AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m speechless, something about her total innocence and her sincerity blows me away.
After decades of doing deals with people who always have a minimum of five agendas, Misty’s honesty is like a breath of fresh air.
I want to tell her I feel the same because I do. But I think I’ll save it for when I claim her properly. When she can feel it as much as me just telling her.
“Let’s eat,” I suggest, and she silently helps me with the plates, salads, and pitcher of juice as the storm rolls overhead.
“Not quite what we wanted, but we’re all here, Thanksgiving eve just the same,” I remind Mark who seems more cheerful for the sight of food as well as for the fire.
“Thanks, buddy,” he says earnestly as I nestle a tray onto his lap. Both Misty and him seem to have found a suitable upright position for him.
We both take a seat opposite, over the large timber coffee table, and help ourselves.
I nearly choke on my steak once Mark says it out loud.
“You two seem to be getting along,” he says casually, not meeting my gaze.
I sigh, there’s no keeping much from Mark. Not too much anyway. He knows something’s up and wants in.
“We had an issue on the road, on the way up,” I confess.
Mark nods his head, waiting for the rest of it.
“It was nothing, Dad. Just a slip on the road. Zak was driving after the weather came in bad,” she offers, the same notes of innocence in her voice.
Defensive now.
“Truth, Zak?” Mark asks me, finally. Not mad, just worried all over again.
“Truth, friend,” I tell him.
“But Misty was the one who got us out, just oversteered on a corner. Those damned wet pine needles, we never get ‘em in Africa,” I joke.
But nobody laughs.
I can feel Misty’s eyes on me, but I avoid them.
Only because I catch her Dad’s eyes flit from mine to hers and then back again.
“Once we’ve eaten, Mark, tell me about this Doctor who might be in the neighborhood,” I finally suggest.
Mark’s eyes move to mine, and he can see I don’t mean anything other than to help him, or Misty right now.
“The Foskin’s,” Mark says abruptly. “The sisters a doctor, apparently. No hope of reaching my own on the phones right now, not that they’d get here,” he says bitterly, disappointed.
“Eat,” I demand. “We’ll get to all that later.”Chapter ElevenMisty“I’m going with you,” I tell Zak, helping him to clear up the dishes from what was a delicious although awkward meal.
“You’ll stay here with your Dad,” he tells me firmly but gently, gripping my shoulder just enough to convey just how much he wants to do a whole lot more.
“But, the night before Thanksgiving?” I protest.
“It’s that or I try for an ambulance, Misty. Take a look at your Dad, he’s in agony there.”
I look down at my feet, suddenly ashamed for thinking of Zak and me and my own desires more than my Dad’s wellbeing.
“You both get back in here, and Zak I want to talk about old times until Misty falls asleep!” My Dad calls out, making us both smile, albeit awkwardly.
Nothing gets past my Dad, almost nothing I hope.
Despite Zak’s protests, we both agree to at least a few hours of forgetful conversation, even some card games when Dad produces a deck from somewhere before it gets too late to do anything else.
“This was your plan all along, lure us to the lake house then throw your back so we can play nurse all week?” Zak asks my Dad, forcing a smile. But I can tell he’s not happy about it either.
Same here.
“I’ll be fine,” my Dad announces before he’s suddenly gripped with another unexpected spasm of pain.
His cry hurts us both and it’s clear how much he’s been covering, just to keep the charade going all afternoon and evening.
“Ah Jesus, Zak! I wanted this to be perfect, for you… for Misty,” he groans as we both move closer to comfort him.
“I’m going for that doc now, buddy. No more arguments,” Zak tells us both, and with a firm voice, looking right at me he adds. “And it is perfect… just perfect so far.”
I hear myself starting to whimper, suddenly begging Zak to do something, anything for my Dad.
“I’m going now, just point the way and I’ll come back with your local doctor or whatever I have to find,” he tells us both.
“Had a man once, motorcycle wreck. Drove him for three hours to get help… I’m sure we can rustle up something in the USA,” he reflects, creasing me a smile to reassure me.
“Tylenol for now, and don’t move!” Zak commands my Dad.
I want to try and stop him, to tell him to stay, but the phones are down, even the cells and it really is the only hope of getting my Dad any relief.
