Page 5 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“I’m not your kid! You were a creepy-ass stepdad!”

“I’m not proud of how I acted, Molly, but I’ve changed so much in the last ten years.”

“Six.”

“Whatever. That accident cleared my head!”

“You just said it made you fuzzy!”

“Well... Some things are fuzzy, but not my regrets about how I ruined the only chance I’ll ever have to be a father. I know I messed up, big time. But I almost died, and I can see that it’s not too late to change! Swear to God, I almost died. The guy with me on the pier—he died.”

Trauma. Survivor guilt. Many people who have near-death experiences have these big “Come to Jesus” and “Turning over a new leaf” moments.

Nursing gets in your bloodstream like an IV.

I was wavering. “I appreciate that. I’m just not—”

“I did well for myself, Molly. Got a big beach house out on Lake Erie now. I want to leave it to you. I want you to have it, now, so I can see you enjoy it. Maybe I can even come visit you sometime?”

“M-me? You want me to have your big beach house?”

How did Gary end up with a big beach house? When he was married to my mom, he was in and out of work so often we had the unemployment office on our speed dial.

He was charming though, Mom always believed it wasn’t his fault that he got fired or laid off. Maybe he finally charmed some old rich widow, or he found a job where they need someone to spin bullshit and flattery for eight hours a day.

“You deserve it. I’m so proud of you. You’re a good girl. A girl only good things should happen to and... and I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry, Molly. Moll, I’m sorry, I wish I... I wish everything was different. Wish this had never happened.” He was crying.

There was true grief in his voice.

Something was still off, but...

Well, fuck it, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t admit that his tearful words and labored breathing did something to me, as a nurse and as the naive teenager who had once begged Gary to take me to the Father Daughter Dance at my junior high.

“I’d love to, but I can’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

A pause. A frantic breath. “Molly. I’m not going to make it. Please. Please, will you come see the house? Come see an old man before it’s too late?”

I frowned. How old was Gary? “How bad was the accident? You said you have broken ribs, and I know they hurt a lot, but they’re not fatal.”

“I didn’t tell you. They don’t think I’m going to make it to tomorrow. Maybe not even until midnight. I told them I didn’t want to croak in a hospital. I’m at my beautiful beach house, the beach house I’m going to leave to my daughter. My Molly. My only hope. Please. Please.”

My gut tingled in a bad way, and my brain, my stupid, stupid brain suddenly whispered, Hey, if you sell that beach house, you could pay off your student loans in a heartbeat. Or, you could live there. You can get a nursing job anywhere. Living rent-free in a big beach house—you could rent out the rooms, too.

I’m greedy. Did I mention that?

“What’s the address?”

“34 Silverlake Way, Erie, PA.”

“I’ll be there soon.” I was already looking at the GPS app on my phone. “About three hours.”

“You gotta leave now, then,” he whispered, that whistling, huffing noise growing worse. “Before midnight!”

“Okay, okay. Shh, the more you upset yourself, the harder it is for your body to heal. I know you said they’re not giving much hope, but you sound like you’re holding your own. I’m going to talk to your doctor. There might be another hospital that has—”

“Fine, fine, but please come see me first! Promise you’ll go straight to that—to my beach house.”

“I promise.”

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