“And you really like Lou,” Mom says.
“I do. I really do.”
“You can’t save her, you know,” Dad says later, as we stand over the grill staring at the thermometer, willing it to heat up faster.
“Sure, I canhelp her to save herself, though.”
“It was your mother who gave you your savior complex.”
“I know,” I agree. “My scowl is all you, though.”
“That’s something, at least,” he says, with an out of the ordinary grin. Usually, those are reserved for my daughter. He wasn’t always such a sourpuss. Mom’s diagnosis brought it out of him. We all felt angry at the world, then; he’s the only one that’s held on to it. Seeing her so weak and in pain was hard on him.
Because somewhere inside that hard shell, he’s got a little hero hiding, too.
It made me realize how far-reaching cancer is. It’s worse for the patient, of course, but it takes its toll on their loved ones, too. Even Paige was more morose through the worst of it. She’s always had a special bond with her grandma; she used to follow my mom around like a little duckling in the garden when she was a toddler. Mom loved it, loved teaching her everything she could.
It’s in her nature—to teach. She was the town librarian my whole life, until the cancer, anyway. It pushed her into retirement before she was ready, even if she won’t admit that. She says she enjoys having so much free time, but we’ve all witnessed how she longingly talks about her library days.
“Mom’s right, I do like her. No matter how much I tell myself to slow it down,” I tell my dad.
“I get that, Son. I do,” he says. “But quick is how you ended up with Brenda.”
“Don’t I know it. But this is different. Nothing reminds me of how I felt, then. It’s…I don’t fucking know,” I say.
“You don’t know shit, kid,” Jerry says from the door. “I thought we established that already.”
“Yeah, yeah, fucker.”
He chuckles as he walks to where Dad and I stand, fresh beers in his big hands. Jerry is the Fire Chief, closer to my dad’s age than my own, but we’re good friends regardless of the age difference.
“What are we talking about?”
“Women,” my dad says.
“Plural? Or one in particular?”
“The one living in Irma’s place,” Dad responds.
“Ah, the new looker that all the old timers in town are in love with.”
“Which old timers?” I ask, and both men smirk at my possessive tone.
“Sam calls her his wounded dove,” Jerry says. “I guess she made brownies for his poker night, and now they all adore her.”
“How have I not heard about this?”
“Your head is up your ass too much,” Jerry suggests.
“He isn’t wrong,” Dad agrees.
“You know what? I’m burning both your steaks tonight.”
“Hey, man, I didn’t come over for burned steaks,” a new voice says as Mac comes striding out the back door. I’d invited him more to be cordial than anything. I didn’t expect him to show up. Juliet might murder me for it, but we were good friends growing up and Mom loved him.
“Hey, Mac, I didn’t know you were in town,” Dad greets him with a handshake.
“Moved back recently,” he says, his dark mustache dancing. “Dad could use some help.”
