Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I clear my throat. “Four and a half years ago, Dad had a major stroke. I was deployed at the time, and he was recently retired and had moved off base and set up in a little house outside of Barstow. His neighbors were the ones who found him unconscious in the front yard, but they didn’t know to send him to a VA hospital. The ambulance took him to the closest one which happened to be some big private hospital that costs about a thousand dollars a minute. The VA didn’t cover it. And because I was overseas, it was months before I could move him.”
“Your medical bills,” Harley says.
“Yup.”
“He’s the reason you took the job with Trav.”
“Trav pays more money than the military, and I figured, timing-wise, I had to take it. If I re-upped, I wouldn’t be able to be close to Dad or pay for his care. There was a huge waiting list to get him into a VA care facility and a whole lot of red tape. None of them were close to me, which is how he ended up here. It’s all I can afford so close to LA.”
Harley squeezes my arm. “I’m so sorry.”
I turn to Harley, and my vision blurs. Tears of guilt threaten to spill over. “The reason I don’t tell anyone is because it’s always been just me and Dad, you know? When Mom died, he did the best he could. He transferred to a training position, and he did everything he could to be close to me. Now it’s my job to do the same for him. This is where I come on my Sundays off.”
Harley leans across the seats to hug me or kiss me, I don’t know.
I stop him before he can reach me. “I’m not out to him.”
“That’s okay. I’m not out to the world. Call it even?”
I manage a small laugh. “I wanted to tell him. I Skyped with him the night before the stroke. I’d had a near miss—a guy in my squad stepped on an IED and lost his legs. I was about twenty feet from the explosion. I was right behind that guy, and I’d never felt so close to dying before. It … it scared me enough to want to die with no secrets hanging over my head. I wasn’t officially out in the army, but I had hooked up with guys on base before. I don’t think it was a huge secret, and for all I knew, one of my superiors had already told Dad. But I’d decided he deserved to hear it from me. Especially if I was going to come home in a coffin.”
Harley lets me talk, staring at me with sympathy but not pity. “What happened when you tried to tell him?”
“I stuttered like a moron and told him I had something big I’d been sitting on for a while. Something weird happened with his eyes—like he was having trouble concentrating. He said he had a headache and didn’t feel well and was going to bed. A few days later, when they finally got word to me, I realized he’d had a stroke about twelve hours after I tried telling him.”
“Brix … his stroke wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that, logically, but I can’t help wondering. What if I hadn’t told him?” Would he still have had a stroke that day? Would it have happened another time? Would it have happened at all?
“He still would’ve had that stroke. I promise you it was poor timing. Strokes don’t happen out of nowhere. It had probably been coming for a while.”
“Maybe.” I want to believe that. So bad. But I still have doubts.
“Gayness isn’t that powerful. If it was, all those Westboro Baptist Church people would have strokes. Hashtag the real gay agenda.”
I stare over at Harley, wondering if he’s being serious right now. His stoic expression makes me laugh. “You did not throw a hashtag at me in conversation.”
“But I cheered you up, didn’t I? Hashtag winning.”
“Oh God, make it stop.”
I can’t be more thankful for Harley making jokes right now. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve never told anyone about my dad even though, apparently, my entire team knows. I don’t want pity … or help.
My dad is my responsibility. I just have to live with it. It was the way he raised me.
Harley squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to introduce me if you’re not ready. Knowing this part of you is enough for me.”
“I want to take you in there, but I don’t know how he’ll take it. He, uh, can’t speak. He’s lost nearly all movement except for a little on his left side. He does these half-smiles.”
“Can he communicate at all?”
“We figured out a system. He squeezes Morse code into my hand. I know he hates it, but just like I put on a happy face every time I see him, he always says everything is good when it’s not. This place … it’s not the best. The staff seem friendly and all, but it’s …”