Page 74 of In Your Wake

“Never better,” he rasps, his voice a dry, scratchy sound.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “The cough’s always worse in the morning.”

I don’t believe him. I’ve been here long enough to tell the difference. Every day sounds worse than the last, and the grayness of his watery eyes tells me this isn’t just a morning thing. In a very short matter of time, he seems to have disintegrated.

“Dad, I’ve gotta ask. Are you sure you don’t want the treatments? There are serious advances with chemo and—”

“Jesus Christ!” he snaps. “I’ve made my decision, Mitchell. I’m all right with it. I don’t care what it takes, you need to come to terms with it, too. And soon.”

“I’m at terms with it,” I reply, putting the glass down on the bedside table.

What a morning for bald-faced lies.

He looks so tiny tucked between the thick pillows, covered in so many blankets to help him ward off the cold. He’s weak, shriveled.

“I just don’t get why you aren’t fighting,” I say, weakly.

With sadness in his eyes, he looks up at me. “I’m too tired to fight.” He glances past me to Mom standing in the doorway, watching us, biting her fingernails.

“And what about Mom?” I ask.

“I’m not entirely selfish,” he begins. “I’ve caused her enough pain. She doesn’t deserve to waste any more time taking care of me.”

I blink a few times, sitting down on the edge of the bed to gather my thoughts. He’s not wrong, but I keep that to myself. “I’m not sure she sees it that way.”

“She does. She just won’t admit it. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. It’s final.”

“But, Dad—”

“Final, Mitchell.” He brings his gaze up to mine and, in it, I see him searching for the words he longs to hear. He’s looking for my forgiveness, and it makes the anger in my chest rise tenfold.

I’m not ready to give it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I reply, holding back.

Mom doesn’t even look up as I walk out, but it’s better this way. One glimpse of those anguish-filled eyes and I might lose what little restraint I have left.

I pull up outside Hunter’s house and see him standing by a mountain of camping gear. Or at least it might be Hunter. With Celia wrapped around him, they’ve turned into a mess of blond and black hair, tanned skin and summer outfits.

Maxine steps out of the house, sporting her hair braided into two pigtails. She’s dressed in navy-blue shorts with white crew socks that reach her middle-calf. They’re adorable with a red and blue line across the top. A red and black checkered shirt is tied around her waist and with her plain white T-shirt she looks like a cute, dare I say sexy, lumberjack. It stirs up that heaviness I’ve been carrying since I left her place last night.

I get out of my car. She drops her small backpack and rolled-up sleeping bag at her feet. “That’s all you’re bringing?”

“I don’t need much.”

“That’s not going to be enough.” I point to the flimsy sleeping bag. “They’re calling for a low of sixty tonight.”

She squints at me, then crosses her arms with a shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

“Still love the cold, I see.” I grin, but she ignores me and pulls her phone out. I could insist she bring more than one blanket, but decide this isn’t my problem. If she’s cold and uncomfortable all night, then it sucks to be her.

Hunter and Celia finally come up for air. We greet each other with hugs when Maxine gets a call. Celia steps away with her, and Hunter helps me load our stuff into my car before gripping my shoulder. “You seem a little tense.”

“I’m having a rough morning. It’ll pass.” I offer him a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he answers reassuringly. “We’re going to have a blast.”