I bite my lip. “Yeah, it’s me.” The hunger that pounded on my inside is quickly replaced by a wave of nausea. This can’t be him. This can’t be the strong man who helped me carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, who was there for me through every heartache, every conflict I had with my teenage friends.
Why wasn’t I there for him?
“Welcome home,” he says with light in his eyes, a light that makes me crave diving into his mind and knowing why he can still be happy to see me after all these years.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say with a deflated tone.
My eyes wander throughout the house, begging for a way to continue conversation. How rude of me to stop by without bringing anything—
“Oh, Mom, I have some pasta and cookies in here.” As I rummage through my duffel bag, she emerges from the kitchen.
“Lin, we have plenty of food. It’s like the Liberty party has been delivering us extra food because they know about your father.”
Her words sting like poison as they ooze through my ears. I fight back tears thinking about the years I spent ignoring his condition, wishing that the doctors were wrong. In a way, they were wrong. They gave him three years to live, and that was four years ago. By the looks of him, he could die any minute.
“Come sit down. You’re makin’ me nervous standin’ over me like that.” Dad points to the couch next to his recliner. His oxygen supply, unplugged, puts a wedge between us as I follow his command.
My muscles are tight as I sit on the worn-out couch, afraid to say anything without being attacked. Instead, I examine the room and make a mental list. The carpet has a stain on it and is probably holding dirt from people wearing shoes in the house. The wall is covered in dust, especially in the corners by the ceiling. The couch has a small tear in it where bugs could be living. Dad’s recliner has a thread hanging off one of the arms. Or is that Dad’s shirt…
“I’m sorry.” I abruptly stand up and straighten out my clothes. “It was a mistake for me to come here. I should be getting back to my house now.”
Dad coughs into his hand. “Really, Lin? After all these years, you’re just going to walk out like that?”
Tears well in his eyes. A pang of guilt strikes me and rings in my ears. He’s right. Only a heartless daughter would leave her father while he’s dying alone.
“Yes, I am.” I have nothing to offer him. Coming here was an accident, not something I intended to do. I should’ve made up some excuse so that I didn’t have to come inside.
As I start toward the front door, a knock startles me. I’m frozen as Mom opens the door to a patrol officer.
Chapter Eight
My hands clench into fists as the patrol officer tilts his head and blinks robotically. “Mrs. Lark Ashley?”
“Yes, sir. That’s me.”
Dad coughs behind me and I wave at him. Be quiet, I say in my head. Maybe the patrol officer doesn’t know he’s still alive.
“Fifty-five years old, grew up on Long Island, married with one adult daughter?”
Did he have to mention me? At this point, I’m barely considered her daughter.
“Yes, sir. All that information is correct.”
I bite my lip. This scene is all too familiar. There’s just no way that Mom is—
“Mrs. Ashley, I’m going to need you to come with me. Your terrorist activity will not be tolerated by our district authorities or our president.”
“What? No!” I take a step toward the front door and trip on the carpet. “You can’t do that. She’s innocent.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Officer.” Mom’s voice is calm and sweet, as usual.
“Mrs. Ashley, you have questionable social media activity on your record.”
I bury my head in my hands, feeling powerless. If I stand up for her, I could go to jail, too. Then, Dad would be all alone.
“No, NO!” Mom’s shrill cry interrupts my thoughts. She puts up a fight as the patrol officer grabs her waist. Dad’s recliner rocks back and forth as he tries to get up. I pound my fists against the floor, only for my anger to be muffled by the dirty carpet.
The door slams shut, and the whir of the flying mo-pod gliding past our window sends a chill through the house.
Dad stands up, hovering over me like a ghost. “What was that about? Why didn’t you do anything? Where is she go—
He grabs his chest, grunts in pain, and collapses on the floor next to me.
“Dad!” I rise to my feet, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Mom’s gone, and now I’m going to lose Dad, too?
Well, you were going to walk out on them both a few moments ago.
The burden of guilt drops me to my knees and has me opening Dad’s shirt. How do I do this without Tobi coaching me on what to do?
Okay, Lin. Enough. Tobi isn’t coming back. Deal with this. Now.
I grab his oxygen supply tank and read the instructions. “In case of emergency, press the red button on the left side of the screen.”
The screen is blank.
“In case of power outage, firmly press hands on patient’s chest in a steady rhythm. Patient should come back to life after two minutes.”
Back to life. I like the sound of that.
As I press both my hands on Dad’s chest, I make up a rhythm of my own. “Come on. Get up. Don’t leave. Come on. Get up. Don’t leave. Come on. Get up. Don’t leave.”
The package said he would come back to life after two minutes. I time each beat to one second so I can count how long I’ve been pressing. After one hundred and twenty beats, he takes a breath that’s as deep as he can manage with his condition.
He looks around, groaning and holding his chest as he struggles to lift himself from the ground. “Where—where am I? Lin? What are you doing here? Where is your mother?”
I instinctively hold his arms and help him rise to his feet. “How could you forget? A patrol officer took her.”
“A patrol officer? Why would he take your mother?”
“Well, I have a couple theories, but you’re not going to like any of them.”
The sound of the kettle whistling in the kitchen interrupts our conversation. “The pasta!” I run into the kitchen to turn off the heat.
Dad’s walker clinks as he makes his way into the kitchen. “So, I guess you’re staying now, eh?”
I turn my back to him and roll my eyes. “I don’t really have a choice.”
I stir the pasta in the boiling water, my thoughts swirling together like mush. The pasta is so clean, so neat. Why can’t my brain follow that same pattern? Oh, Tobi, what did you leave me for? This is such a mess, and I have to deal with it all on my own!
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for paying us a visit after all these years.”
I bite my lip and pound the kitchen counter. “Oh, yeah? And what about you? Why haven’t you visited me? Why was it my job to pursue a relationship with you?”
My back is still to him, but I’m able to hear him click his tongue. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could take back my words. Am I ready for a deep conversation right now?
“Can we just eat, please? I’m hungry and so are you.”
Dad’s right, and I’m thankful for that. His words ring as clear as day. There’s always a reason to be thankful.
As we sit down at the table, I grab two forks and hand one to Dad.
“Lin, I’m thankful that you’re here with me.”
My mouth hangs open as I stop my fork in mid-air. “Do you still want to do this? It’s been years since we’ve played the thankful game.”
“You know what I always say.”
I slide my fork back into my plate and think. Don’s gone, Sage and the girls are gone, Tobi’s gone, Mom’s gone, and Dad’s slowly dying. What reason could I possibly have to be thankful?
“I’m thankful that I can finally eat.” As I shovel the food into my mouth, I forfeit the game. Dad wins.
“Good answer.” Dad follows after me, his tongue shaking as he plac
es a piece of pasta on it.
I groan as the soft, tender piece of macaroni sloshes in my mouth and slides down my throat. The vegetables are chewy and flavorful, a nice complement to the bland pieces of macaroni. Before I know it, the bowl is empty, and my stomach is full.
Pure delight.
“How was it?” Dad asks about halfway through his plate.
I sigh. “Very good.”
The silence between us is filled by the clinking of his fork against the bowl. I study the grime on the table, the stacks of cups and bowls piled a couple of inches high, and wince. Can I really stay here and take care of Dad? Should I? Maybe I can bring him back to my place instead of staying in this dump. But, then again, can he walk down his stoop and up mine? I might have to carry him the whole way. Unless a patrol officer is kind enough to help a sick old man back to his house…
“So, how’s work been?” Dad breaks the silence as he drops his fork into the empty bowl.
“Work?” I scoff. “It’s been two months since I’ve worked. It’s been two months since anyone’s worked. Haven’t you been outside?”
“Oh, right. The shutdown. That’s a shame. You liked your job, right?”
“Of course I did.” But after I say it, I realize that I was wrong. Brenda was demanding and stressful, and the work wasn’t satisfying to me. I could’ve had a more fulfilling life watching ads for a living instead of managing the cryptocurrency market.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The words sting. “What are you sorry about?” I ask bitterly, the words spewing out of my mouth.
“Well, I can’t get you your job back, but I can feel bad with you.”
“Feel bad? I don’t feel bad.” I steel myself, preventing any emotion from coming into my heart. I feel good, and nothing will change that, as long as I’m able to control my emotions.
“Okay then.”
His simple answer stuns me. But before I fight back, I decide to keep up appearances. “What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. Just packing.”
“Packing? For what?”
“Well, before this shutdown happened, your mom and I were planning on selling the house.”
I sat up in my seat. “This is news to me. Mom never mentioned it.”
“You never asked.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if you asked, she would’ve told you.”
I take a deep breath, maintaining my peace. In through your nose, out through your mouth. “Where were you going to move?”
“Oh, probably somewhere cheaper, like Pennsylvania.”
“Pennsylvania?” They were going to move somewhere driving distance from me?
“Yeah, well, since Mom retired and—”
“Mom retired? She loved her job.” At least, I thought she did.
“Lin, taking care of me has been her full-time job for the last four years, especially in the last two after I’ve really gotten sick. She couldn’t maintain her job while staying home with me.”
His words echo through my burning ears as guilt overwhelms me. Mom had to give up a job she loved to take care of Dad? Why didn’t she tell me any of this, and why didn’t she ask for help?
“Dad, I didn’t know.” My voice cracks as I speak. I crack open a bottle of water and take a sip. Would I have done something to help my parents if I knew that they were in need?
“We didn’t want to bother you with all that you have going on.” There are tears in his eyes.
“All that I have going on? What are you talking about?”
He averts his eyes toward the door. “You know, with Don and all.”
You didn’t want to tell me you were moving because of the divorce three years ago? Then again, what could I have done if I knew that Mom and Dad wanted to move?
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re not going anywhere now.” I smile, but then realize how awful that sounded. A ball of emotions swells within me and threatens to make an appearance.
I turn my attention to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lola sniffing through the yard.
Except she’s not there.
Chapter Nine
“Lola?” I open the door and scan the backyard for any sign of my dog. A bunch of dead trees and yellow grass, but nothing to show that Lola was even anywhere near here.
“Who’s Lola?” Dad pipes up behind me.
My legs give out as the emotion overtakes me. The one who has been with me through the shutdown is missing. I think I miss Lola more than I miss my own mother.
“Lin, what’s wrong?” Dad screeches his seat back to help me but doesn’t get very far. He coughs vigorously into his hand, turning his back to me.
“Nothing,” I mumble, fighting the tears burning my eyes. Is it too late to go home? Do I really have to stay here?
Dad’s loud cough makes it impossible to think. All that rages in my head is the guilt that I’ve left him alone all this time, and I’m about to do the same again.
“Lin. Water. Please.” I snap back to reality and give Dad the rest of my bottle. Straightening my shirt, I realize that I have no choice but to be there for the only person I have left in my life.
After a couple gulps of water, Dad clears his throat and is back to himself. “Thanks,” he croaks. “That tickle burns in my throat.” He points to his neck and makes a face like he’s straining.
“I’m sorry,” I say flatly, unsure of what I’m supposed to do.
“I don’t want you to leave this time, Lin. Please, stay here.”
I grab Dad’s arm before he starts for the living room. “Dad, I’m going to take care of you. I’ll be by your side every minute of every day.”
“Sure you will, Lin. You have nothing to distract you from me.”
Ouch. “Okay, Dad, that’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair? That the minute my daughter finds out I’m dying, she wants nothing to do with me?” He waves his hand toward the door.
I slam my fist again. “Dad, what are you even saying? Why has it been my job to keep up with you this whole time? I live in a busy life and I don’t have time to keep track of everyone. In case you haven’t heard, the last few years have been a struggle, and this shutdown has been the icing on the cake.”
“Yeah, Lin. I’ve heard.” His head hangs low as he closes his eyes. “But I don’t know why you pushed me away so that you could feel better.”
“Oh yeah? Well, maybe it was because I was scared! I didn’t want to lose my dad. You are my rock. If I were to lose you…” My voice trails off as I hug myself, rubbing my arms. I find my voice again. This needs to be said before it’s too late. “If I were to lose you, Dad, my world would be over.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m still here, then.”
I cringe. Sarcasm is still Dad’s weapon of choice. What used to be a joke is now considered an insult in our world. “You know something, Dad? Fine. I’ll say it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you by not being in your life. I’m sure you missed all the hormones and anxiety and disaster that I cause! I didn’t know you liked being around hurricanes such as myself.”
“You’re not a hurricane, Lin. You’re my daughter. After I found out I had cancer, I…” Now it’s his turn to grow quiet. Come on, Dad. Say it. “I wanted to hold you as tightly as I could. Because I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Well, aren’t you glad you didn’t?”
“Absolutely.” This time Dad doesn’t have a sarcastic tone in his voice. He’s speaking out of pure love for me. Love. Another emotion I haven’t experienced in a while.
“So, I guess we needed each other after all these years,” I say, my voice softening in my throat..
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I memorize the floor tiles, letting the silence heal the wounds of our past. I want to hug him, but I decide against it. Instead, I put my hand on his back.
In the momentary silence, I instantly want to cha
nge the subject. “So, what do you think about this new president? Pretty big news, eh?”
“The president? I wish we knew a little more about him. Plus, his intentions might not line up with what he’s doing.”
“What do you mean?” Dad has always been into politics, so I value his opinion on the subject.
“He has this whole thing about wanting to end terrorism in the country, but how is he going to do that without the Internet?”
“Well, whatever he’s doing, he thinks Mom is a terrorist.”
Dad’s eyes widen as he puts his hand on his chin. Staring at the window, he hums slightly, deep in thought. “I think I read about that in the paper. Can you get it? It’s on the stairs.”
I cringe as I walk through the kitchen, past the living room, toward the stairs. The floorboards underneath me creak and the sunlight reveals the dust swimming through the air. My skin crawls when I grab the dusty newspaper, which is stacked on top of all the other grimy newspapers they’ve received since the shutdown.
“Ah, here it is.” Dad takes the paper and puts his finger on the second paragraph, after the one I’d read on the streets. “‘The patrol officers have permission to retrieve and arrest any citizen whose social media activity has warranted a threat to the Liberty party and to the United States of America at large.’” He lifts his head from the paper. “Threat? What could Mom have possibly written that would threaten the Liberty party?”
I shake my head. “Mom does have pretty strong opinions about things.” The words sting as I remember her sticking up for Don on my social media page. My personal page.
Lin, there’s no need to end your marriage over a simple misunderstanding, she had written.
Before my thoughts can swirl into a downward spiral, Dad pipes up. “You know that she loved you, Lin. She still does.”
“Oh yeah? Then why didn’t she stick up for me? And why didn’t you?” My hands turn into fists. I don’t understand why every point of the conversation always comes back to either the affair, the divorce, or the cancer. “I need a minute,” I say, making my way for the front door. “Let me go get my clothes from my house and come right back—”
“I’m not letting you leave.” Dad’s chair screeches as he slowly rises. “Your social media activity hasn’t been that great over the years—”
In Real Life Page 4