Chapter 19
nineteen
Cash
“Speaking of anniversaries, when’s ours?” Fresh off my parents’ anniversary dinner and three hours spent gazing at Georgia across a candlelit table, it’s taking everything I have to keep my voice low and my hands to myself.
“If I understand the meaning of the word anniversary,” she teases from her stance in the guest room doorway, “we’re going to have to make it a year before we get to celebrate.”
“Honey, we’re gonna make it to seventy years, trust me. I’m just wondering which date you consider to be the big day. Because I remember January 7th being—”
“Son?” My dad’s voice booms from the stairwell.
Georgia’s eyebrows jump, and she covers her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Go,” she whisper-shouts, pushing me out into the hall.
Before she can close me out, I stick my foot in the doorway and press a finger to my lips, then point to hers. Kiss me first.
She rolls her eyes, but I know by the way she leans in, by the way she takes her time when her lips touch mine, and by the stroke of her fingers at the back of my neck that she loves it. My last glimpse before she shuts the door is her wearing a dreamy little smile.
“Yeah, Dad?” I call, heading for the stairs. At the bottom, my dad stands watching me. He can’t have seen me and Georgia, but the set of his jaw puts me on edge.
“Come down, would you? We need to talk.”
I don’t know what I’m worried about—in a day or two, the whole world will know Georgia is mine—but Oh shit pings in my mind as I descend the stairs.
Dad’s limp, slight when we arrived, is undeniable as I follow him to the kitchen, where Mom and Maisy are seated, shaggy stacks of paper between them.
Those piles are a familiar sight; my parents still refuse to do their contracts, estimates, receipts, or anything else digitally, despite multiple false starts when we convinced them to allow their longtime secretary to take over.
Inevitably, they’d hover, wring their hands, and ultimately relieve Nancy of her new duties while breathing a sigh of relief at having control once again.
But by the looks of the paper towers, control’s hanging by a thread.
“Okay, Cash is here and Georgia’s out of earshot,” Maisy huffs. “Want to tell us why the need for a late-night family meeting?”
At the sight of my mom’s tense jaw, I add, “Yeah, if there’s a divorce announcement coming, maybe wait until your anniversary has passed?”
Mom’s face breaks into a fleeting smile. “Oh, stop it and sit down. It was a lovely night, and we hate to ruin it, but we have to tell you what’s going on with Dad’s health.”
Maisy and I both snap our gazes to our father, unease erupting into something sharper in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, it’s nothing tragic.” Dad pats Maisy’s hand.
“Daddy, what’s happening?” My sister sounds young and scared.
“It’s my disc issues, as usual.”
So nothing new. Between his high school football career and a lifetime of manual labor, back pain has always been part of his life. “That’s all?” I ask.
“Well, yes, but…” His eyes jump to Mom, who takes over.
“Dad needs surgery. And unfortunately, after this one, his lifestyle has to change. It’s a long recovery, and after that…” She gazes at her husband with a soft, pained look. “After that, his doctor says he’ll mostly be relegated to office work.”
Silence sucks up the air in the kitchen as the implications of the prognosis hit.
My dad’s one of the most active people I know, always tinkering in the garage or renovating something or other, never sitting down unless he’s forced.
Even though he owns the company and has a pretty sweet office, you’ll rarely find him there.
He either wants to be on jobsites—doing the labor, overseeing the projects, talking to his employees—or running around town picking up materials from the hardware store. Dad will wither away at an office job.
“We’re talking permanently? You’re barely fifty, Dad.”
He nods.
“But that’s worst-case scenario.” I look between my parents. “If surgery and recovery go well, there’s still a chance you can get back to it?”
“Not unless I want to end up back in surgery.” He stares down at the table. “A slower pace will have to become the new normal.”
I swallow, unable to cut my eyes away from the dejection in his expression, though I desperately want to.
Maisy breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Hey, like I said, it’s not a tragedy.” He assembles his features into something close to a smile. “The upshot is, Cash, next year you’ll end up taking on much of the physical labor. Which is a good role for you and your energy, anyway.”
Maisy speaks before I can. “What about hiring someone for that role? Or promoting one of your longtime guys?”
He’s already shaking his head. “Too big of a job.”
“Dad, they know the business way better than I do…”
“Senior roles stay within the family,” Mom says, reciting the old familiar line. “We learned that the hard way.”
The subject of Pascal darkens the room. Meanwhile, I sit fighting with myself, wanting to be the son who gives an enthusiastic yes, who steps up and takes the worry off my dad’s shoulders. But knowing what else I want to be in my life.
“And while Dad’s recovering from surgery, we’ll take all the help we can get from you two,” Mom says.
“Cash, you can take some of Dad’s calls and virtual meetings—might as well get you introduced to his business contacts, anyway.
And Maisy, I’d like to hand bookkeeping over to you while I take care of him. ”
Maisy hesitates. “I want to help where I can, but it’s a stressful semester.”
“You seem to be handling it fine.” Mom gives her a bland smile before turning to Dad.
“And Maisy, when you do finally come home to us,” Dad says, “you and I will be officemates.”
My sister gives a pained chuckle. “Interesting times ahead.”
Damn, what I wouldn’t give for just one citrus-scented kiss, I think as I shuffle past Georgia’s closed door. Nothing in the world soothes me like her touch.
In my bedroom, my sister and I drop onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
“It doesn’t have to change anything,” she says, cutting through the silence.
“For who?”
“Us.”
I grunt.
“We can feel for Dad without buying into the story that only a Hartnell can possibly have a leadership role in Hartnell Builders. Honestly, I’m starting to think they need to go to counseling to work through what happened with Pascal.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll happen. Pay two hundred bucks an hour for the privilege of describing in detail how a trusted employee embezzled tens of thousands from them.” I shake my head. “Look, I don’t buy the story. I just don’t want to let him down. Did you see the paperwork? They’re drowning in it.”
“Nobody’s letting anybody down. If I get into the program I want, I’ll only be an hour away. I can still help out.”
But if the plan that took root in my mind a day ago turns to reality, I could end up thousands of miles away from here, making my sister the responsible party when what she needs is freedom. “You know what they say about giving an inch. That expression was invented for our parents.”
“We control what we give. They haven’t quite accepted we’re adults with our own plans and goals, but they will. All they need is time for it to sink in.”
I close my fingers around her wrist. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Now it’s her turn to grunt.
It’s near two in the morning when Maisy heads for her own room and I switch off the light.
The glow-in-the-dark poster with its rows of NFL logos—won at some school carnival in sixth grade—still boasts a faint milky-green light in the darkness.
Mr. Jangles purrs on my pillow, soft fur grazing my ear.
I think of Georgia down the hallway, and how this house contains all the people I love most, just like it did when I slept in a toddler bed next to my sister. At least that hasn’t changed.
But changes lie ahead, too many to even play out all the possibilities.
The time when I could let life simply happen to me is over. Time to choose. I think about what Georgia said, how it’s not so hard to know what you want. Leave it to my girl to use her sweet voice to say the simple truth that cuts so deep I’ll never get the shards out.