“I have been selfish, Milo. I’ve kept her here, let her spend her early twenties helping her mother, because I wasn’t ready for—” His voice cracks, then he coughs. “I wasn’t ready for my Julia, or Prudence, to be anywhere else but here, with me.” He rolls his tongue from one cheek to the other. “As soon as I got the courage to let them both go, I got my diagnosis. And, well, that’s fate, I suppose. It can be cruel like that. But I willnotkeep her here any longer. I won’t keep burdening her. That is why I need your help.”
“And you want me to help, how, exactly?”
“My daughter tells me you’re not planning on sticking around,” he says, his tone leading. I nod, scratching at my neck and jaw. “So tell her why that is. Tell Prue what’s out there for her. Or, better yet, if you’d like to, show her yourself.”
That’s another cruel irony. Because before Tom found me, I was sitting here, six beers deep, wondering what my reason for not wanting to stick around here—oranywhere—is. More than that, I was questioning whether I could convince myself to stay in one place long enough to look that ugly truth in the eye and tell it to quit shadowing me.
And, yes, of course I’ve loved traveling. I’ve driven, hiked,surfed, danced, and fucked my way through most of the two western continents. Butnothinghas come as close to filling that nagging, empty bowl inside of me. I hadn’t even noticed how empty it was before I got here. Before nieces and nephews running rampant and Sef’s home-cooked dinners and seeing Nik fulfill his dreams and having eyes on Nadia and painting and, of course,her.
Now, I’m being asked tosellthe concept of a world of unknowns to the woman who is responsible for making me think, for the first time in a long time, that maybe, just maybe, I could be happy accepting a smaller slice of life.
“Tom, I feel for you, man, but—”
“I could be fighting this thing, on and off again, for the rest of my life. Should Prue stay here because of that? With potential like hers? Her talents?”
“I…” I don’t have that answer. Mrs. Welch taught me everything I know about art. Her talent for painting literally changed my whole worldview. Yet, she was here, in a small town making a life for herself. That was enough for her. Why shouldn’t it be enough for her daughter too?
“Have you read some of her stuff yet?”
I nod, hoping thisentireconversation is under oath.
“It’s good, right?”
I nod again. “Yeah, it is.”
“She shoulddosomething with that gift. She doesn’t have the time, stuck here. Not with her mom and me falling apart every minute.”
“I—” I run my tongue over my teeth. “I don’t think she’ll change her mind, sir.”
Tom rolls his shoulders back, staring up at the sunset with a stoic confidence. “Yeah, maybe not. But at least I’ll know she decided for herself.”
“And, if she chose to leave, what would…” I stop myself, finding better wording. “I mean, would you be all right? With treatment? Withallof it?”
“Now, that’s the beauty of it, right?” Tom says, smiling proudly toward me. “That’ll bemyburden to bear.”
I nod, my thumbnail scraping the side of my nose as I look away from him. “I’m going to be honest, sir. I don’t feel comfortable keeping this from—”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Tom says in the kindest form of dismissal I’ve ever heard. As if my previous promise, before I’d really known what I was agreeing to, still stands. “But I know my daughter. I know what she needs. I know, deep down, that you’ll see that too.”
“I—” I sigh, resigned to losing.
“And, who knows, maybe if webothdo our fair share of convincing, you could have a companion for all of these adventures of yours?”
“Sir, I—” I start to disagree, again, but imagining Prue in Bertha’s front seat with the wind in her hair, letting out that laugh that knocks me off my feet, stops me in my tracks. Fuck, I really am in deep with this girl.
“I remember that look,” Tom says, smiling warmly. “TheI’m screwedlook…” He gestures to my face with two fingers moving in a circle. “You wear it well.”
“How did…With Mrs. Welch…” I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. “Jesus,never mind.”
“Embarrassed?”
I huff a laugh.
“Ask me anyway,” Tom says, standing and offering me a hand up, despite the size difference between us. I take his assist, rising to stand next to him.
“When you met Mrs. Welch—”
“Julia,” Tom corrects teasingly as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks up to speak to me.
