Page 39 of Southern Comfort
“Or his either. I think he’s been ill longer than we knew. The heart thing took it out of him. The weight too. Mom’s flowers are the only thing he has maintained.”
“Maybe he misses her so much he’s depressed. Shit.”
There’re tears in Stacy’s eyes as she surveys the scene. Looks like a dog ghost town against a background of a weathered padlocked shed. Half of a dry crinkled autumn leaf stays stuck behind the lock, where it fell and wedged months ago. Grass is overgrown and the gathering spring rain makes sure we understand the mood.
“I could cry,” she says, tears streaming down her face.
“Yep.”
“Is he having any response to the stent? Do you see a change?”
“No. But who can tell? He’s quieter. The hip gives him a reason to stay down. Even though it was supposed to be a pretty quick recovery. He is using it against himself.”
“What about a new therapist? Has he tried any others?”
“Ha! We are lucky he’s letting Kim boss him around. He listens to her and she knows about this kind of therapy. I gave up trying to get him to listen to a stranger. He has a doctor’s appointment next week, so maybe she’ll get through. Or at least guide us in what to do.”
“He’s a stubborn man.”
“No shit.”
“Let’s get out of here. I need to see him.”
I know Stacy will see the depth of change in Dad and want to reverse the downward spiral. All I have to do is show her. The short ride from shed to house is filled with silence and we let itbe. I have been processing my father’s state of mind for weeks and I still don’t know how to change things. She has just begun to have it sit in her mind.
Here we are in life already. Stacy and I were always happy in the role of children. It seems obvious to say. Of course we were. We thrived there. Protected, guided, loved. Now without warning the ground has shifted. We are unfamiliar with being the voices of reason, the decision makers for people that have always been smarter and stronger. If she is like me, it scares the hell out of her. Will we be as good as they were? Is it even possible?
The car door opens the second I pull up in front of the house. Only the screen door is closed. The B Boys appear instantly. Barking dogs. Barking fucking dogs, followed by the holler of our father.
“Shut the fuck up, Biscuit! Crap!”
That’s new. Biscuit is not used to that kind of anger being directed at him. Barney is. I’ll give them a treat.
Stacy is up the stairs before I’m out of the truck.
“Hi!” she says, pretending tears weren’t on her face ten minutes ago.
I follow and open the door for her to pass. The dogs surround Stacy’s legs and Barney jumps up.
“Barney! Down!”
Kim’s strong command is heard and obeyed. Did that just happen?
“That’s new,” I say, following my sister inside.
“Stacy! Hello, sweetheart.” Dad’s voice is filled with love and he is obviously happy.
“Dad! Oh Daddy!”
Stacy starts crying and it throws all of us. Me, Kim, even the pooches, who are staring at the surprising scene.
“What’s this?” Dad says, taking her face in his hands. “No need to cry. I’m still alive.”
A kiss is exchanged.
“I’m just a big baby. I’m so happy to see you. Now let me take a look at things.”
She stands back and takes a scan of his bearded face and broken body as he sits in the wheelchair. Wiping the tears she gets ahold of her emotions.
