relief now that he knew I would help.
“What about your work schedule?” he asked.
“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
I watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingertips turned white as he pressed them against his thighs. Each breath almost seemed like a task for his body.
There were only two times in my life when I was truly terrified, and both were when I birthed my children, waiting to hear their cries as the doctor held each one in his hands.
This was the third time.
As I looked in my father’s eyes, I saw something that made me feel even worse.
He was as terrified as me.