My Dad Left Me His Cabin in the Woods. The Basement Door's Nailed Shut.
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What happens when Jude gets a midnight call about his father?
The call wakes me at 3 in the morning. The witching hour, as my mother used to say. Back when I had a mother. Back before it all went wrong. Hello? I ask, suspicious of the unknown caller ID. My head is groggy, my voice, a harsh rasp. I cough a few times to clear the phlegm.
Hello? Who is this? Mr. Stevens? Jude Stevens? A man asks.
Yes? Who is this? Do you know what time it is?
I'm sorry, Mr. Stevens, but this is Sergeant Mickelson with the state police. I have some unfortunate news. I'm sorry to tell you that your father was killed in a car accident early this evening. What? No. That can't be. We had dinner earlier this evening. Yes, sir. I am sorry. Preliminary findings suggest he had a heart attack or stroke while driving home from a neighborhood bar, but we won't know for sure until the coroner releases his findings. Can you come by later this morning to make a positive ID? The coroner's office opens at 9. I'm in a haze. I did literally just have dinner with my dad, ribs at Victor's. He'd mentioned that he was going to meet some friends to play pool, and I said that sounded great and to have fun, to say hi to the guys for me.
That's the last time we spoke.
Mr. Stevens, are you still there?
There's a muffled voice followed by, yeah.
I think I hear him breathing. Mr. Stevens? Hello?
Yes. Yes, I'm sorry.
I just... Oh, I understand, sir. I'll leave your name at the coroner's front desk.
They'll show you straight to your father. I am sorry, sir. You have my deepest condolences.
Yes.
Um, thank you. I hang up and sit in my bed for a long while, thinking of those ribs and the pitcher of cold Pilsner my dad and I had shared. It was a great evening, and they aren't always great. Through the years, most dinners with my dad were torture. He'd come home from work and just sit in silence as he ate, then go watch TV. I blame my dead mother. She lost her mind, then lost her life, and it tore him apart. It tore us both apart. There was a day, sophomore year of high school, when my dad picked me up and said he wanted to go get milkshakes. I knew my dad. I knew that when he changed the routine, something was going on. Something unpleasant. Here you go, the waitress, Monica said, setting my strawberry milkshake in front of me.
Then she slid my dad's chocolate shake in front of him while he sat across from me, staring out the window. I had them add extra malt. I hate malt, I cried. I know, I'm kidding. No malt. You two enjoy. My dad said nothing as she walked away. I took a sip. It was great. Like it always was at Herb's Diner. Dad continued to stare out the window, ignoring his chocolate milkshake. Always chocolate.
How does Jude react to the coroner's preliminary findings and the ID request?
Dad? I asked, pushing my milkshake aside. What's going on? Huh? Why does something have to be going on? He asked, tearing his eyes away from the riveting view of the diner's parking lot. Can't I spend some time sharing a shake with you without there being something going on? Dad? He gave me a sad smile, then laughed. Okay, okay. Yes, there's something you need to know. He took a long drink of his shake, then started coughing. I got up to slap his back, but he waved me off. He chuckled when he finally could speak again.
Phew, I hate it when that happens.
Dad, what is it? He took a deep breath. His eyes found mine. Your mother won't be coming home, he said. I sat there, the taste of strawberry milkshake turning bitter on my tongue, and frowned at my dad. A million questions swirled in my head. But My voice faltered, and I had to focus to make my lips and tongue work. But you said she'd only be gone for a couple of weeks, that she'd be back home soon, that she'd get better. I know what I said. He stared down at his milkshake, then pushed it away. You can have this. I didn't respond. His attention returned to the parking lot. I waited. My dad wasn't a man of many words. He said the right things when he needed to, but deep, heartfelt conversations weren't his forte.
Not that he was closed off, he wasn't. It was just that he held a lot of the family pain, and I think he didn't want it to spill out onto me. The few sips of milkshake in my stomach churned and threatened to come back up.
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Chapters
3 chaptersSpeakers
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