Scratch the Surface

The second I gathered her into my arms, she grabbed me so tight, like she’d been drowning and was clutching at me for dear life, and sobbed into my chest.

Courtney stepped around behind her and pressed into her back, and I felt her shudder before Makayla tucked herself in on my left and Cody closed the circle on the right. Cocooned at the center, safe and protected, my mother came undone, and when Seth joined us in the huddle, she took a giant breath as he explained there would be no eye gouging, no biting, and definitely no chest punching.

“Let’s have a clean game, people,” he cautioned us.

And then Brynn Gallagher laughed.

If I had a tone, Dr. Zhao, my father’s cardiologist, had a tone plus a death glare. In no uncertain terms, she explained, was anyone but immediate family going in to see Ray Gallagher. It turned out she’d laid down the law for my mother’s benefit. My father, who was sitting up reading the morning paper, sipping on a cup of tea at five thirty in the morning, looked like he could have visitors all day. When we came through the door, he finished his article and then folded the paper over and smiled.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” he asked my mother as she darted over to the bed. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he glanced at me. “What’s wrong with her?” He mouthed the words. “Is she okay?”

“You had a heart attack,” I mouthed back, violently acting out heart attack for him, with chest clutching and tongue hanging out for illustrative purposes.

“That’s not funny,” he assured me flatly.

“No, it wasn’t,” Courtney snapped at our father.

“Why are you mad at me?”

“Nobody’s mad, Pop,” Makayla assured him, moving up beside the bed to kiss his cheek. “We can’t wait to get you home.”

“You know I can’t have sex for a week,” he informed us all.

“Oh dear God.” Cody groaned, like he was the one who’d had a stent put in his heart.

Seth, who was holding a bottle of water, snorted. “For once I wasn’t drinking when he said something like that.”

“Mother, you married a perv,” Courtney announced flatly.

“Hey, kiddo,” my dad greeted me, chuckling. “How was ass-crack Sac?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I promised him. “Do me a favor and hug Mom, all right? You maybe gave her a bit of a scare.”

“Why? I promised I would never leave her. She’s too sexy,” he revealed, giving her backside an affectionate pat. “All the vultures are circling, waiting for me to kick off so they can swoop in and nab her.”

My mom squeezed him tighter, and he stopped teasing and turned his head to whisper gently in her ear. All the nodding she did was nice to see.

“Don’t do it again,” I warned him. “This family only works when we’re all together, so we can all take a moment, and then ask Court how her dissertation is coming along.”

My mother straightened up, briskly wiped away her tears, and gave my sister all her attention. My father lifted his eyebrows in interest, Makayla and Cody turned to her expectantly, and Seth bent his head, crossed his arms, and seemed laser-focused on something on the floor.

“I forgot for a minute that I hate you,” my sister assured me.

Ah yes, normalcy.

The visitors were allowed in once my mother left, two hours later, with everyone but me. While Dad sat and held court, I was on my computer, working. The recliner I sat in took up all the room on the left side of his bed, so his siblings couldn’t encircle him.

“You know, Ray,” my uncle Brian, my father’s oldest brother, began, “Chip and I are going in on this amazing venture together, and I’d love to tell you about it.”

My father chuckled. “Oh, I don’t get to do any investing,” he assured him and I glanced up so I could see his smile. He always smiled when he talked about me to other people. “That kid right there”—he pointed at me—“he’s the one who makes those decisions. He’s in charge of the finances for my business, Brynn’s business, and of course, all our personal finances as well.”

“Is that right,” my uncle Brian muttered.

“That’s right,” I confirmed, smirking just to be an ass. “I want Dad to retire at sixty-four so he and Mom can start traveling the world.”

“But your mother can’t retire,” my aunt Eleanor, his wife, replied. “She’s only fifty-six.”

“True,” I agreed. “But those fitness centers pretty much run themselves, so she can certainly travel with Crazy-Legs Gallagher there.”

My father snorted over the name the guys who played basketball with him had bestowed on his awkward style of running up and down the court.

“Is that smart?” my uncle Sean asked my father. “To have your son watch over your finances? I mean, I know I certainly wouldn’t trust mine.”