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His expression changed as he picked up a sugar packet and began to fiddle with it in his hands. “Yeah. They’re great.”
I had clearly hit a touchy subject. I remained quiet when the food arrived, unsure of what I had said to upset him.
“How come you haven’t asked me why I’m back from California?” he asked, without looking up from his plate.
“I figured you would bring it up if you wanted to talk about it. It’s none of my business.”
“You would just sit there and wonder, and never ask?”
“I know what it’s like when people ask questions about personal things. If you want to share it with me, then you will.”
This was the first time I had seen him look less than his usual confident self. It was interesting to watch, like a magician about to reveal the secret to his trick. He ran his fingers through his hair, and continued to play with the sugar packet.
“I want to share it with you.”
“Okay.”
“Before I tell you, you have to promise that you won’t say anything about this to anyone.”
I groaned. “Are we going to pinky promise again?”
“Not even Shelly,” he pressed.
“You do know how best friends work, right?”
“I’m being serious, Merritt.”
“I’m sorry. Your sudden detour down Serious Lane caught me off guard.” I held my right hand up to make my vow. “I won’t tell a soul. Not even Shelly.”
He finally put down the sugar. “When I got to Cali, I bartended. It was the quickest way to make decent money. There were always people scouting the local bands that would play there. I handed my demos out to anyone that would take them.”
“Did you get any call backs?”
“The owner of the bar actually turned out to be friends with a talent agent. He said he knew of a band that was in need of a singer. We all met up, and we just clicked. We would practice at the bar on nights when I wasn’t working. We sounded really good.” His eyes sparkled as he reminisced about California life.
“It sounds like it was going really well.” I could not understand why he chose small town life working at the family auto repair garage over making his dreams come to fruition.
“I had to come home, though. It’s my dad.” He finally looked up at me. “He’s sick.”
I put down my burger. “Sick?”
“My mom called one night with the news. It’s cancer… colon cancer.”
My heart sank. “Oh, Chase. I’m… I’m so sorry.”
“I was afraid to tell you. I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Your dad has cancer, and you’re worried about upsetting me?”
“You just lost your dad. I didn’t want this to trigger you.”
I was quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in. “How bad is it?”
“The cancer hasn’t responded to the treatments. It’s not looking good. The doctor said he won’t make it past… he won’t make it to next summer.”
I wanted to reach across the table for his hand, but my hand remained in my lap, unable to move. “I think it was really selfless of you to leave everything behind and come back home to take care of everything. You’re a good son.”
Chase smiled a smile that I recognized all too well – the kind of expression people make when they are smiling through the pain. The mouth puts on a show, but the eyes give it all away. His usual spirited eyes looked so sad just then. That was the difference Shelly had noticed days before. It hit me that I was not the only one sitting there in pain.
