until they went insane.
“How was your flight?” he asked.
“Fine. Long.”
“You get a lot of sleep?”
“Yep. Then I watched a few movies and read a little bit. The usual.” For once, I was grateful for the small talk. “I also caught up on some emails and posted some pictures on my Instagram.”
I might as well have said I did a little witchcraft for the puzzled look he gave me. “What?”
“You know. Email… Instagram….” Confronted with another blank look, I shrugged. “Well, anyway, I got a lot done.”
“You see your brothers yet?”
“I saw John, but not Matt or Mark.” I tapped my fingers on my thigh. “Dad—”
“I’m not leaving my home, and I’m damn sure not going to Seattle.”
He said Seattle like it was a curse word. I didn’t ask what was wrong with Seattle because I didn’t want to hear the list he probably had all cued up. He’d probably been working on it for years because he was just über prepared like that.
“You’ll stay with me,” he said.
“I already decided that, Boss Baby,” I informed him, “but only for the summer. I’ll give you until the end of August.”
“I generally include September in the summer,” he said craftily.
“That’s crazy talk. September is fall.”
“I go by the weather,” he said confidently. “When the weather changes, the summer is over.”
“The weather never changes. This is Florida.”
“We have a winter,” he said stubbornly.
“Yes, those two days a year when I have to wear a sweater are truly harrowing.” I made a sound of exasperation. “If you tack on September, you have to add May as well. Where does it end?”
“Well, we’re at the end of May now, so isn’t that moot?”
I opened my mouth to argue some more, and then I realized we were both strapping on gear to spelunk in a rabbit hole. “The summer,” I said firmly. “I’ll help you get settled and then I need to get back.”
“To what?” he demanded.
“I have to get back to my real life,” I said slowly, as if talking to a very difficult child, which wasn’t far from the truth. “Back to work. Back home.”
“You are home. And work?” He snorted. “You call goin’ round the country and takin’ pictures work?”
“The world, actually. And yeah, I do.” I tamped down my irritation. I wondered if there would ever be a time when he didn’t try to talk down my profession.
“You would’ve done much better to join the family garage. What the hell is the point of naming the business Sutton and sons if—”
“My sons don’t want to fucking join,” I finished tiredly. “I know, I know. You need new material.”
I swiped a hand through my hair. I’d thought we could maybe use this time together to foster a better relationship. Now, that goal seemed a little… lofty. We’d only been together for a few minutes, and I was contemplating watching a couple of episodes of Forensic Files with a pad and a pen to take notes. How much planning makes a crime premeditated again? Asking for a friend.
When the doctor and a nurse bustled in, my father did his best to hide his true personality behind a friendly veneer. Not that he wasn’t a pleasant man, he simply had a lot of… tang. Like the human equivalent of ranch dressing that was slightly beyond its expiration date. Yes, that’s it. He was expired ranch dressing forgotten in the car for a few days.
His doctor went over my father’s conditions and plans for moving forward. He used a lot of hot-button terms like "wake up call" and "lifestyle change" in his speech. I didn’t blame him—it was pretty obvious that my father had been letting his health slide for a long time. He had high blood pressure but hadn't filled his prescription in several months. He was diabetic, but hardly ever checked his sugar level. His cholesterol was off the charts, he was slightly anemic... and a partridge in a pear tree. Apparently, he'd adopted the “cross my fingers and hope I don't die” approach to health.
I listened with one ear while I gathered and packed his belongings, suppressing eye roll after eye roll as he promised them the moon and stars—anything to get discharged. The lies went as follows:
1. Yes, I’ll take it easy. I’m practically retired! I had it on good authority he routinely worked ten-hour days. Retirement was a four-letter word.
2. I won’t miss one follow-up appointment. He was the reason doctors’ offices created cancellation fees. Enough said.
3. Seasoning alternatives? How clever!