Dad reached to touch my hand. His touch was always cold. "I'm sorry this is so hard on everyone."
"I'll be all right. Mom, too."
"I know both of you will."
"I don't mean just now," I said. "I mean in the future. I'll make something out of myself. I promise you, I'll be somebody."
Chapter Four
The next morning, I stayed home from school. Mom had already called the doctor and made arrangements for Dad to be admitted to St. Luke's. I stood by as he sat in a chair by the front door dressed in his baggy jeans, a too-big white sweatshirt, and sneakers. He hadn't eaten breakfast. Couldn't swallow. His eyes were bleak, his lips bloodless, but he was alert and talkative.
"Jodi Jackson called last night," I reminded him.
A half smile lit his face. "She miss you?" he asked in his whispery voice.
"Not exactly. She wanted to know how you are, and Travis and Lois wanted to know."
"You told her the truth?"
"Yes."
He nodded. "I don't know if I'll be out in time for Friday's game." He hadn't seen my last two football games. But he'd dragged himself to my first four. The weather had been nice in the evenings, about fifty degrees—no wind, rain, nor snow yet—and at that time he'd been feeling a little better.
"No sweat," I said. "We'll kick ass." Tears misted in my eyes. That was another thing happening to me a lot lately: Tears all of a sudden. No warning.
I pulled back the curtain and looked out to make sure the car was still running. I'd started it earlier and turned the heater on. I wanted Dad to be warm and comfortable while I drove him to the hospital. Mom scurried around in the bedroom and bathroom, getting Dad's electric shaver, aftershave, and other stuff ready for him.
Dad reached to touch my hand. His touch was always cold. "I'm sorry this is so hard on everyone."
"I'll be all right. Mom, too."
"I know both of you will."
"I don't mean just now," I said. "I mean in the future. I'll make something out of myself. I promise you, I'll be somebody."
"Remember, don't be like me, though. Work all the time. Not much time for the ones you love most."
I smiled. "All right."
"I told your mom not to mourn. Not even for a day. Move on."
I wondered how Mom would do that: Move on without Dad. He was her life. My life, too.
Suddenly I wanted to tell him about Jodi, that he was going to be a grandfather. The daughter of his best friend was going to have my baby. At least she'd said it was mine. I wasn't really sure.
I couldn't tell him, though. Not like this. Everything confused and uncertain. I couldn't give him something else to wonder about besides his dying and meeting God. And my making a girl pregnant, if it were true, wouldn't make him very proud of me. I didn't want him to remember me like that, a player who had messed with the daughter of his best friend.
"A million's not worth anything," he said, "unless you've got family. Remember that. Stay close to the people you love. And who love you."
"For sure."
"They're more important than anything else."
"All right."
My throat ached again, this time from choking back tears.
Mom came into the room, Dad's overnight bag in her hand. "I think we're ready," she said.
"I'm in no hurry," Dad said.
That's the last real conversation I had with Dad.
The day he entered the hospital he lapsed into a coma and died the next day in hospice without regaining consciousness. Mom and I sat at his bedside nearly all the time. A nurse gave him morphine so he could rest comfortably. His last rattly breath jerked his head twice, and then his head fell to the side. I touched his cold, papery hand.
Mom gripped my shoulder. "Come away, Michael, he's gone."
She kissed him on the lips.
He died at 7:00 P.M. I'd never hear his voice again. Feel his touch. Smell his cologne. But I felt relieved.
Rest in peace, Dad.
I called Jodi the night Dad died, but she was gone so I talked to Travis, my knees shaking, afraid of what he might say to me because of his daughter's pregnancy.
I started off by telling him everything I could about Dad, dreading the inevitable shift in the conversation to Jodi and me. "The funeral is Saturday," I said, after about twenty minutes of rambling on.
"I won't be able to come."
"Oh...?"
That surprised me.
I didn't know if I was glad or not about Travis's not coming to Grandview for the funeral. I wanted him to be able to pay his last respects to Dad, but I feared facing him. Though Jodi was seventeen, she was still his little girl. He'd be rightfully pissed at me.
"I start driving a semi that day," he said. "Things have slowed down at the resort. Weather's been bad. Vacations are over. Everyone's back in school. Can't help it. I've got to drive. Need the work."
"I understand. Dad does, too."
"How's your mom holding up?"
"Fine. She's tough."
"I believe that."
Then came the dreaded lag in the conversation. The dreaded silence. I was feeling guilty again. And shamefaced. I decided to take the plunge. Pretend I was brave. I grabbed a breath. Exhaled. "Jodi, tells me she's coming to school here in Grandview the second semester. To live with her grandparents."
"She told you why, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"I'm not happy with her. Or with you, Michael."
"I'm sorry... Neither one of us intended anything to happen. We just...I don't know..."
"Whether you intended it or not," Travis said, "that doesn't change anything. Fact is, my daughter's pregnant. I'll live with it and make the best of it. We all will. But that doesn't mean I like it. Or that it's right."
"I'm sorry about her cross-country season. Her chance at winning a scholarship. I'm sorry about everything."
"She won her first two races. She improved her personal best time in each one."
"Oh wow!"
"But then she started throwing up after running a mile or so. We couldn't figure it out. She'd never done that before."
"I feel terrible. Look, I'll do whatever's right, whatever I can...you know, whatever's necessary...and beyond..."
"I know you're going through a bad time right now. I'll talk to you later about it."
"All right," I said, eager to end this conversation.
"Tell your mom me and Lois are thinking about her. We sympathize with both of you."
"Thanks."
After I hung up, my shoulders sagged. Travis wasn't happy with me, and I didn't blame him.
I was a bit pissed at myself, too. I'd been so much on the defensive I hadn't mustered the courage to ask him if he thought there was a possibility somebody else might be the father of Jodi's baby. Like that guy Lou. Or whatever his name was.
The guy who kissed Jodi in the woods.
I mean, I saw him kiss her.
Or maybe she kissed him.
Coming next—Chapter Five: Laying dad to rest.
