Love, Dad

5. His Son

Three days. Three days had passed since I had paid twenty percent of dad's mortgage. I thought I would feel better after that, after actually doing something good to help, but I still felt the same way. Probably because it wasn't enough—no amount of money could atone for the five years I had missed. Still, I was glad that I had done it in the very least, glad that I was still helping, even if it didn't make me feel any different. Or maybe I was still processing losing my part—to Archie of all people. In reality it didn't matter. It didn't matter how I was feeling or why. What did matter was trying to figure out what I was going to do next. Yes, I had done good by putting some money down on dad's debts.

Yet there was more money that was still owed, and obviously he couldn't pay it. I had told Levi that I had to help, because of so many reasons, and they were all the truth. Did that obligate me by default to see to the rest of it? I wasn't sure, and I hated to think about it. Not because of the big, scary number with the minus sign in front of it, but because of the commitment that it would mean. That was what I was really avoiding, and I understood that I had been all along once I actually realized that I hadn't even unpacked since coming back here. A few clothes, sure, but the rest of my things still sat confined over in the corner. Me? Well, I still sat confined on my bed.

"Gabe!" Dad's hoarse voice drifted up the stairs into my room as I sat up, sighing heavily because it forced off of the mattress. I wasn't reluctant to go to him, rather I was resigned to not leave my dwellings until I had come up with a plan. It wasn't unusual for him to call me like that now, he'd done it all throughout yesterday. Obviously Caiti couldn't work every day and never have a break, so on the weekends Adrian Home Health sent a replacement. It was never a set nurse aide yet, so they rotated trying different ones out, and the one that we got this weekend was a mean, old girl. Honestly I hadn't even bothered to learn her name, I just thought of her as Bertha—she looked like a Bertha to me.

Dad didn't like her either, so he had started asking me to do little things for him, like get him a glass of water, or help him sit up. I was happy to do it, though he thankfully hadn't asked me to change his brief yet, so I wasn't even giving any mind to crossing that bridge. Since I'd last checked on him not more than an hour ago, I couldn't imagine what he wanted, but I made my way to his room quickly anyways. On my way I passed by the kitchen where Bertha glanced up from the book she was reading to give me a dirty look. Clearly she didn't like being replaced. Giving one quick knock for curtesy, I entered and stood there while dad turned down his TV.

"What's up, daddy?" I asked, shifting my weight to one side as I crossed my arms, expectant.

"Come here, come sit by your old man." His hand reached out shakily, and I went forward and took it, sitting next to him as he had commanded. At first he said nothing, just looking at me and patting me affectionately. "I want you to call Greg Hobart and tell him to come look at the tractor I got behind the barn."

"What are you talking about?" That shocked me. How was it that after all that stubbornness he would now just do away with the things he was clinging so tightly to?

"When you're done with that, take him out back to the shed, that's where I stored most of the old equipment, see if he wants to buy that too. Now, he'll try to dicker you down, but don't let him. Those machines are dusty, not broken, they're still worth a pretty penny." He was quick with his direction, and I could tell that he didn't want to do this. It wasn't long before he took notice of the look on my face—the one of confusion and reluctance. "You listening to me?"

"Dad, that's not necessary. Look, everything's going to be fine. Get some sleep before that aide comes in here to bother you again." Smiling, I squeezed his hand and got up, preparing to see myself out. Only he didn't let go of me.