Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
THE GOODS
CAMDEN
Dad’s humming along to an old Billy Joel song, his fingers tapping in time to the music as we drive down the winding, snowy road toward Duluth. The lake is frozen in places, and yet the waves still crash along the shore.
He looks better.
Not like the man he was before the diagnosis, but not like he did a couple of months ago in the thick of chemo either.
“You nervous?” I ask.
“Yeah. I guess I am a little worried they’ll say something I don’t want to hear.”
I nod. “That’s fair. We need some good news.”
The appointment takes a while, and I sit in the corner paying attention to every detail so I can relay it all to my siblings. Dad hasn’t let us come to his appointments. He’s been very stubborn about it, and I’m not sure why he had me come today, but I’m glad he did.
I spent all morning at the restaurant prepping for my day off.
I’ve only worked with my team for a short time, and it’s too soon to be taking a day off, but I trust that they’ve got things under control.
Bobby is invaluable, and so is Marilyn, the line cook.
Katie and Bentley have already proven to be excellent bartenders.
I was most concerned about how Annie and Hannah, Lorraine’s twin daughters from The Loon, would be because they’re young and distracted by Joey, Bob and Helen’s son from The Hungry Walleye, but they’re all doing great.
It’s ironic that they’re working for me instead of their parents, but I think all parties involved are enjoying a little break from one another.
They know the restaurant business, and it seems like they’re not afraid of hard work…
when Joey’s not flirting with the twins, that is.
And actually, that’s pretty much all the time… but he’s still getting the job done.
The only weak link is the pastry chef. Britney started this week, and so far, it seems like she’s just in the way and with very little to show for her efforts.
If only she put more time into her baking than her flirting.
Every time she’s in the kitchen, she’s staring at me, and it’s annoying as hell.
If she could produce excellence, it would be different, but her desserts haven’t blown me away so far. We’ll see how it goes.
Dad smiles at me when the nurse leaves. “Not what you signed up for, is it? Do you regret leaving Colorado for all this?”
“Regret time with you? Hell no. I would do it again a hundred times over. No restaurant matters more than this right here…you.”
He blinks slowly, his eyes welling with tears. He’s become a lot more sentimental since the diagnosis.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and the doctor steps in. He says hello to my dad and then shakes my hand.
“Dr. Randolph,” he says.
“This is my son, Camden,” Dad says.
“Nice to meet you.” I tip my head slightly. “Thank you for taking such good care of my dad, Dr. Randolph.”
“He makes it easy,” the doctor says, smiling at my dad. “You’re doing well, Everett,” he adds. “Blood counts are up. There are still a few markers we’ll continue to track, but I’m encouraged.”
Dad’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the breath he lets out.
“We’ll keep watching, but keep doing what you’ve been doing,” the doctor says. “You seem more relaxed…happier.”
Dad’s mouth twitches. “I’ve got my kids back. Well, they’re not all back full-time, but I’m getting more visits from the ones who are out of state.” He points at me and grins. “This one even moved back from Colorado.”
“Oh, that’s great,” the doctor says. “I’ve been hearing good things about your new restaurant in Windy Harbor. I’ll have to make my way there to try it out sometime.”
“That’d be great,” I say.
My dad squeezes my shoulder. “It’s worth the drive, I promise you that.”
“Says my dad,” I tease.
“Your dad’s not the only one,” Dr. Randolph says, chuckling. “My wife and I are foodies, and we’ve heard your name floating around town quite a bit. We’d actually hoped to get out to your restaurant in Colorado one of these days too, but this is much more convenient.”
“I’m flattered, thank you. Whitman’s will still be there, should you get out that way, but yeah, come to Windy Harbor when you get a chance. Let me or my staff know when you do, and the meal will be covered every time.”
“I couldn’t,” he protests, and I hold up my hand.
“It’s the least I can do. You’ve helped my dad so much. My family and I are so grateful.”
“Well, like I said, Everett makes it easy. I don’t think there’s a more likable guy out there.”
He smiles at my dad, and after my dad makes his rounds thanking everyone in the office, we leave with an appointment to follow up in six weeks.
When I pull onto the highway, Dad leans his head back and lets out a small sigh.
“What a beautiful day,” he says. “You know, when your mother died, I wasn’t sure I could live without her. I didn’t want to live without her.” He glances at me apologetically. “It was you kids who kept me going. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for that.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Dad. None of us could’ve gotten through losing Mom without each other.”
“Not so long ago, I wasn’t sure I’d be around to experience much more. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I intend on enjoying every second. I want to be around for whatever comes, but no one lives forever, so when I go, you kids stick together.”
I sigh and glance at him. “I hate it when you talk like this.”
He grins. “I know, I know, but some things just have to be said.”
“Okay, Dad, I promise we’ll stick together. It helps that we all love each other.”
He chuckles. “Yes, it does.”
By the time we pull into our driveway, the trees have that sun-dappled glow, and the sky is a combination of pinks and golds over the lake. Dad stares out at the view like he’s drinking it in.
“Looks like everyone’s here,” I say as I park.
Kevin, the Havanese Goldie brought home a few months ago, yaps at the door like he’s been waiting for Dad all day.
He has a hard time deciding who he’s most obsessed with—Goldie or Dad.
Since Dad is the one who named him and Kevin seemed to know Dad needed the extra love while he was going through chemo, I think he leans slightly more toward Dad.
He twirls so fast and his tail wags so hard that it throws off his balance. When I open the door, he launches himself at Dad, whose laugh barrels through the entryway.
I should’ve told the doctor about Kevin. I’d say he’s had as much to do with Dad’s happiness as my siblings and I have.
Inside, the house smells like pot roast and freshly baked bread. There’s music playing and voices rising above the song, proof that all the Whitmans are under one roof. We’re a noisy bunch.
Goldie rounds the corner and looks at Dad anxiously. “How did it go?”
“All good,” Dad says, shrugging out of his coat. “They said I should be able to start training for a marathon soon.”
Goldie’s eyes go wide. “They did?”
“No,” Dad deadpans. “But I think it’d probably be all right.”
Dylan and Tully come out next. Dylan hugs us first and then Tully.
“You look awfully happy, Dylan,” Dad says. “Did you have a good flight?”
“I actually had the best flight I can ever remember having,” Dylan says, lifting his eyebrows cryptically.
My eyes narrow. “Sounds like you met someone.”
He grins. “You could say that.”
Tully studies Dad. “Did he think everything looked good for real? Your coloring is so much better.”
“Yes, he’s feeling optimistic about everything, so I think we should too,” Dad says.
He pats Tully’s face. “Between the chemo and all the resort stuff, your games have gotten neglected. Watching them on TV just isn’t the same.
I’ve missed coming to all the games so much.
You’ll be seeing this mug there a lot more often. ”
Tully grins. “Sounds good to me, Pops. We’ve got a great lineup coming up, so the timing is perfect.”
My nephew Grayson realizes we’re in the room and comes running over, hugging Dad first before barreling into me.
He holds his arms out, and I pick him up.
We say “Crusher” at the same time, and then I flip him over.
After I set him back on the ground, we high-five and fist-bump.
This has been our customary greeting since the day my brother Noah first okayed the roughhousing.
Grandma Nancy and Grandma Donna descend on Dad the second they spot him. Grandma Nancy has a basket of freshly baked bread in hand, which she sets down to hug her son. Grandma Donna rushes over to get the afghan she knitted for Dad and drapes it around his shoulders.
“You look chilly. Are you okay? Your coloring is off,” she says.
“Tully just told me my coloring was better.” Dad laughs.
“I bet you’re just hungry,” Grandma Nancy says. She picks up the basket and lifts the cloth to reveal warm, buttered bread. “Here you go. This will give you some energy.”
Dad takes a slice and finishes hugging everyone before saying, “I’m going to sit down before everyone kills me with kindness.”
“No killing language,” Grandma Nancy tsks, which makes all of us laugh, so she eventually does too. “And dinner is ready, so march yourself right over there to that table instead of your recliner.”
“So bossy,” Dad grumbles as he gets up and goes to the table. “Grayson is the three-and-a-half-year-old around here, not me.”
Grandma Nancy pinches his cheek and grins. “You’ll always be my little boy, you know.”
He laughs. “I know, I know. That’s how I feel about the kiddos at this table and they’re grown, so I guess it’s only fair that I get that treatment too.”
She laughs and piles roast onto his plate. He chuckles but doesn’t try to argue with her. When she’s not looking, he slides some of it onto my plate.
“There’s no way I can eat all that,” he whispers.