Page 105 of Nothing But It All
I pull open the tab. “What is it?”
Dad sits silently while I pull a stack of white papers from the envelope. I take one look at the top sheet and gasp.
“What the hell, Dad?”
“It’s gonna be yours anyway.”
I skim the wording on page after page of documents that put everything my father owns into Lauren’s and my names. My hands shake.
“Now, I just added you to my checking account,” he says. “So that’s still mine. I’ll keep paying the property taxes and utilities and stuff, of course. And I trust that you won’t kick me out of my house.”
I drop the papers on the table. They hit with a thud.
My heart pounds as I try to make sense of all this. “Why did you do this?”
“My attorney said it was best if I put it all in your name. Easier transfer when I die.”
I force a swallow. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I had some tests done last week. Got a knot on my liver. Doctor didn’t like the look of it, so he did a little biopsy.”
“What?” My jaw drops. “Dad.Why didn’t you tell me?”
He groans. “Because I didn’t want this to happen.”
“What? You didn’t want me worrying about you?”
“Exactly.” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t want you coddling me or babying me about it. I’m probably fine anyway.”
“When will you know?”
He shrugs. “The test results are probably in.”
“So, call and get them.”
“I told them I’ll come in when we go home.”
I spring to my feet in disbelief. “You could be sitting here with cancer or something else, and you’re all nonchalant about it? What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? Probably cancer. You’re right.”
I glare at him. “This isn’t funny, Dad.”
“No, it’s not. But I’m gonna have to die sooner or later. And we don’t really get to plan our exit strategy, do we?”
My head is ready to explode.
“How can you just not know?” I ask.
“Because I want one more summer with you and the kids and Lauren without knowing, Jack. I want one more stretch of beautiful weather and berry picking with the kids and Lauren’s cooking—I want one last summer to live and make memories without being an old dying fart.”
Slowly, I sit back down. I can feel the color draining from my face as his words sink in.
My father is dying? He might be dying?
That’s not true and I know it. I’ve known Dad was frail for a while now. But the fact that he’s been this sick—having a fucking test—is a blade right to my heart.
My head spins as I try to wrap my mind around what’s happening. Too much has been thrown at me too quickly today to process it all. I do know that something has to change between me and my father ... whether he likes it or not. I’m going to be there for him. I’m going to take care of him.
