“I wasn’t working,” he admits. “Not at the law office.”
“Were you cheating on her?”
I hate to admit that the thought has crossed my mind a few times over the years. He was always distant, and I originally thought it was because he was trying to figure out how to deal with everything. But occasionally, I thought something else was preoccupying his mind… or someone.
“No.” His answer is firm, and his face is full of hurt. “I don’t know how you could even think that Zeke. I loved your mom. More than anything. More than everything.”
“Then what were you doing if you weren’t at work?”
“Research.” He shrugs. “I was traveling to any and every state and showing them your mom’s case to see if she’d qualify for any of their trials.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. All these years, I’ve hated my dad. I’ve hated the way he acted like she didn’t exist like she wasn’t dying. My mom allowed me to think it was because hospitals weren’t his thing. After all, they made him think about his parents. In reality, he was doing the only thing he could.
Trying to help her get better.
“Why did you keep this from me?” I fidget with my fingers.
“Your mom and I were worried that you’d give up more of your life to come with me,” he responds. “You alreadygave so much of your time to her; she thought you’d drop out of college and hit the road.”
I would’ve. I would’ve done anything to help her.
“But mending our relationship isn’t my main reason for stopping by,” he continues. “I’m worried about you, son. I’m worried that you’re traveling down a path you won’t be able to come back from.”
I think about the handle of bourbon underneath my bed, next to an empty one I polished off yesterday. It’s the only thing that’s been able to mend the pain. Everyone comes in, and all I see is the pity on their face. Nobody knows what to say to me.
“I just don’t know how to handle it,” I admit. “Nothing works.”
“I wish I knew what to say.” My dad frowns. “But speeches were never my forte; they were your mom’s. She always knew the right thing to say.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“So, hopefully this will help.” He hands me a DVD withFor Zekewritten in my mom’s handwriting across the top. “She knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“She prepared for this?”
“She prepared for everything.” He smiles. “I didn’t have to lift a finger when it came to planning her funeral; all the plans were laid out for me. And for you. Now, all that’s left for you to do is watch this video and show up on Saturday. For her, Zeke. For your mom.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a small reassuring squeeze.
“I think you should watch this on your own.”
I watch him leave and then grab my computer to play the DVD. My mom appears on my screen in a matter of seconds, looking likeher old self. Not the version I last saw her as, but the one I grew up with.
I take a deep breath and press play.
“Hi, baby.” Her voice makes me feel whole again. It makes me feel at peace. The numbness… the nothingness slowly dissipates. And for the first time since I said goodbye to my mom—
I cry.
fifty-four
Zeke
I’ve never been to a funeral before.
My dad’s parents died before I was born. And I never knew my mom’s parents. So, my only family has always been my parents. It was always just the three of us.
When I was a little kid, I always wondered what it would be like. Other kids in school would talk about it, whether it was losing a grandparent or another elderly relative; they’d talk about all the food… and all the crying.