Chapter 43

“You’re my father,” I say. “You mean the world to me. But I had a right to know. Maybe I could’ve helped—emotionally. It definitely would’ve taken my mind off everything else in my life at the time.”

He sucks in a lungful of air; releases it languidly. In the light, his face is gaunt and sad like the expression of Jesus on the cross.

“Why’d you wait so long to see a doctor?” I ask, my eyes glistening.

He shakes his head. “I don’t like going to doctors. They don’t know everything. They prescribe medicine that I refuse to take.” A pause. “But now I’m popping pills like candy to help ward off the headaches. It’s only temporary. Some days, I crave morphine.”

I lean over and hug him.

My dad is not the type of person to express his emotions, but he lingers in my arms long enough to make his point that he loves me, tapping my back with his bony hand. “You’re a good son, Chris. And your mother and I are very proud of you. I’m glad we could be here for you and—”