Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’ve never heard my father talk like this before. Where is it coming from?
Harvey Reed has always been a juggernaut of a man, loud and gruff. Not one to be messed with or mislabeled as weak. So to hear his voice on the cusp of breaking almost breaks me.
He rummages around the desk with his back to me. “Don’t you tell your kids that I told you this, but I know Lauren was going to file for divorce.”
My heart drops.
“Maddie called me one night crying because Michael found a card on Lauren’s desk,” he says matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t surprised. I figured as much was coming.”
“You did?”
“Well, sure I did. I was paying attention.” He glances over his shoulder to drive home his point. That I wasn’t.
I want to yell at my father; I’m so angry. Why did everyone simply figure it was coming and not bother to say anything to me? I glance back at Dad, knowing he’s not finished.
“So, when you called off this trip,” he says, “the kids and I figured out how to get you both up here.”
Okay, well, at least he’s taking some of the blame for that.
“I want to be pissed that you would work in tandem with my errant children. But, in light of the way things have worked out, I can’t be mad.”
“No, you can’t.” He flips his attention back to the desk. “You really owe me a favor, if we’re being honest.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help but grin.
“I want you to try to slow down a little, Jack. Don’t get caught up in this performance-based lifestyle the world demands nowadays. The only performance that matters is the one you do with your family.”
“When did you become a philosopher?”
“There it is,” he mumbles, closing the desk. He turns to me once again. “I watch a lot of television. There’s some good advice on there from time to time.”
I nod toward his hand. “What do you have in there?”
He thrusts an envelope in my hands before going back to his recliner. “I had that drawn up a while back. Thought this was the time to go ahead and give it to you. I finalized it before I came up here.”
I pull open the tab. “What is it?”
Dad sits silently while I pull a stack of white papers from the envelope. I take one look at the top sheet and gasp.
“What the hell, Dad?”
“It’s gonna be yours anyway.”
I skim the wording on page after page of documents that put everything my father owns into Lauren’s and my names. My hands shake.
“Now, I just added you to my checking account,” he says. “So that’s still mine. I’ll keep paying the property taxes and utilities and stuff, of course. And I trust that you won’t kick me out of my house.”
I drop the papers on the table. They hit with a thud.
My heart pounds as I try to make sense of all this. “Why did you do this?”
“My attorney said it was best if I put it all in your name. Easier transfer when I die.”
I force a swallow. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I had some tests done last week. Got a knot on my liver. Doctor didn’t like the look of it, so he did a little biopsy.”
“What?” My jaw drops. “Dad. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He groans. “Because I didn’t want this to happen.”
“What? You didn’t want me worrying about you?”
“Exactly.” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t want you coddling me or babying me about it. I’m probably fine anyway.”
“When will you know?”
He shrugs. “The test results are probably in.”
“So, call and get them.”
“I told them I’ll come in when we go home.”
I spring to my feet in disbelief. “You could be sitting here with cancer or something else, and you’re all nonchalant about it? What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? Probably cancer. You’re right.”
I glare at him. “This isn’t funny, Dad.”
“No, it’s not. But I’m gonna have to die sooner or later. And we don’t really get to plan our exit strategy, do we?”
My head is ready to explode.
“How can you just not know?” I ask.
“Because I want one more summer with you and the kids and Lauren without knowing, Jack. I want one more stretch of beautiful weather and berry picking with the kids and Lauren’s cooking—I want one last summer to live and make memories without being an old dying fart.”
Slowly, I sit back down. I can feel the color draining from my face as his words sink in.
My father is dying? He might be dying?
That’s not true and I know it. I’ve known Dad was frail for a while now. But the fact that he’s been this sick—having a fucking test—is a blade right to my heart.
My head spins as I try to wrap my mind around what’s happening. Too much has been thrown at me too quickly today to process it all. I do know that something has to change between me and my father . . . whether he likes it or not. I’m going to be there for him. I’m going to take care of him.