Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [105]
“How have you been, Dad?”
The old man smiled. “You looking for a summary of my life, son?”
“No,” Martin said, amused. His father was still as quick as ever. “I’m just wondering how you’re doing.”
“Better than most of my friends, I can tell you that. So not too bad. I’ve managed to stay alive and out of the nursing home so far, which is more than I can say for most of my buddies.”
“What’s with the cane?”
“Arthritis,” he answered with a growl. “Bastard disease. I haven’t been able to golf or even walk much for, what?, at least three years now.”
“Sorry,” Martin said and meant it. He hadn’t seen this man since he was a child, and yet he loved his father all the same. He had never really known it until this moment, but now he was sure. Despite the anger and disappointment that he felt toward his father, the thought that the old man couldn’t walk the golf course or even to the corner store anymore pained Martin more than he would have expected.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” the old man laughed. “So what brings you here? You in trouble?”
Martin was both surprised and hurt at the implication, but he couldn’t deny its veracity. “Not me, but a friend. I’m not sure how to help her.” This line had been rehearsed.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me what to do.” This line had also been planned on the drive over.
“I can’t see how an old man who can’t walk straight might be able to help, but if you pour me a cup of joe from that pot over there, I’ll give you an ear.”
Martin was relieved. His father would at least listen to the problem, and that’s more than what Martin had expected. He rose, moved over to the counter, took a mug from a rack hanging above the sink and poured from an ancient coffee pot. “Black?”
“Yup. Only way I’ll drink the stuff. You remember that from when you was a kid?”
Martin remembered but chose to lie. “Nope. Just a good guess. You seem like a guy who would like his coffee black.” Admitting that he remembered how his father drank his coffee might open up the door to that long-forgotten past, and Martin wanted nothing more than to keep that portal shut. At least for today.
Martin returned to his seat, slid the mug across the table to his father, and waited for him to take a sip. Then he began. “Listen, Dad. I’m going to tell you some things that you might not want to hear, and I’m not going to tell you the whole story. Just enough so that you can get a picture of how much trouble my friend might be in. I can’t tell you everything, and like I said, I don’t think you’d want to hear it. But I can’t trust anyone else with this, and you’re the only person I know who might have a clue about what to do. Do you understand so far?”
“No. Not yet,” his father said, taking another sip. “But from the sound of things, you’re in some trouble yourself, or else you’d be telling me everything. But I’m guessing that your friend might be in even more trouble. So I’m going to listen and help if I can, because I get the feeling that this is some serious business. But son, let me ask you something first. Why me? Why in hell do you trust me? You ain’t seen me in twenty-five years.”
Martin had rehearsed the answer to this question dozens of times. He had planned on explaining how the bond between a son and father transcends time and space, and that he had always known his father to be a decent, honest man. He was going to tell his father that he had always felt a connection to him, even during the many years that they had been apart. But instead, this came out:
“I don’t know, Dad.”
“Well, there’s got to be a reason you came here. What was it?”
“I dunno, Dad. I guess that you’re the only family I have left.”
“After