AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I concluded that we were headed for Canada and that Mom, unjustly implicated in Dad’s crimes by virtue of association, would be waiting for us on the other side of the Nova Scotia border, the Rocky Mountain Spotted Police waiting to escort us to safe asylum on horseback. Again, I was young. Not exactly an expert on the Canadian legal system or provincial geography.
The point is, I wasn’t scared anymore. We were on our way to Mom, and that meant everything was going to be alright. I hadn’t had a decent night’s rest in two months, but suddenly, I felt very peaceful. And sleepy. I closed my eyes. I must have drifted off instantly, because in what seemed like the very next moment, I was opening them again.
The sun was just beginning to rise. I looked at the dashboard clock. It was six. We were driving down a street in my neighborhood. But we were headed in the opposite direction of my house.
“It’s back the other way,” I said to Dad, forgetting all about my Canadian escape theory. “You should be driving toward Dawson’s Mill Road.”
He said nothing. Then, without hitting his blinker, he turned into a parking lot. It was then that I saw the sign: Rosendale Methodist Hospital.
In retrospect, I should have put the pieces of that summer’s puzzle together sooner. But it wasn’t until I saw the hospital sign that it all became clear. Why I was sent away for two months. Why I was never allowed to call Mom. Why Mom only stayed on the phone for five minutes at a time when she called me. Why Dad, who hadn’t displayed a palpable emotion in about ten years, was on the verge of tears.
Holding my hand, Dad walked me to the information desk. “We’re here to see Cassandra Dunning,” he said, wiping his upper lip and sniffling.
The woman there seemed to be expecting us. “Are you her husband and son?”
“Yes, we’re her family,” Dad said. It was the only time I ever heard him refer to the three of us as a family.
“Room 336,” she said. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way up.”
A few moments later, the elevator doors were opening and I was looking at a sign that said “Oncology” with an arrow pointing left. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t so young that I didn’t know what that meant. I had learned it in health class just that year. It meant cancer.
We headed toward Room 336.
Grandma—my father’s mother—was sitting on a chair outside the door. Her eyes were closed, her head down, her thumb and index finger systematically rubbing her rosary beads as her lips silently mouthed a Hail Mary.
“Mom?” Dad said.
“Daniel,” she said, shocked that he’d shown up. Her opinion of my father was not high, and she never forgave him for cheating on my mom. “You came.”
I could see my father’s lips purse. But to my surprise, he held his tongue.
“Are we allowed in?” he asked.
She nodded. “She’s waiting for you.”
I took a step toward the door, but Dad put his hand on my chest. “Can you give me a minute alone with your mom, buddy? I promise I’ll be quick.”
Dad walked into the room, closing the door before I had a chance to peek inside.
I sat down beside my grandmother, who immediately put her arm around me. She was a big fan of delivering old-people wisdom to her only grandchild, and I knew I was about to get a sermon. “You know that you’re all hers, right?” she began. “From the second you were born, you were all your mother’s. Do you understand that?”
I didn’t.
“You look like her,” Grandma explained. “You sound like her. Every good thing about you, you get from her. And I’ve known her since she was twenty years old and I promise you, she’s nothing but good things. And all those bad things your father is—you didn’t get any of that. You’re not greedy. You’re not selfish. You care about other people and you’ve been that way since the day you were born. So no matter what happens, no matter what any bad person tries to teach you or tell you, just remember that you have your mother’s heart beating inside you. And that heart will always tell you what to do. Listen to it.”
My grandmother’s words would eventually become ones I’d never forget, but at the time, all they did was steal away at precious moments with my mother. I had absolutely no interest in listening to Gran talk about good and bad and right and wrong when Mom was just a few feet away, waiting for me.
Breaking out of my grandmother’s arms, I barged into my mother’s hospital room. But I was no more than two paces in when I saw something I would never forget. My father was sitting in a chair, his head upon my mother’s stomach, his arms stretched over her torso. There was a curtain, so all I could see of my mother was her fragile hand stroking my father’s hair as he unabashedly wept into her lap and repeated the same words over and over again. “I’m sorry, Cass. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re the only one I ever loved. They never meant anything to me. You were the only one. I know that now. You’ll always be the only one. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know my father was capable of tears. Or grief, or remorse, or any other normal human emotion. But there it was, right before my eyes. My father, crying. My father, saying he was sorry. My father, admitting he was wrong. My father, Daniel Dunning, humbled before the only woman he ever loved, the one and only woman who ever loved him back.
“Dad?”
He gave my mother one long last look, then gave her hand one long last kiss. Then, without a word, he walked to the doorway, wiping his upper lip.
“Are you ready, son?” he said, sniffling.
I was thirteen years old. Until twenty minutes ago, I thought we were all about to run away to Canada and live happily ever after. So no, I was not ready. But I knew this was my last chance. I walked to my mother’s bedside.
