Page 6 of In Your Wake

“He’s just taken his pills, so he’s a bit out of it,” Maxine informs me as she walks toward the living room. “Don’t bother him for too long.”

I follow in her wake, ignoring how she orders me around my home, telling me about my father, as if I’m the intruder.

“Where’s my mom?”

“She’ll be right back.”

I had hoped my mother would be a buffer between me and my father. Though I’d rather be anywhere but here, there’s nowhere else I have to be. Not right now, anyway. “Maybe I should come back later.”

“No,” Maxine answers, halting in her steps. Even with her back to me, I see the tension in her slight frame stiffening her delicate shoulders. “You should get it over with now. That way you don’t have to stick around for too long.”

Like some sort of backhanded smack, her words hit me hard. She steps into the living room and taps my father on the shoulder. He’s sitting in a recliner, facing the windows, looking out onto the backyard. “Bill? Mitchell’s here.”

“Good,” Dad says, his raspy voice holding a fragment of the deep tone it used to. Even without seeing his pale, sunken-in blue eyes, his voice tells me cancer has taken more than his independence. He’s lost at least thirty pounds since the last time I saw him, which was years ago when he came up to New York City to watch me play in the Stanley Cup finals.

Max turns to me. “I’m going outside,” she says, the chill in her voice practically matching the temperature in the house. She moves around me as if trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. The light spilling in from the window casts a golden glow across her face, and I notice her reddened eyes and remnants of tears streaked along her cheeks.

I reach out to touch her, but catch myself and instantly clench my hands into fists, tucking them at my sides. The impulse hasn’t faded over the years. Even though Maxine is the last person I want to be around, her presence still has a soothing effect, and I’m stupidly desperate to cling to it, and to her, just so I don’t have to face my father alone. Or face what’s happening.

“Hey, Dad.” I take his hand, but it’s like brittle icicles in my overheated palm.

“Good of you to come. How are you doing?” he asks as I sit across from him on the couch.

“Not bad. I guess you’ve been better,” I say, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

A faint smile cracks his somber expression, but it seems like it takes too much effort for his weak body and fades as quickly as it appeared.

The patio doors are cracked open and a tiny breeze floats in. Clouds, leftovers from a distant hurricane offshore, cover the sky, but sunlight peeks through, desperate to warm Oakwhite Bay’s shores. Though summer in the Bay is usually pleasant, sometimes it turns wet and dreary, and the chill reminds me that summer is ending and will soon be gone.

So will many things around here.

3

New Things

Mitch

“Chi-Chi?”

Immediately, my chest fills with warmth at the sound of my mom’s voice. The tiny woman with chocolate-colored hair stands in the doorway, her light-brown eyes weary but still filled with love.

“You made it.”

She rushes over, and I barely have time to get up from the couch before she wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing tightly.

“Hey, Mom.” She crumbles within my embrace, rests her cheek against my chest, and releases a quiet sniffle. She holds me for way too long, but I let her because I can tell she’s worried I’ll pull away. Still, part of me wants to do exactly that because this is so strange to me.

I’m at odds with my mother, with how she handled everything years ago and the fact that she is back with my father now. But just because I don’t understand her motives doesn’t mean I resent her for them. Time away from my parents has let me mature and release any anger I had. Or at least I’ve been trying to.

But then Bill coughs, reminding me of his presence. The feelings I’ve kept at bay return—the ones that won’t ever let me be okay with the tears my mom sheds for him. Reminding me that even though he’s dying, he’s yet again the reason she’s in pain.

A faint, malicious voice in the back of my mind points out that Bill is getting his just deserts, but not wanting to start a fight, I cast that voice aside.

“For Pete’s sake, Robyn. Let the kid go,” Bill barks.

Mom draws away, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. “I’m allowed to hug my son, William. It’s been such a long time.” She smiles up at me, then lays a soft hand on my bearded cheek. “What’s this?”

“He’s had that beard for years,” Dad throws in, his words tainted with bitterness, but at least that means he’s been watching my games.