“I’ll risk it,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “If you weren’t supposed to meet your father today, I’d ask you to join me.”
“I would have had to purchase appropriate attire.”
“I’ll bet you’re incredibly handsome in a suit.” She patted his chest and perched next to him on the bed. “Are you nervous about meeting your father?”
“Not really.”
“What if he doesn’t remember much about your mom?”
“Then I imagine our meeting will be a short one.”
“You’re really not interested in who he is? What he’s like? Where he’s been all these years?”
“Not particularly.”
“I don’t know how you can remain so detached about all this. It seems to me that he might want a relationship of some sort with you. Even a minor one.”
“I’ve considered that, but I doubt that’s true.”
“But he flew you out here.”
“And at the same time, I’ve yet to see him. If he wanted a relationship, I suspect he would have come by earlier in the week.”
“Then why do you think he wanted you to come?”
“I think,” Tru finally answered, “he wants to tell me why he left my mother.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Tru walked Hope to her car, holding two umbrellas so that she wouldn’t get wet.
“I know it sounds silly, but I think I’m going to miss you,” she said.
“Me too,” he responded.
“Will you tell me what happens with your father?”
“Of course. And I’ll make sure to get Scottie out for a walk, too.”
“I don’t know what time I’ll be back. It might be late. You’re welcome to wait at the cottage for me. I won’t be hurt if you’re already asleep when I get in.”
“Have a good time.”
“Thank you,” she said, slipping behind the wheel.
Though she gave him a cheery wave as she backed out, for some reason he felt a touch of foreboding as she vanished from sight, making him wonder why the feeling had arisen in the first place.
Father Time
Deciding it was probably best to leave Scottie at the cottage, Tru gathered his sketchbook and pencils and went back to the house, awaiting the visit from his father.
He continued with the drawing of him and Hope, the work coming easily. Soon, he progressed to the point where he began focusing on the finer details, an unconscious signal that the sketch was approaching completion. Lost in his work, it took him a moment to realize that someone was knocking.
His father.
Rising from the table, he crossed through the living room. He paused when he grasped the knob, readying himself. Upon opening the door, he saw the face of his father for the very first time. To his surprise, he recognized some of his own features in the old man who stood before him, the same dark blue eyes and a small dimple in the chin. His father’s hair was thinning and what little remained had turned white, with only faint streaks of gray. He was stooped slightly, pale, and on the frail side; the jacket he was wearing seemed to envelop him, as though it had been purchased for someone much larger. Over the sound of the storm, Tru could hear him wheezing.
“Hello, Tru,” he finally said, the words labored. In one hand he held an umbrella, and Tru noticed a briefcase on the porch.
“Hello, Harry.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.”
His father bent to pick up his briefcase and froze, wincing. Tru reached for it.
“Can I get that for you?”
“Please,” Harry answered. “The older I get, the farther away the ground seems.”
“Come in.”
Tru retrieved the briefcase as his father stepped past him, slowly shuffling into the living room and toward the windows. Tru joined him, standing by his side, watching his father in his peripheral vision.
“It’s quite a storm here,” Harry said, “but it’s even worse inland. It took forever to get here because there was so much water on the highway. My driver had to make more than a few detours.”
Because it was more of a comment than a question, Tru said nothing. Instead, he studied his father, thinking that it was akin to seeing the future. This, Tru thought, is what I will eventually look like if I live as long as he has.
“Has the house been satisfactory?”
“It’s big,” Tru responded, recalling the way Hope had first described it. “But yes. It’s a beautiful home.”
“I had it built a few years ago. My wife wanted a place at the beach, but we’ve hardly ever used it.” He took two long, wheezy breaths before going on. “Was there enough food in the refrigerator?”
“Too much,” Tru answered. “There’s probably going to be a lot left over when I leave.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have the cleaning service take care of it. I’m just glad it arrived in time. I’d forgotten about it until you were already in the air, but there was little I could do. I was in the ICU and they don’t allow phone calls, so I asked my daughter to handle the details. She made arrangements with the property manager to receive the delivery.”
The words continued to roll through his mind even after his father finished speaking. Wife, ICU, daughter…Tru found it hard to concentrate. Hope had been right in predicting that the meeting would feel a bit surreal.
“I see” was all Tru could think to say.
“I’d also like to apologize for not setting you up with a rental car instead of having a driver pick you up. It might have been more convenient for you.”
“It didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have known where to go. You said you were in the ICU?”
“I was released from the hospital yesterday. My kids tried to talk me out of coming, but I couldn’t miss this chance to meet you.”
“Would you like to sit?” Tru asked.
“I think I probably should.”
They crossed to the dining room table and Harry seemed to collapse into a chair. In the gray light streaming through the windows, he looked even more depleted than when he’d arrived.
Tru took a seat beside him. “May I ask why you were in the ICU?”
“Lung cancer. Stage four.”
“I don’t know much about cancer.”
“It’s terminal,” Harry said. “The doctors give me a couple of months, maybe less. Maybe a little more. It’s in God’s hands, I suppose. I’ve known since the spring.”
Tru felt a twinge of sadness at that, though it was the kind associated with learning bad news about a stranger, not family. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Appreciated,” he said. Despite the information he’d shared, Harry smiled. “I don’t have any regrets. I’ve had a good life, and unlike a lot of people, I’ve been given the chance to say goodbye. Or even, in your case, hello.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and coughed into it. When he finished, he took a couple of labored, wet-sounding breaths. “I want to thank you for making the trip here,” he added. “When I sent the ticket, I wasn’t sure you would agree to come.”