Page 98 of Really Truly Yours
“Saturday night? Pizza and the game? You barely acknowledged her when she walked in and hardly talked to her all night.”
“That ain’t true.”
“It’s truer than snot, old man. You were too busy playing the hotshot ladies man to notice your biggest fan.” A reality I’m still working my brain around. How did this scraggly, cantankerous, childish man earn the lovely Sydnee’s undying devotion?
I see his fingers pressing into his scrawny thighs. “You feel better now? Coming at me with this after three days?”
“Four.”
He dismisses me with a flip of his wrist. “Whatever.”
A semi sprays dirty mist across my windshield. I adjust the wiper speed. Boy, we’re a couple of cranky old birds this morning.
Sure, I have a bad shoulder that could end my game, but he’s got the big C. “You feeling okay today, Donny?”
He harrumphs and stares toward the shoulder of the freeway.
“Hey, what’s up?”
His hands ball into fists. “I don’t know why we’re wasting time with a new doctor. There ain’t nothing they can do. I’ve made my peace.”
Aw, gee. Is it too late to retract my nastiness? I’ll buy it back at full price and even pay extra. “You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do. A man knows, son.”
I got nothing for that. Nada. Even the prickly little three-letter word fails to move me one way or the other.
Three hours later, a stack of paperwork on Donny’s lap represents a glimmer of hope. A drug trial that’s shown promise with his type of cancer. Still, even being admitted into the trial hinges on more tests being run, and his already subpar liver function is a potential roadblock.
Dallas traffic sucks no matter the time of day. I barely notice Donny’s quiet until we’ve woven our way out of the worst of it and gotten onto the slightly less hectic western side of the Metroplex.
I turn the satellite radio down. “Hey, we got good news, right?”
He lifts a bony shoulder. “Neutral, as best I can tell.”
I get it. Hope is a double-edged sword. Sometimes, it’s the most painful emotion of them all.
I notice his fingernails need a trim as he fiddles with the top page of the stack. “Don’t suppose that brother of yours had a change of heart since Monday?”
Monday, the day I hung at Donny’s for an entire afternoon filling him in on the stellar way Tripp’s and my conversation went down over the weekend. Even at that, I omitted the drama of the evening. No point in going there with the old—I sigh—not so old man. “Sorry, no.”
Tripp has acted mostly normal since the weekend, but the subject of Donny is more closed than ever.
It’s midafternoon by the time I say goodbye, finally a smile on his face as I leave him to his fan club in the dining hall. I breathe deeply of the autumn air. The rain has cleared and the temperature is set to drop sharply post sunset.
Does Sydnee have heat in that cracker box she calls a house? An adequate, safe, not-going-to-burn-it-down heat source?
Later, Avery dishes out salad and a giant plateful of enchilada casserole when I emerge from a fitful, late-day nap. “Tripp is caught in traffic. He said we should go ahead without him.”
The first taste melts in my mouth. I could get used to this.
Does Sydnee cook?
Second question—is it wrong of me to wonder?
Avery and I are wrapping up our first servings when Tripp enters through the garage. He doesn’t look a thing like the thug from the weekend. He drops his keys on the bar and kisses Avery’s cheek.
She cups his hand on her shoulder. “Have a seat. I’ll get your drink.”