DAVID DELANEY Sr. walked around his room touching his possessions, making sure they were all there and in their proper place. Everything looked right, but he wasn’t sure.
With one finger, he straightened the photograph on his dresser. Davey grinned into the camera, one front tooth missing, a mass of dark red hair and flashing green eyes. Summer’s freckles danced across his nose and cheeks. He’d taken it last summer, when Davey was nine years old.
David Sr. turned away and went to his closet, opened the door, and searched through his hanging clothes. Two dark suits. Two sport coats, one for summer, one for fall. A selection of short-sleeved shirts. Yep. They all seemed to be there. His shoes lined up like soldiers on the closet floor. His bathrobe hung from the hook in the middle of the door.
On the top shelf was the shoebox, tucked under an extra blanket. He touched it, his finger tracing the lip of the lid; then he pulled his hand away. It didn’t look as if anyone had tampered with it, but he couldn’t be sure.
Just wanting to check, he took it down and cradled it in his arms. He lifted the lid and relief swept through him. It’s still there. Whoever had been rummaging through the house hadn’t found this.
He put the lid back on and shoved it back on the shelf.
No one would find it… he was sure of it.
He’d bought it just for protection. David Sr.’s eyes narrowed and his back stiffened. Just in case the thief ever came back. If he had the balls to come back and David Delaney Sr. was home, that thieving bastard would regret the day he’d thought about breaking into this house.
His gaze darted around the room, then slid back to the box. Well, if he did ever need it in a hurry, the closet wasn’t the best place for it. It needed to be close at hand. Within reaching distance. Loaded and ready for action.
He took the box down again and went to his bed. Under the mattress? No. Under his pillow? Too lumpy. He pulled out the drawer of the nightstand and peered in. Nothing much there except his Bible, some antacids, and a few loose batteries. Plenty of room.
He sat down, placed the box on the bed, and removed the lid.
After taking the gun out, he quickly slid it into the drawer, then added the box of bullets, pushed it closed, and sat back.
Now he felt better, safer, more secure.
Glancing at his watch, he stood and dropped the empty shoebox into the trashcan on his way to the kitchen. It was almost time for lunch, and Davey would be home from school in a few hours.
He wandered down the hall and into the kitchen. Davey sat at the table, reading the newspaper, his back to David Sr.
“What are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at school?” He got a cup and poured some coffee.
“Dad, I’m not in school.”
David’s patient voice riled him. He could tell when he was being talked down to, as if he was some old man.
“I know that.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the paper over David’s shoulder. “It’s Saturday. No school on Saturday.” He nodded, pleased with himself.
“It’s Sunday, Dad, and I haven’t been in school in nearly fifteen years.” David sighed, turned the page, and continued to read.
David Sr. clutched the cup tight, his gaze darting around the room. He could have sworn Davey was still in school. He stared at the back of his son’s head. There was a touch of gray at his temples, his hair a deeper brown, his shoulders broader.
Davey’s a grown man.
He shuffled over to the chair and sat down. When had that happened? He ran his hand over his chin and felt his own age, deep lines that he didn’t remember being there. In the glass of the window over the sink, he caught his reflection.
He was old. So much older than he remembered.
He had to say something, make normal conversation. “What are the plans for today? Are we going to church?”
David looked up. “If you want to, I’ll take you to the afternoon mass at three.”
“Sure. That’d be nice.” He nodded. “At St. Mary’s, right?”
“That’s right… St. Mary’s.” David smiled at him, folded the paper, and stood. “Be back shortly. I’m just going to the bathroom.” He left the room.
David Sr. watched his son leave. Sure, he remembered it all now. Davey was working now. He’d graduated college. David Sr. remembered the ceremony. He’d been so proud of his boy.
He frowned. He remembered something else. Something bad David had told him after the ceremony, but he couldn’t recall what it was.
DAVID SHUT the bathroom door and sat on the edge of the bathtub. He pulled out his cell phone and called Travis.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“David! So, is it a go for lunch today?”
“’Fraid not. My dad’s really out of sorts today.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“He thinks I’m in school again. Still.” David wiped his hand over his face. “I don’t even know what I mean anymore.”
“It’s okay, baby. Maybe it’s too soon. Let’s give it a while.”
“A while? It’s only going to get worse. The doctor said it’d be in stops and starts, here one day and gone the next, but this is unreal. I don’t know where his mind is, ever. Past. Present. Future.” He rubbed his eyes. “And he repeats himself. Over and over. I have to go through the same conversations until I want to scream.”
“I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to face facts. If he’s not getting better, you’re going to have to do something about it.”
“No. Uh-uh. Not yet. It’s not that bad.” David shook his head. He didn’t know what bad looked like, but he wasn’t there yet.
Travis sighed. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. I hope you know that.”
“I know.”
“Let’s see how next week goes, okay? Maybe you can get away for dinner.”
“Okay. And thanks for understanding.”
“Hey, you’re kidding, right? If you can hang with me and all of my cop shit, I certainly can hang in there for you and your father, baby.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too. I’ll call you early next week. Stay strong.”
“You too.” David hung up. He stood, splashed some cold water on his face, and dried it off.
Back to deal with his dad.
Hand on the door, David paused. He shouldn’t feel so put out to have lunch and go to church with his father. He should be grateful he had this time, even if his father wasn’t all there.
He should feel… something other than aggravated. He knew it, but the guilt swallowed him, ate him up from inside, whispered in his mind he was a bad son.
Really, it was all in his mind. A matter of attitude. A matter of counting your blessings, of knowing it could be so much worse.
He knew it. He did. Intellectually, he knew it. It was the emotional part he was having trouble dealing with. Part of him shouted, “I want my life back!” And another part had watched his father deteriorate over the last ten months and had grown tired and worn out.
And it was only going to get worse.
He opened the door and went back to the kitchen.
DAVID SR. stared out the car window. Nothing looked familiar. Turning to his son, he asked, “Where are we?”
“St. Mary’s Church. You wanted to go to mass.” David got out of the car.
David Sr. straightened his jacket and followed his son. “Of course.” That’s right. It’s Sunday.
They walked the half block from the car to the church, up the broad steps, and through the open doors. The church was half filled, mostly with elderly people. Women with black lace over their hair, rosaries clutched in their fingers. Old men in dark suits, just like the one he wore.
When had he gotten so old?
The mass started. He didn’t recognize the priest. Father Patrick used to give the mass.
He leaned over to David and whispered, “Where’s Father Patrick?”
David glanced at him. “Dad, he died about five years ago. Remember?”
“Right. Sure.” He nodded.
“This is Father Jacob. He’s very nice. I like him.” David smiled.
David Sr. smiled back.
Five years. Gone.