Page 5 of When the Smoke Clears

“She?”

“You said as long as they were a good fit, it didn’t matter if they’re a male or female.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, picking at the frayed knee of my jeans.

“She wants to move in immediately, so how do you feel about me getting her settled? You can send me the rental agreement. I can go over the house rules and take this off your plate. By the time you get home, she’ll be situated and in a routine. You’ll barely know she’s there.”

“Is she ugly?”

“William Landry, what kind of question is that? Why does it matter what she looks like?”

“It doesn’t, but if she’s ugly, I’m not tempted to stare too long and risk her thinking I’m being inappropriate.”

“I’ve already told her you’re inappropriate. She said she is too. So this should be fun.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Is she ugly?”

“She’s cute. And she has a great job, so rent should never be an issue. Also, I told her you like to clean the house once a week, and she’s fine with that. She said if she’s too busy to help, she’ll just pay for a housekeeper.”

“Oh.” I twist my lips. “That’s fine by me. I kind of hope she’s too busy to help, so she’ll pay for it.”

Maren chuckles. “I’m sure you do.”

“What’s her name? What does she do? Fire? EMT? How old is she?”

“Uh . . . I think she’s in the medical profession. Late twenties. Oh, I have to go. Lola needs me. Love you. Talk soon.” She disconnects the call so abruptly I don’t get out a simple goodbye.

“Who were you talking to?” Mom asks, handing me a beer before sitting in the glider beside mine.

“Maren. She found a renter for my shed.”

“Oh, how is she?” Mom sips her red wine.

“Good.” I take a swig of my beer. “Listen, I know you don’t want Dad going into skilled care, but he’s not well. And you can’t take care of him at home. And he’ll get daily PT.”

She frowns. “My husband doesn’t belong in a nursing home.”

“Skilled care.”

She rolls her eyes. “What’s the difference?”

“One is short-term and helps him regain his strength so maybe he can come home, and the other is forever. A gateway to God. Heaven’s waiting room.”

“William.” She winces. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s life.” I shrug and smirk behind the neck of my beer bottle. “Dad will be fine. He’s the strongest man I know. We have to find humor anywhere we can,” I say.

“Death is funny?” She sets her glass aside and gathers her hair, pulling it over her shoulder.

“Life is funny. It’s so cruel sometimes. I don’t know why anyone keeps playing the game. The world is a dumpster fire, the kind firefighters can’t extinguish. Yet we willingly keep playing.”

“That’s pretty dark, honey. Do you think being a bachelor for forty years has made you a little cynical? Don’t you want to fall in love? It’s not too late. You’re the age your dad was when I met him. When you have someone to live life with you, it’s a little less dumpster-fiery.”

Is it, though?

“What are you going to do when you don’t have him?” I ask in a reverent tone. No sarcasm. I’m not trying to be cynical. “He’s twenty years older than you. If not soon, it will happen eventually.” I’m asking her, but I’m also asking myself the same question. A world without my father in it feels unnatural. Unimaginable.

She quickly wipes a tear before it slides down her cheek while hiding her emotions behind a smile. In the past week, there have been many of these smiles.