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“Hey, Dad,” Michael said. “You, uh...hi.” He’d wanted to say he looked good, but that was a terrible lie. Dad was pale. His right cheek and the skin around his eye seemed to droop, and he stared at Michael like he didn’t quite recognize him. “I got in last night before visiting hours ended but you were asleep.”
Dad said something, his speech a bit slurred, and it took Michael a moment to process the words as “Sleeping a lot. Tired.”
“Yeah, I bet. You talk to your doctor about the prognosis?”
After a long minute of Dad staring at him, he managed, “More tests. Physical therapy. Leg’s numb.”
“That sounds about right. The physical therapy. I, um, I’m staying at the house, if that’s okay with you. Seemed easier than that old motel out by Daisy or somewhere in Amarillo.”
“That’s fine. Staying awhile?”
“Planned to, yeah. I broke up with Kenny. Gonna put the house on the market. Start over.”
Dad’s expression flickered in an odd way. “Never good enough. For you. Dog?”
Michael’s eyes stung. “Bastard took the dog.”
“Sorry.”
Now wasn’t the time to tell his father that Kenny had taken more than just the dog and left Michael with only the house and his car. They could talk about money later. “Do you need anything?”
“Visit?” He tilted his head at one of the visitor chairs.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that for a while, Dad.”
With a little help from Michael, Dad turned on the mounted TV and they found a morning game show to watch. For the first time in nearly two decades, Michael watched and joked about a TV show with his father, and for a little while, all the old hurts seemed to slip away.
Not forever, but awhile.
Josiah studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror, making sure his scrubs covered any possible sign of last night’s rough sex with Seamus. Seamus was good about avoiding obvious signs of anything physical going on in Josiah’s private life, but sometimes the aches made Josiah wonder if his physical pain was as obvious to others as it was to himself.
So far, so good.
He finger-combed his damp hair into an acceptable style. Josiah was normally a nighttime bather, preferring to wash the day’s funk off before going to bed, but Seamus had woken him up this morning by shoving his dick inside Josiah before he was fully awake, and Josiah had needed to clean up. He was meeting a new client’s family member today, so cleanliness and a good, positive attitude were a must.
Didn’t matter he was dying a little more inside every day as long as his clients got the best care possible.
He readjusted his thin, gold-framed glasses, disliking how they looked, but he didn’t have a choice right now. One of his contacts had ripped yesterday, and he wasn’t in the mood to beg Seamus for money to replace them. Josiah worked freelance, rather than being employed by an agency, so he paid his insurance out of pocket, and vision was expensive. It also didn’t cover a lot of his degenerative vision issues, so his glasses would have to suffice for now.
“You meet new clients every day,” he told his reflection in the firmest tone he could manage. “Chin up, you’ve got this.”
Yes, he had this. Seamus had already left for work, so Josiah used the peaceful quiet to sip tea and reread his client’s file. Elmer Pearce, sixty-six, widowed, recent stroke. Partial right-side paralysis. Basic care needs plus physical therapy exercises every day. Adult son staying with him but was looking for employment. He studied the medical information he’d been sent with his client’s approval. Elmer wouldn’t be coming home until tomorrow, but they still had things to arrange, including a medical bed until Elmer got some mobility back. His meeting with the son, Michael, was scheduled for ten o’clock at the house.
A house Josiah had driven past hundreds of times. It sat right off the state road that led from Weston out to Daisy, and it was only about a few miles from the county sheriff’s office. Even if Josiah had only seen it once, he would have remembered the place with its long fence and yard full of folk art made from all kinds of scrap metal and junk. No one could pass a place like that and forget about it after.
Even though Elmer lived alone, it reminded Josiah of a real home. Not that he’d ever had such a thing in all of his twenty-eight years.
Josiah locked up and drove out to Elmer’s house. Elmer’s pickup was in the long dirt driveway, as well as a nice four-door sedan. Texas plates, so the son had either gotten a rental or he still lived in the state. Josiah had only spoken to him briefly last night to set up this meeting, so he didn’t know much about the man beyond his name and that he was in Weston for an undetermined length of time.
He grabbed a folder with his basic credentials, work history and references, as well as rates, and got out of the car. The home’s front door opened before Josiah even reached the porch, and he tried not to stare too hard at the man behind the screen door. Tall, maybe six-four if he was an inch, with a frame both muscular and lean, like a wrestler or swimmer. Dark brown hair swept up in a sort-of side part. Square jaw, intense stare, rigid posture that made Josiah’s skin prickle with the need to cower.
He didn’t cower, though, despite this man being exactly the height and build of people Josiah preferred to avoid being alone with at all costs. Josiah strode across the porch and plastered a smile on his face. “Michael Pearce, I presume?”
“Yes,” he replied in a gentler voice than Josiah remembered from their phone call. “You’re Josiah Sheridan?”
“I am. It never feels right to say ‘pleased to meet you,’ given the circumstances, but thank you for your time today.”
“Sure, please come in.” Michael pushed the screen door open wide enough for Josiah to step inside.
