“Come in.”
He’s lying on his bed, tossing a football towards the ceiling then catching it on the way back down.
“Will it be so bad to have your cousin living here?”
“You don’t know him. He’s a douchebag. On the rare occasion we visited our wacko family, he would always play some type of cruel joke on me. I remember one time, he superglued my hands to my hair while I slept.”
I chuckle a little.
“It’s not funny, Cin. I had to get a really low buzz haircut after that. I was teased relentlessly.”
“Come on, you were little kids.”
“He and his sick friends tied me to a tree and left me there. Kids don’t do shit like that. He’s all kinds of twisted. I was happy when our visits stopped.”
“Maybe he’s changed. Just give him a chance.”
“I don’t want to give him a chance.”
“You gave me one.”
“That’s different. My best friend fell for you.”
This is one stubborn boy. “Well, like your father said, it’s happening.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’m going for a run. Goodnight.”
I enter my bedroom. Ricky and Mom’s master bedroom is on the right side of the staircase while the bathroom, linen closet, and Josh’s and my bedrooms are on the left. On the ground level is Ricky’s office, a spare room—now to be Art’s bedroom—kitchen, living and dining room, and a full bathroom. There’s a half bathroom in the basement along with the washer and dryer.
I’ve been in track and field since elementary school, but I didn’t get really good until my sophomore year in high school. I won State that year and my junior year. I was widely recognized and given a scholarship to attend Lexington University in California. Trevor applied there and at a few other universities in the surrounding area so we can be near each other. I run the one, two, and four-hundred-meter races. I plan to win state again this year. I put on a hoodie over my T-shirt and change out of my sweatpants in favor of leggings. I slide my feet in a pair of sneakers before making my way downstairs and out the front door.
I look out at the three-hundred-acre land used for sweet potato farming as I complete a few stretches on the wraparound porch. I didn’t know the first thing about sweet potato farms when I first relocated here, but I fell in love with the process and willingly help Ricky with the harvest every year. I’m going to assist Ricky and his employees in planting the slips again in April. Harvest will begin in late August and end in November, but I’ll be in college this time around. There are two other buildings stationed to the right of the house with the fields to the left. One is used to cure the sweet potatoes after harvest. The other is used to store the sweet potatoes after curing and the slips for winter. When Ricky receives orders from grocery stores, I help to rinse and pack them. My mom is a math whiz, so she’s in charge of all the accounting stuff. I finish my stretches then take off at a steady, brisk pace.
“You’re the first visitor Kyle has had since his arrival. May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Art, his son,” I reply, following the nurse down the hall.
“My name is Octavia. I’m the head nurse in this ward. When I was told Kyle had a visitor, I had to come see for myself. Though your father has some cognitive abilities and can talk a little, he’s rarely responsive, so I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
Hope is a fucking fantasy to me. It doesn’t exist. If it did, I’d already be dead.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I felt compelled to visit him before leaving for North Carolina, like this would be the last opportunity to be able to.
“Okay, here we are.”
I peek inside the open door to see a figure sitting in a chair, facing the window. The room is devoid of life and color. No paintings on the walls, no family photos, no vase filled with flowers on the small table by the queen-sized bed. The old man has the means to put him in an upscale facility. It’s obvious he chooses not to.
Part of me wants to race inside the room and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug, a lost little boy needing his father. The other part of me wants to rant and rave about what a pathetic bitch he is while beating the shit out of him. He should’ve put my mother and grandfather in their place a long time ago. He doesn’t realize how much power he had over them.
“Go on in. He may not show it, but I know he’ll be excited to see you on the inside.”
I step through the door and remain there.
Fuck, I should just leave. No, man the fuck up and face him.
I grab the chair to the right of the door and slowly approach my father. I put it directly in front of him then sit down. His hair is almost snow white. Deep, defined wrinkles cover his face, neck, and hands. The morning I found Cole’s lifeless body floating in the pool caused a chain reaction of misery and despair. I would give anything to turn back the hands of time. I replay the night in my mind over and over and over again. He was fighting for his life, petrified. I wonder what his last thought was. Did he think about me? Did he call out my name? When my brother took his last breath, I was getting high, fucking some nameless bitch.
