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His finger follows the words written in his own handwriting.
Family birthday celebration.
He looks up at me, confused as all fuckery. “We went to Disneyland.”
I stare at him with an expression of utter horror I’ve been practicing, and talk into the phone, because I didn’t end the call when he told me to. “Doc, you need to comeimmediately. He’s fucking delusional.”
Jack pushes to his feet. “What did you say?” he cries, looking around the room as the lights flicker. I maintain a slightly irritated demeanor but remain completely unfazed by the lights, and he glares at me. “Do you honestly notseethis?”
I let my frown deepen. “What are you seeing?”
“Thelights,” he growls, pushing out the door, only to run into Daisy and Cyrus approaching with sparkly gift bags.
“Daddy Jack,” Daisy says in the sweetest voice. “How are you feeling today?” She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and then presses the back of her hand to his forehead.
Jack backs up in a hurry. “You’ve got some nerve, showing up. What are you doing here?”
Daisy bursts into tears. “Why are you yelling at me, Daddy?” She thrusts her gift to his chest, sobs as she sayshappy birthday, and then runs off toward the kitchen.
Cyrus sighs at him. “Nice, Jack. You make amends one day, and then backtrack the next? She knitted you a fucking sweater, asshole.” He follows Daisy, as Dusty’s booming voice calls out from near the front door.
“Hey-oh. Where’s the birthday boy? Office or den? Got to be the office, right?”
Jack marches toward Dusty, who holds a gift bag out, to greet him. “I’m pretty sure I got exactly what you asked for, but if they’re the wrong size, I can’t help you. They’re non-refundable, and non-exchangeable.”
Jack peeks in the bag, and then looks at Dusty. “Is this a fucking joke?” he asks, pulling out a pair of oversized, hot-pink, gag-gift sunglasses.
Dusty frowns. “You specifically requestedpink. Did you want them in pastel? That’d make your complexion look washed-out.”
Jack spins around, looking at each of us in turn. “What the fuck is going on? I’vehadmy birthday celebration. We went to Disneyland.”
Dusty snorts. “Good one. Like you’d ever take us there. We must’ve begged for a good fifteen years running, before we gave up. It’s not exactly aJack Montgomerything to do, is it?”
“I took you two weeks ago, you ungrateful shit,” Jack snarls.
Dusty stares at him and then shifts his gaze toward the rest of us, doing a great impression of a stunned mullet. “Get a load of this guy,” he says, pointing at our father. “Yeah, okay, Jack. I can just picture you, running around the happiest place on earth, dressed as Snow White or some shit. What the hell?” He looks at me and leans closer as he whispers. “What the fuck is wrong with him? What did the doctor say?”
“The doc’s on his way now,” I tell the crowd. “He did mention yesterday that the level of… something-or-other in Jack’s blood wasn’t looking good. I forget what, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing and scare anyone by jumping to conclusions.” I not-so-subtly mouth the wordcancer, and Jack shoves at me.
“I don’t have fucking cancer,” he yells loudly enough to make Daisy yelp.
She starts crying again. “Of course you don’t,” she says, nervously. “Can I get you anything?” she asks with a sniff, as her eyes start to tear up again. “Some water?”
“I need a fucking whisky,” Jack mutters, heading back to his office.
The flash of a low-exposure image lights the end of the hall — a shot of Kira, turning slowly to look our way, and I have to say, Atticus did an amazingly realistic job, mangling the back of her head and covering her open shirt in blood and brains, but I pretend not to have seen a thing. I keep my eyes virtually glazed, when Jack looks my way to see if I’ll react.
“You okay there?” I ask, giving him another wary eyeballing. “You’ve gone even more pale.”
He turns back toward the image, but when the projection has disappeared, and he hurries on to his office with his head down.
“Maybe whisky’snota good idea right now,” I say, following close behind. “Wait and see what the doctor says.” I reach for the bottle at the same time he does.
Jack slaps my hand away, breaks the seal, and pours three fingers into the glass I’ve laced with ketamine. He raises it and takes a big gulp, glaring at me. “Don’t say another word, Five.”
I open my mouth to start, trying not to show how much I’m enjoying the fear and rage in his gaze.
“Do you need me to ask twice, boy?” He gestures to the personal alarm that will bring backup, tomakeme shut up.
