Page 31 of Wishes on Wildflowers
A woman of about his own age opened the door, looking at him in surprise. “Hello? Can I help you with something?”
“You must be Makenna. I’m Nathan. Is my dad available?” Wouldn’t it be something if, after all the time it had taken him to pull his nerve together, Pops wasn’t even home?
Makenna looked so much like all his father’s previous wives that Nathan felt he might’ve recognized her anywhere. Fake blonde hair, fake tan, probably a few more fake body parts, not that Nathan cared to think about it.
A smile tugged at her lips. “Sure, come on in.” She turned toward the interior of the house. “Maurice! Your son is here to visit you.”
Nathan followed her into the house. It, too, looked exactly the same as when he left eight years before. Whichhad also been the same as it had looked for his entire life. Hadn’t any of dad’s wives wanted to put their own mark on the old house on South Elm? Apparently not, or maybe Pops was unwilling to let them. And maybe it didn’t matter, since none of them stayed long.
The house was surprisingly clean. Pops didn’t usually care much about that, so it must be Makenna’s doing. Nathan followed her through to the living room, where a younger version of himself sat at the end of the sofa, gaze focused on the small screen in his hands as his thumbs flicked to send a text or something. It was at the wrong angle to tell for sure, not that it was any of Nathan’s business.
He’d thought that about Connor as well, and look where that had gotten the family. He eyed the kid. “Jason?”
The boy looked up. “Yeah?”
“I’m your brother Nathan.”
The boy’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Half-brother is more like it.”
Nathan nodded. “You’re in what, ninth grade?”
The kid ignored him for a moment while his thumbs resumed their texting. “Eighth,” he mumbled.
So either he’d just turned fourteen or he’d flunked out a year. Nathan had no way to know which it was, and it didn’t look like the kid was willing to tell him.
A shuffling noise from the hallway caught Nathan’s attention, and he glanced up to see Pops entering the room, leaning heavily on Makenna’s arm. Nathan started. When had his father grown so old or his skin so yellow? It had only been eight years since he’d seen him. Not really that long at all. He took a few steps closer and held out his hand. “Pops?”
His father’s body might be failing him, but his eyes were as shrewd as ever. “So you decided to come by after all, didyou? Thought you were too good to admit to being a Hamelin.”
It had crossed Nathan’s mind a time or two to change his surname, but that had seemed like an admission that he wasn’t his own man and didn’t chart his own course. Just because his old man had made such a mess of his life, fathering four sons from three different women, didn’t mean Nathan had to be like him. Even if his own half-brother wasn’t owning up and standing beside the girl he’d gotten pregnant.
Nathan closed the gap and gripped Pops’s forearms in his hands. He thought about going in for a hug, but they’d never been the demonstrative sort. Not only that, but there was a stench emanating from Pops’s body that made him hold back.
“I’m here now,” he said simply. “You look like you haven’t been feeling well for a while.”
Pops looked down at his stained gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that might have once been white. His hair was unkempt and unwashed. How could Makenna live like this? Nathan shot a look at Pops’s fourth wife’s impassive face.
“Not so good,” Pops wheezed. “It’s been rough. I’d been thinking of asking Makenna to call my boys together.”
Surely the old man wasn’t dying? But maybe he was. He’d lived a hard life, drinking too much as long as Nathan had been alive. Last he knew, Pops spent more time passed out from drink than doing anything else.
Nathan glanced at Makenna, and this time she met his gaze for a brief second. Her eyebrows lifted as she gave him a small smile. Surely the woman knew better than to believe Pops would leave her anything but debt when he died. Even the thought felt cold.
Makenna guided Pops past Nathan and settled him in achair lined with shearling. She turned to Nathan. “Can I get you a beer? Water? Coffee? Anything?”
Not looking up, Jason snapped his fingers. “I’ll have a Coors.”
Makenna glanced at Pops, whose eyes were closed as though the excursion had taken all his energy. Wasn’t the old man going to say something about the young teenager drinking? Apparently not. Pops began to snore lightly.
Why was Nathan even sticking around for five minutes? But he had to. “Coffee if you have some made, otherwise water is fine.”
Makenna disappeared into the kitchen, and Jason flicked a glance toward Nathan. “Aren’t you going to say something to me?” His voice was a challenge.
Was there anything that would make the boy listen at all? “Yeah, I have things I’d like to say, but I’ve been away so long I’m not sure I have the right to say them.”
The kid’s eyebrows rose. “You nailed that, but it doesn’t stop anybody else.”
“All I want to say is, do you want to end up like him?” Nathan jutted his chin toward their father. “That’s what too much alcohol will do to a body. Pops isn’t really all that old, you know.” Nathan stopped to think. How old was he? Sixty? Certainly not the ninety he looked at the moment.
