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Kali hung up the phone with Derek for the second time that day, their plans for tomorrow now cemented. The absurdity of it made her feel off, like she was living a fantasy life. To be talking to him casually, scheduling plans ... after resigning herself to the fact that she may never see him again.
But life was about change, about rolling with that change: accepting, reshaping, or working through the bad and searching out all the good possible. It’s what the last discussion at the CNIB support group she’d been going to had focused on. And a lot of good came from Derek being back in town.
A smile crossed her face as she remembered the way Theo’s nervousness, excitement, and expectation had flitted across his face when she’d told him they’d be seeing his Daddy again the next evening. Later, on their morning walk, he’d run up to Mrs. Martin as she worked in her garden. He tugged on her skirt, his body practically thrumming with eagerness. It was the first time Kali had heard him speak in front of Mrs. Martin.
“I have a Daddy now.”
Mrs. Martin had glanced to Kali, a question of surprise on her face. “Is that so?”
Theo nodded. “He’s come home. And he loves me. And he’s staying forever.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Martin looked to Kali again before returning her gaze to Theo. “Well, that’s wonderful.”
Theo gave a little skip as he rejoined Kali on the sidewalk.
“We’re separated and he was in the army. He’s not anymore.”
Mrs. Martin hadn’t asked any questions. Just nodded with understanding. People left, and then they came back. It wasn’t so unusual.
In addition to Theo’s excitement, Derek being back meant support, and, maybe not yet, but hopefully one day, when she finally trusted this was real and he wouldn’t disappear again, shared custody. One day a week, perhaps, maybe two. A few weeks in the summer. She’d miss Theo, of course, but she could also use the break.
It wasn’t only Theo Derek’s return affected. Marvin seemed to have a new lease on life. And if Lincoln could forgive her, Derek taking Theo for an evening or weekend could mean more opportunity for her and Lincoln’s relationship to grow.
Kali turned to the sound of the door. Warmth seeped through her at the sight of Lincoln. “How was breakfast with your mom?” Noting his face and the slump to his shoulders, she stepped forward. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Lincoln rubbed a hand over the side of his face and sank to the couch. “This has been the week from hell.” He let out a short laugh. “It hasn’t even been a week. Three days. This has been the three days from hell.”
Kali sat beside him. “What is it?”
“My father, who has basically been dead to me for years anyway, is actually dying. Has days.” He stared toward the other side of the room. “But why should I care, right? I mean, not heartlessly, like ‘I don’t care,’ but really, I haven’t seen him in eleven years. The Dad I knew has been gone for that long ... longer, really.”
Kali put a hand to his leg. “It isn’t the same thing.”
Lincoln turned to her, his eyes moist. “My mother wants me to go visit him. Say goodbye. But how do you say goodbye to someone who isn’t even there?”
Kali gave his leg a squeeze. “You say the words, maybe hold his hand.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
Kali let out a soft sigh. “It can be. I’ve seen this many times before.” She bit her lip. “People can sense presence, love, especially when they’re close to death. It goes beyond brain power, conversational skills, sometimes even beyond consciousness. The brain waves, heart rate, of patients in comas have been known to shift, settle when a loved one is in the room, speaking to or touching them. All you need to do is say the words.”
Lincoln closed his eyes, his head shaking. “I’ve been such a wretched son.”
“You’ve done what you needed to do for self-preservation. That’s understandable.”
Another sad laugh. “To who?”
“Well,” Kali shifted, “to me. I get it.”
“My family doesn’t. They think I’m weak and selfish.”
“Have they said that?”
“Linda has, basically, the others ... I see it.”
“You were a child; they were almost grown. It’s different.”
“I’m not a child anymore.”
Kali lifted her hand and set it in her own lap. “No. You’re not.”
“I’m angry, you know? At him. He’s the one who’s suffered all these years, lost everything he once was, and I’m angry at him.”
“That’s fairly normal.”
Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“Trust me. It is.”
He nodded and turned his gaze back to something on the other side of the room. “He promised he’d always be there for me. Swore it. What a lie. No one is always there for anyone, ever. But I didn’t know that then. I believed him.”
Kali’s throat clenched. She resisted the urge to take him in her arms, sensing it wasn’t what he needed. Not now. “That’s probably what you needed to believe at the time. At the time, maybe it was the right thing for him to say.”
“I can’t see him. Not like—”
“Of course you can.”
“All wasted away. Barely even human?”
Kali sat straighter, annoyance edging into her sympathy. “He’s human. Nothing can change that.”
“Yeah, but.”
“No.” Kali fought the sharpness in her voice. “He’s human and he’s your father. You know where he is. I can see how you feel he left you, but it wasn’t his choice. You had eleven wonderful years with him and, what, four or five partial ones?” She looked away. “I understand you not visiting him, but that was your choice. He was there. He was the one suffering from one of the cruelest diseases out there. If I—” Kali shook her head, her voice cutting off.
Lincoln stared at her. “If you what?”
Kali closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If I’d had the chance to know my father, if he’d stayed around long enough to give me memories, advice, to know he gave a shit about me—” She stopped and put a hand on his thigh. “Look, I know it’s different, and I know it’s been hard, but you had a father. You still have a father. Maybe he doesn’t know it, but you do. And you have no idea what he may know. Maybe he remembers you, somewhere at the core of him, but can’t express it. Maybe in his lucid moments he’s missed you, wondered where you were, felt abandoned.” Kali’s voice trembled. “I know what it is to feel abandoned and have no way to tell the person how hurt you are.”
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed; he reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Listen, you don’t know what he knows or doesn’t know, what he feels or doesn’t feel, and as much as I think you should go for you, if going for him would give him even the slightest amount of comfort, if sitting by his bed would let him feel some of the love he may have been missing from you all these years, then yes, you’d be a selfish bastard not to go.”
Lincoln stared at Kali, his eyes wide. “Okay.”
“What?”
“I’ll go.”
Kali rubbed a hand across her face. She let out a puff of air and pushed her hands along her thighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, this is about you and your dad, not me and mine ... I just started thinking and—”
“No, you’re right. I’ve been selfish. I don’t know what he knows or feels. It’s too late now ... to erase all the years I stayed away. But I can stop being selfish for an hour.”
Kali closed her eyes, shame flowing over her again. She’d had her father stolen from her, and yet she’d been robbing Theo of his ...
“You’re right. I was lucky to have him for as long as I did. Not everybody gets even that. So thank you.” Lincoln gave a small smile. “For calling me out.”
Kali smiled. This was about Lincoln. Not her. Not Theo. “Any time.”
Lincoln took Kali’s hand, his touch strong and gentle, and gave it a squeeze. Kali squeezed back just as Theo bounded into the room.