Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LUKE
I meet my parents in the driveway so I can help my dad get out of the car. His first words upon seeing me are, “You’re still in Elk Lake?”
“I’m still here, Dad,” I assure him.
“Are you staying at our house?” Even though I’m not, I wonder why he would think I’d stay anywhere else. My mom rolls her eyes. While sympathetic to my dad, it’s obvious his attitude is wearing thin with her, as well.
“I’m staying at Noah’s parents’,” I tell him. “They’re in Florida. But I’m happy to move home if you think you’ll need me.”
The look of terror on his face is almost laughable. “I’ll be fine.” He turns to my mom. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Brenda?”
She doesn't seem as sold. “We’ll see how well you can move in and out of bed.”
Taking her cue, I tell him, “You might need my help.”
“The nurses showed me how to do everything.” He points to the wheelchair. “As long as I have that, I’ll be fine.”
Even though I finally know more about my dad’s earlier life than I did, I can’t help feeling irritated by his attitude. I gently help him out of the passenger side of the car and into the wheelchair before turning him around so he’s facing the front door. Pointing to the joystick on the right side, I tell him, “It’s self-explanatory.”
He pushes the mechanism forward as my mom leads the way. Once we’re in the house, my mom exclaims, “It smells so good in here!” Turning to me, she adds, “You’ve been busy.”
I give her a knowing look. “I’ve been cooking the healing foods.”
“You made my chicken noodle soup?” My dad’s voice quivers with emotion.
“And chocolate chip cookies. I also whipped up a plate of peanut butter, jelly, marshmallow, and banana sandwiches.” He looks like he’s about to cry.
My dad clears his throat before saying, “That’s very nice of you, son. Thank you.” And darn if he doesn’t sound sincere.
Noticing the setup in the living room, he says, “You built a fire, too.”
“I thought it made the room look a little more welcoming.”
From the other room, I hear my mom exclaim, “You bought flowers! Thank you, Luke!”
My mom walks over to the hospital bed and pats the mattress before telling my dad, “Time to show us how you can do this by yourself.”
My father maneuvers his wheelchair with precision, positioning himself expertly next to the hospital bed. Then he pushes out of it with his good arm and his good leg before swiveling to the side. Once he’s on the mattress, he’s able to reach the remote and raise the top of the mattress until he can finagle himself into a sitting position.
“Nice work,” I tell him sincerely.
He grunts. “I’m so dang relieved to be out of traction, I feel like I could sprint down a soccer field. ”
“No more talk like that,” my mom mutters. “Your x-rays may look great, but you’re on strict bedrest for at least another week.”
My dad closes his eyes as he pushes the button to recline the bed. “I’m tired,” he says. “I think I’ll take a nap.”
Things have taken such a nice turn I don’t want to leave to go into Pop’s, but Jim is waiting for a break. Reaching over, I squeeze the hand on my dad’s good arm, “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
His breathing changes almost immediately, making it clear he’s worn out. I gesture to my mom to follow me to the kitchen. Once we get there, I tell her, “I can’t believe I didn’t know anything about Dad’s childhood.”
She shrugs. “What good would it have done if you had?”
“It’s not that it would have changed anything, but it would have been nice to know. I feel like I don’t know Dad at all.”
The tension around my mom’s mouth relaxes slightly before she says, “There are some burdens only the person living with them can understand. Your dad never wanted you and Kelsey to know how hard life can be. He wanted to protect you from that.”
“It’s like he’s a stranger though.”
“You know all the best parts of him, Luke. Unfortunately, in the last couple of years, you’ve gotten to know some of the tough parts. He’s still a person with struggles.”
“Yes, but he’s made me feel like his challenges are my fault, which is frustrating.” Even though I’m happy to have learned more about my dad’s life, I’m the one who still needs to figure out how to reach him.
“Maybe so,” my mom says while pointing to the plate of sandwiches on the counter. “But it seems to me like you’ve figured some things out for yourself.”
“Maybe.”
She smiles before reaching out to take me in her arms. Giving me a firm hug she says, “You can’t win a race if you don’t take the first step. ”
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her. “Thank you for finally giving me a clue about how to get us through this.”
“I’m pretty sure you would have eventually gotten on the right path.” Then she teases, “I just didn’t want to have to wait another twenty years before you did.”
“Ha, ha.” Stepping out of her embrace, I tell her, “I’ll be at Pop’s until about eight. Call me if you need anything and I’ll be right over.”
“I think we’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m going to sleep on the roll out couch next to your dad, so I’ll be there if he needs me. But we’ll look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
“Anything special you want for breakfast?”
“Whatever your dad made for you when you were little,” she says. “Exactly how he made it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I make a mental note to pick up all the fixings for french toast on my way over.
As my mom walks me to the front door, I stop and turn back to look at my dad. “I’m so glad he’s going to be okay. I’m going to do everything in my power to heal our relationship.”
“Everything?” she wants to know.
“I’m going to work my butt off,” I tell her without giving her the real assurance she’s looking for. I love my dad, but my life is still in Chicago. And shouldn’t I be given the same right to choose where I live just like my parents did?
My afternoon at Pop’s flies by. Cooking here is something I can do on automatic pilot, and as much as I claim to want more than that, I’m currently enjoying the robotic motions of serving up diner food to the citizens of Elk Lake. I particularly like it when the old folks come in before bingo. They’re very animated and sociable even if there’s a startling number of requests for no salt in their food.
I can see why so many people think retiring here is a good idea. There’s got to be comfort heading into your senior years surrounded by people you’ve known your whole life. Having said that, I’m nowhere near retirement, so I don’t currently feel that lure.
Jim comes off break at five, which is peak early bird time. We work in tandem for an hour before we finally get a lull. That’s when I ask him, “What do you know about my dad’s childhood?”
His hand stalls mid burger flip. “I know some.”
“Did you know that he was an orphan?”
“I did,” Jim says.
“Did you know he used to have a brother?”
Jim nods. “Yup.”
“What I can’t help but wonder,” I tell him, “is why my dad told you this stuff and not me and Kelsey?”
Jim finishes cooking the burger. “He didn’t have to tell me. I was there.”
“Excuse me?”
With a shrug, he says, “I was best friends with your dad’s older brother, Bobby.” He explains, “After their parents died, Bobby got adopted by our neighbors.”
“How did he die?” There was no indication in my dad’s memory book.
Jim picks up a napkin and wipes his brow. “We were playing basketball out in the street. Some drunken fool came down the road and plowed right into Bobby. It was plain awful.”
“I’m so sorry, Jim.” I wait a beat before asking, “How did you get to know my dad?”
“He lived with his new family in the town next to ours. I waited awhile, then I sent him a letter and told him that if he ever needed anything I was there for him.”
“Had you met him before?” I want to know.
“Nah, but I knew his story and I loved his brother like he was my own. You take care of your own.”
“How did you take care of my dad?”
Jim snatches a ticket out of the window and gets busy putting a chicken breast on the grill. “My parents and I moved to Milwaukee after I graduated from high school. When your dad graduated the next year, he reached out and asked if he could stay with us while he looked for a job.”
“And you took him in?” This is certainly a part of my dad’s history I would have liked to have known. It’s no wonder Jim has always felt like family. He’s the closest thing my dad has to it.
“My folks told your dad he could live with them for free so long as he kept up with his education. I was going to junior college, so it made sense for your dad to go to the same school.”
I don’t really know what to say, so I finally ask, “How did you end up moving to Elk Lake?”
A slow smile creeps across his face. “That’s when your daddy returned the favor. I had been working at a restaurant in Milwaukee and the place burned down. My folks lost the lease on their house at the same time. That’s when I started to think it might be time for us to make a move. So, I called your dad and asked what he thought about us living here.”
“He obviously liked the idea,” I prompt him for more information.
“He loved it. And so have we.”
This is a lot to take in. “Didn’t you ever wonder why my dad never talked about his childhood with us?”
He shakes his head. “Not my business.”
“Yeah, but …”
“No, son,” he says. “It’s not my business and it’s not yours. When you survive something as bad as your daddy did, you earn the right to keep your peace if that’s what you want to do.”
I can’t seem to leave well enough alone. “I just can’t imagine my kids not knowing all about me.”
“That’s because you’ve had a great life,” he tells me. “Your dad’s road wasn’t as easy.”
This has been a big day for me. So many secrets revealed that I never saw coming. I have a lot to think about and for some reason, I feel like Lorelai is the person I want to share it all with.
I don’t know when she became important to me, but as I think back to our many conversations, even the mundane ones, I realize it’s easy to open up to her and I enjoy her company. She obviously cares about people. I mean, who makes blankets for babies they’ve never met? She loves animals and if Penelope’s reaction to her is to be believed, they love her back. If that doesn’t speak to the quality of person that Lorelai is, I don’t know what does.