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“It’ll just be for a few days,” Ernest said. “I’ll never even leave the house. I’ll park the truck around back. In fact, I should move it now.” He got up from the counter, and his step did seem steadier.
“Ernest,” Spencer said, and his dad tried to turn back to him. His feet caught on the barstool legs or maybe each other. He went down, his knees cracking against the hardwood floor. A groan filled the house, and Spencer rushed around the cabinetry to get to him.
Time slowed down, and Spencer could see every nanosecond. His father was a pathetic, elderly man, down on his knees, in some measure of pain. Compassion filled him, and Spencer forgave his father in that single breath of time.
Relief filled him with the release, and while he didn’t approve of his father’s lifestyle or want him in his life in this condition, all he felt now was…sympathy for the man.
“Come on now,” he said gently, helping him back to his feet. “Let’s go to the couch.” He got him back there, where he’d obviously stumbled inside and collapsed after arriving.
“I should move the truck,” his dad said, rubbing his knees. “Then no one will see it and know I’m here.”
Cold fear ran through Spencer. “Why does it matter if someone sees it?” he asked.
Ernest seemed to realize what he’d said, because he clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. “No reason.”
“Dad, who are you in trouble with?”
“No one.”
Spencer sighed, because when his dad didn’t want to talk, he didn’t talk. “Where are your keys?” He might as well move the truck, because the last thing he needed was trouble coming to Sweet Water Falls Farm because of his father. An image of each Cooper family member flashed through his head. He would not let his father hurt them.
“I don’t exactly know…” His father patted down his pockets and came up empty. Spencer held back his grumble and sigh and got up to look for them. They finally found the keys wedged in between the couch cushions, and he went to pull the light blue truck around to the back of the cabin.
He wasn’t sure he should let his dad sleep here, not with Clarissa so close, but he didn’t see another option. His father wasn’t a creeper; Spencer simply didn’t want him talking to Clarissa—or anyone else at the farm.
Back inside, he checked to make sure both doors were locked, and then he helped his father limp down the hall to the second bedroom. It had a twin bed in it, and the moment he laid his father in it, Ernest said, “You’re a good boy, Spence. Just make sure Momma is all right before you turn in.”
Spencer stared down at him as his eyes closed, that silly smile on his mouth and a horribly sweet smell coming with his breath.
“Momma’s dead,” Spencer whispered as his father snored loudly. “I did take care of her the best I could, Ernest, but even I couldn’t hold back the tide of her diseases.” He turned away from his father, a lightning storm moving through his whole body.
He locked the door and pulled it closed, then went across the hall and did the same to his door. He sucked at the air as panic rushed in, and he fell to the bed and cradled his head in his hands.
Spencer’s hope to be reconciled with his dad had dried up. He acknowledged that he wasn’t angry anymore, and he was so grateful for that.
“What do I do now?” he whispered. Over and over, he asked the Lord to help him know what to do about his father. He hadn’t changed, and Spencer mourned the loss of him again and again…and again.
