CHAPTER 22
Sam
My parents were married twenty-six years ago, back when Melody Sims was twenty-seven and Eric Dalton was forty-eight. To say the marriage was a scandal back then was like saying the Titanic was a small flotation device. Yet in the end, only the big ship sunk; the marriage, despite everyone’s misgivings, floated along. Thrived, even.
My father pampered my mother with vacations and beautiful homes, settling us into our last family home just before Kassie’s birth. My father doted on us with the same devoted fervor he showed our mother. As a first-time father at forty-nine and a second-time father at fifty-six, he made the most of every moment. I never knew the unusual dynamics of my family until the occasional cruel child pointed it out at school.
“Your father’s probably gonna die soon,” taunted a particularly troublesome little boy named Kevin who harassed me relentlessly in third grade. There wasn’t a day Kevin wasn’t sporting a dried peanut butter stain on his chin and a persistent trail of snot just under his nose. My mother said he was less fortunate and explained that I needed to be nice to him. I didn’t know what less fortunate meant, but I did know that I didn’t care for being nice to kids who were so horribly mean to me. “My mom says he’s old. Old enough to be your grandpa. And I bet you don’t even got one of those, because your grandpa’s probably already dead since your dad’s, like, a hundred years old.”
“Shut up, Kevin.” I said those words at least twice a day; they never did any good. But I never told him he was right; I didn’t have a grandpa. Until Kevin pointed it out, I’d never known I was missing one.
Though life at school was sometimes difficult, life at home made up for it. While other dads were chasing careers and climbing ladders, my father was already established. He was a professor of music at the University of Missouri, settling into that role after spending his younger years performing on Broadway. He achieved some rather noteworthy roles, the highest profile being the understudy for Raoul, one of the main characters in The Phantom of the Opera. He performed the role more than a dozen times during its opening year, garnering praise for his powerful voice. He went on to land supporting roles in other shows before settling back in Springfield, desiring a simpler life. He met my mother five years after he returned home, when she was hired as an English professor at the same University. She worked there until I was born, choosing to stay home since they had the means to do so. Seven years later—long after my parents gave up trying to conceive again—Kassie arrived.
It was a perfect life.
It stayed that way. There was never a reason to believe it wouldn’t.
Until my mother found a strange-looking mole behind her left thigh on my sixteenth birthday.
Melanoma, the doctor diagnosed it.
An explosion of cells too far advanced to be treated, he described it. Four weeks and one day after the pronouncement, Melody Dalton died at home in her sleep, leaving two daughters and a husband stunned, confused, and alone. At least that’s how the obituary described it.
It would be another three years before forgetful would be added to my father’s list of attributes. Another five before he would be permanently housed at Maplewood Care Center.
That same day, Kassie moved into my tiny apartment. Despite our dwindling family and grim circumstances, we had a nice little life living here together. Like everything else, it was temporary. Most things in my life are. I’d like to say it’s the way of life for most people, but something tells me that—like my mother said about Kevin all those years ago—I’ve landed on the list of the less fortunate. Most seem to make it through life with their fortune intact.
Like Cory.
I learned early on in life that family love is unconditional. That hard work and determination pay off in the end, even if nothing lasts as long as you wish it would. My own future looks shaky; ideas of a husband, kids, or any sort of family at all look frightening at worst, questionable at best. After all, you can’t lose what you don’t have. Fear plays a powerful role in determining your future, and I’ve lost so much already. But Cory. His family is still intact, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
For him, there’s still a chance at making things right.
I dreamed of my mother last night. Of my childhood. Of her illness. Of the way Kassie and I stood at her graveside wondering how we managed to have a healthy and happy mother at Christmas time and a dead one by the end of January.
I’ve spent the morning rewinding time in my mind, the afternoon weighing worst case and best case scenarios in my hand, and the evening creating a mash up of the two. It was Cory’s question. That’s what caused it.
If you’re stuck with me another week, what do you want to do?
Life can change in a span of only minutes. Or in my case, the span of Christmas trees and Valentine hearts.
He’s a good guy. A great guy. Beneath all that flash and show is a man who just wants to be understood, and for some weird reason I want to be the one to understand him. In some ways I already do.
I know exactly what I want to do while he’s here.
I also know Cory is going to hate me for it.