Finding Home #SYTYCW15 #SpecialEdition

Finding Home Part 3

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Conner stood outside the nursing home, wondering what he was doing there. The building was long, low and made of brick. Conner supposed it was nice enough, at least as nursing homes went. A long porch lined the front and several people sat in the shade reading books or sipping cool drinks. A garden wound around the side of the structure, spilling into the front yard, with banks of color and scent drifting all the way up to the sidewalk, and even from there, he could hear the burble of a fountain. Still, he stood there, frozen.

The thought of going inside, facing his father, was almost too much. Almost, but not quite. He laughed bitterly as he realized that he still had a kernel of the little boy he had once been inside him, the one who was desperate for approval and love he had never received from his father.

Conner put one boot in front of the other, climbed the stairs and pulled open the glass door. The scent of lemon cleaner, underlined by the faintest whiff of urine, curled around him as he walked down the hallway.

He knew where he was going; this wasn't his first visit since arriving home in June. He didn't know why he kept coming back. There was no love between them, never had been. Growing up, his mom had been his rock, his shelter, the only person who stood up to his father and his incessant, unrelenting demands for order, conformity. Then she had passed away, leaving him alone, leaving him to fend for himself. And that was when the real fun had begun.

Conner paused outside his dad's room, steeling himself against the onslaught. Preparing for battle. Which was fitting enough, as his father had spent most of his life in the military. He'd made every day a war at home, a fight between their wills. Conner knocked once and shoved open the door.

His father looked up; a shrunken shell of what he once was, cradled in his hospital bed like an egg in a carton. "Hello."

Conner stepped into the room then stopped at the foot of his bed. "Hey, Dad. How're you doing today?"

"I'm fine." His dad looked away, staring out the window at the sparkling patch of lake barely visible between two old maple trees.

Conner's lips twisted down. Anything's better than looking at your own, son, huh, Dad? But he tried again. "How's your hip feeling today?" Conner grabbed the pitcher on the side table, filed the empty glass sitting there and brought it to his father. His dad shook his head, and Conner set it down on the rolling table next to him.

"It's fine." His dad pulled at the white, waffle-weave blanket covering his legs, straightening it and smoothing out the wrinkles. "Where's your fiancée? When are you going to bring her to meet me?"

Conner winced. He'd phoned his father months ago, told him he was going to get married. He didn't know why, but he had. Of course, he hadn't bothered to phone back to tell his dad that it'd all gone down the toilet. In fact, he'd kind of been hoping his dad had forgotten about it.

Conner sat in the one chair in the room. It looked like it had been stolen out of a hospital's waiting room. He shoved his hand through his hair, then let it drop when his dad frowned at him, at the slightly long style he wore. His father, of course, still had his hair at regulation military length, even though he couldn't even walk to the bathroom on his own.

"I'm not getting married," Conner said.

His dad snorted. "Screwed it up, huh?"

A hot rush of anger pounded through Conner's chest as he stared at the man who should have been on his side, who should have assumed the best of him, not the worst. "Guess so."

Yeah, maybe he had. But so had she. She'd become a totally different woman after they'd gotten engaged; controlling, demanding, shrill. As the wedding plans grew bigger, the guest list longer, the budget higher and higher, Conner had gotten the distinct impression that she didn't care who she was marrying, as long as she got to have the perfect wedding. He might have been the little plastic groom on top of the cake for all she cared. He'd made a huge mistake. When he'd broken it off, she'd gotten nasty. Within hours of the breakup, she'd completely emptied their joint checking and savings. No need to tell his father that, though. He could hear the river of criticism that would flow from that little revelation.