Page 22 of Go Deep

I roll my eyes. “I’m in a rush, okay? I have an early meeting, but I’m here because I can’t trust you to not throw in a side of ribeye with your egg whites.”

After talking to Gabe at lunch last week, I decided to take his advice and visit with my dad more often. Eva is thrilled to have the help and I’m…well, apprehensive is a gross understatement. But we’re starting to connect, so that’s a good sign.

Shreds of a relationship can be weaved together into something, right?

“I’ve been clucking in my sleep because of all the egg whites you and your sister have been feeding me. If you don’t promise to at least bring me some turkey bacon next time, I’m changing the locks.”

I slide an omelet onto his plate, next to the toast. “Eva will have a panic attack at the sight of anything processed. She’s been talking about moving back in until you’re on your feet.”

He snickers. “As long as I don’t hear anything about my nightly cigar smoking and bourbon drinking ritual.”

“Don’t even joke with her about that. She’ll have her bags packed in seconds. You already know both of us think it’s too risky for you to jump back onto the trail so soon after having this episode.”

The newspaper is open on the table, and I catch a glimpse of a headline flanked by two pictures of Dad, one of him running a marathon last year, and one from the day he collapsed at the State House. My father, the powerful U.S. senator, white as the starched shirt on his back and lying on a gurney, of all things. My stomach clenches when I see the headline.

Fit Enough to Represent?

Evidently, I’m not the only one who holds that opinion.

Dad’s mask of confidence slides firmly into place. “You know the media is controlled by liberals. It’s irresponsible of them to challenge my physical fitness when the doctors all agree I am fine to continue my public service.”

I cradle the coffee mug in my hands, but there’s no sugarcoating the obvious. “It’s okay to step away from the spotlight, Dad. Nobody would think less of you or what you’ve contributed.”

Dad lets out a deep sigh and slams his hand on the table. “I’m not concerned about what people think.”

“Then tell me why you’re so afraid to take a break. Why do you refuse to slow down, even for a little while? Isn’t your life worth more than winning an election?”

“Mylife.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “I’ve spent the better part of the past ten years serving the needs of strangers,and do you know why?”

I nod. “I have a theory.”

The façade of strength starts to crumble, just like the now-stale toast he’s balling up in his hands. Broken, empty, alone — that’s his big reveal, what nobody else is allowed to see. Perception is a bitch, but it’s his only shield. It protects against the heartache that will consume him if his abilities are challenged. Losing Mom destroyed him, destroyed us all. His career diverts attention from the crushing loss, gives him cause to drive forward. Tolive.

How’s that for a theory? I can boil down the issues of everyone on Earth other than myself, of course.

“It’s how I survive.”

“I know.” I place a hand on his shoulder and feel him relax a bit. “But one day, you’ll have to slow down. Or stop altogether. If you don’t deal with the pain and anger of losing Mom now, it’ll destroy you later. And we can’t lose you, too.”

His face is so pale and drawn, eyes lacking their normal glimmer. Vulnerability is not a word that is synonymous with the name Senator Michael Castro, and this shattered man…he’s not my dad. My gut wrenches. Mom’s death tore into all of us, causing gaping wounds that have yet to heal. Maybe they never will.

At least misery loves company.

“I sometimes feel like I’m already gone.” He averts his eyes, then gazes up at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. Our family. Happy, whole, and complete…before the cancer ravaged my mother’s body and ripped her from our lives. “Like I’ve been trapped in this shell of an existence ever since she died. I need to get out, but I’m afraid of what will be waiting for me.”

I squeeze his hand. “Me, Dad. And Eva. You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

He sits back in the chair and pushes his hands into his hair. “I love you both so much, but I need this, Vince. It gets me out of bed in the morning, keeps me focused, drives me through each day. Please. Just support my decision.”

I sigh and take a sip of my coffee. “Fine as long as you promise to behave yourself around processed meats and fried foods.”

A smile lights up his face. “If it keeps you two from breathing down my neck and taking over as my full-time babysitters, yes. I promise to stick with leafy greens and fish. Happy?”

“I would be happier if it hadn’t happened in the first place.”

“Don’t you worry. Your old dad isn’t going anywhere. I have too much to do, too many plans in the works.” Dad nods at the newspaper. “Market is doing pretty well these days. How’s business?”

I shrug and busy myself with clearing the breakfast plates. “Good.” I hedge a bit, debating about whether or not I want to float my new client’s name out there.

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