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“I’ll die one way or another,” his dad replied, as though they were talking about the weather. “I’d like to do it on my terms. In some ways, I’m happy we have this choice. Now, do you want marshmallows or no marshmallows? I seem to have the little ones.”
He stared for a moment, his father’s nonchalance making him shake his head. “Marshmallows. I have to go to work soon.”
His father considered him for a moment, his eyes on Major as his hands expertly doled out the mini marshmallows. “Are you in the head space to work? You’ve had a shock.”
He didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to go somewhere in the woods and scream out his frustration. “No, I’m not, but what else am I going to do? I’m on the schedule.”
One shoulder shrugged. “How often do you help out your coworkers?”
“Dad,” he began. He knew what his father was getting at. He’d often taken extra shifts when his coworkers needed help. But he was perfectly capable of shoving this pain and anxiety down and moving on. It was what he did. He plowed through life because what else was he supposed to do?
“You get to have needs, too, Major. You get to have bad days. You get to ask for help. If you never ask for help, you never give the people who love you the opportunity to show you how they feel. I grew up with a father who told me I needed to never show a single emotion if I wanted to be a man. Never show weakness. Your mom taught me a different way to live, and I hope I showed you the same. A kinder way to live.”
Emotion choked him up at the thought of his mother teaching his father he could be human. “You’re always kind. I try to be.”
“You are to everyone else. Now it’s time to be kind to yourself. Call in and stay here with me until I fall asleep. I want every moment I can have with you.”
The kettle started to whistle.
“Time is all we have,” his father said, using a potholder to pull the kettle off. “That’s what I’ve found. Time is currency we use to pay for the most special thing of all.”
“And what’s that?”
“Memories. We are made of them. That’s all a life truly is in the end. The memories we make, the ones we leave behind.” He stirred one mug and then the other. “I wouldn’t give up a single memory with your mother. Even the sad ones. They’re mine. I’ll hoard them for the gold they are.”
His heart felt too big for his chest. How could he take those memories from his dad?
How could he let go? Because that was what his father was asking him to do.
He took the mug and sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll give them a call.”
At least for tonight, he could give his father what he wanted. And when the time came, maybe he could find a way to get what he needed. His father was right about one thing. Memories were all a man had. It might be time to make a few.
chapter twelve
“Where’s your mom tonight?” Seraphina poured out a glass of rosé as she asked the question.
When Brynn had returned from her shift at the station house, she’d found Sera and a couple of friends out on the back patio by the pool. They had bottles of wine and a big charcuterie board, and they’d invited her to join them.
“I thought I saw her going up to her room. She had your dog with her. Cute thing.” Hallie Rayburn was a pretty blonde. She had her hair up in a ponytail this evening and wore jeans and a bright pink sweater. “She was on the phone and didn’t notice me, which is good because when she does, she tells me that I could be a catalog model but only if I stopped eating muffins. In her defense every time she sees me, I do have a muffin in my mouth. It’s uncanny.”
She might need something stronger than the rosé. At least she didn’t have to worry about Duke being stuck in his crate. “I’m so sorry. She can be awful sometimes.”
Hallie shrugged and reached for the brie and crackers. “She also offered to get me an agent if I wanted one. I don’t, though. It seems like a lot of work.”
“She just sees that you’re gorgeous and she could make money off you,” Sylvie Darois offered before looking Brynn’s way. “Sorry. No offense. Your mom seems pretty nice despite all the Hollywood stuff. She spends a lot of time on her phone.”
Her mom was married to her phone. “I’ll talk to her about putting things in a more polite fashion. I want to say the business made her this way, but I think she was born like this. My mom believes tact is something that costs people time when they should get to the heart of the matter.”
