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I wipe his brow, squeezing his hand a little harder.
“I’m not letting you lay here in agony,” I tell him.
“And I’m not letting you out in this weather, or putting a damper on our Thanksgiving with Zak,” he says with determination, but we both know it’s hopeless.
He’s in so much pain, and I don’t think he’d last comfortably through another night plus a whole day of this for the sake of a meal with an old friend.
“Sorry, baby,” he says again, looking away bitterly. Knowing how serious this really is.
“Zak’s here,” I remind him. “And he’s more than capable of helping out.”
That much I do know for sure.Chapter TenZakI figure Mark must’ve brought most of the supplies in with him once he arrived, and I’m right.
It’s mainly salad stuff and bits and pieces that Misty brought along that’s waiting in the SUV. Drinks, snacks, and a ton of stuff really that makes me wonder just how many people they were expecting.
But that’s Mark, that’s Misty.
Always perfect hosts, providing anything and everything their guests might need.
I feel it again, the guilt.
There was a time when it was just Mark and me that was the focus, he’d make sure Misty was safe as she played in the woods near the house or down by the lake.
That feels like a lifetime ago, and it nearly is.
Things are different now. Misty is a grown woman now, and she can make her decisions.
That’s what I tell myself, but the thought of Mark in agony as I try to conceive ways to have his daughter, right under his nose?
No.
I won’t do it.
It has to be someplace else or without Mark here. That’s final.
The old ‘icebox’ as Mark calls it is a genuine fifties refrigerator, still working and with all original parts that looks as good as the day it was made.
I can see the turkey, stuffing, and prepared vegetables, along with the famous pumpkin pie he’s made himself.
I almost whine out loud at how much effort, how much love Mark’s put into all this.
But it doesn’t change how I feel about Misty.
The cough and splutter of the generator from outside, even over the storm reminds me just how much we’ll need that power if there’s to be anything hot to eat but I still can’t help thinking Mark, he shouldn’t put himself through this agony, not for my sake.
Maybe he already knows? He’s not stupid. Blind Freddy could see how I’ve been eyeing his daughter the whole time, not to mention he could have seen me holding her in the outhouse.
Maybe that’s why he was off the couch?
My mind reels and I find myself staring at a large bowl of yams and potato salad, making my mouth water as I realize I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
A full course of Misty, not included as actual ‘eating’ mind you.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I figure everyone present could do with a feed and I fire up the electric grill.
The generator groans a little in reply but still gives me all the power I need to cook.
I deliberately give Misty some time with her Dad and notice that the smell of cooking soon mingles with the welcoming fragrance of a warm, open fire in the lounge room as she fixes it for him.
I’ve picked deliberate, non-thanksgiving foods for our lunch. More of an early dinner.
Steaks, some of those salads and a helping of fresh mashed potatoes I whip up while the griddle sings under the weight of the heavy USA steaks Mark knows I love and have missed so much.
I’ve always cooked for myself, needed to. I’m a big guy and I eat, a lot.
But cooking for others, knowing that Misty will have her lips around every bite too gives me more drive than ever.
Apart from the fact that my best bud needs to eat also.
Eventually, I hear Mark smacking his lips and Misty comes into the kitchen.
I caution her with a look.
“I thought I’d fix us all something,” I tell her, wishing I could give her so much more.
Just the two of us.
She nods, and her eyes widen once she sees what I’ve prepared.
“We’ll need to save some room for tomorrow!” she gushes.
“Yeah, you will,” I warn her, winking. Promising her she’ll have more than food to need to make room for.
“What about Dad, Zak?” she asks, her face darkening. “What are we going to do?” she asks, pouting again.
A look I’d love anytime, except when I know she’s hurting like her Dad.
“We’ll go for a doctor – I’ll go for a doctor,” I repeat. Motioning toward the food.
“Right after we’ve all had something to eat and calmed down a little, this storm isn’t letting up any either… give it some time,” I tell Misty, who seems to yield to my request.
She mouths the words I love you before leaning over to peck me on the lips after making sure her Dad can’t see.
