I can tell he’s confused. It’s habit to talk about my dad in the past tense, as if he’s dead instead of the truth which is he’s trapped inside a body that doesn’t work.
I clear my throat. “Four and a half years ago, Dad had a major stroke. I was deployed at the time, and he was recently retired and had moved off base and set up in a little house outside of Barstow. His neighbors were the ones who found him unconscious in the front yard, but they didn’t know to send him to a VA hospital. The ambulance took him to the closest one which happened to be some big private hospital that costs about a thousand dollars a minute. The VA didn’t cover it. And because I was overseas, it was months before I could move him.”
“Your medical bills,” Harley says.
“Yup.”
“He’s the reason you took the job with Trav.”
“Trav pays more money than the military, and I figured, timing-wise, I had to take it. If I re-upped, I wouldn’t be able to be close to Dad or pay for his care. There was a huge waiting list to get him into a VA care facility and a whole lot of red tape. None of them were close to me, which is how he ended up here. It’s all I can afford so close to LA.”
Harley squeezes my arm. “I’m so sorry.”
I turn to Harley, and my vision blurs. Tears of guilt threaten to spill over. “The reason I don’t tell anyone is because it’s always been just me and Dad, you know? When Mom died, he did the best he could. He transferred to a training position, and he did everything he could to be close to me. Now it’s my job to do the same for him. This is where I come on my Sundays off.”
Harley leans across the seats to hug me or kiss me, I don’t know.
I stop him before he can reach me. “I’m not out to him.”
“That’s okay. I’m not out to the world. Call it even?”
I manage a small laugh. “I wanted to tell him. I Skyped with him the night before the stroke. I’d had a near miss—a guy in my squad stepped on an IED and lost his legs. I was about twenty feet from the explosion. I was right behind that guy, and I’d never felt so close to dying before. It … it scared me enough to want to die with no secrets hanging over my head. I wasn’t officially out in the army, but I had hooked up with guys on base before. I don’t think it was a huge secret, and for all I knew, one of my superiors had already told Dad. But I’d decided he deserved to hear it from me. Especially if I was going to come home in a coffin.”
Harley lets me talk, staring at me with sympathy but not pity. “What happened when you tried to tell him?”
“I stuttered like a moron and told him I had something big I’d been sitting on for a while. Something weird happened with his eyes—like he was having trouble concentrating. He said he had a headache and didn’t feel well and was going to bed. A few days later, when they finally got word to me, I realized he’d had a stroke about twelve hours after I tried telling him.”
“Brix … his stroke wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that, logically, but I can’t help wondering. What if I hadn’t told him?” Would he still have had a stroke that day? Would it have happened another time? Would it have happened at all?
“He still would’ve had that stroke. I promise you it was poor timing. Strokes don’t happen out of nowhere. It had probably been coming for a while.”
“Maybe.” I want to believe that. So bad. But I still have doubts.
“Gayness isn’t that powerful. If it was, all those Westboro Baptist Church people would have strokes. Hashtag the real gay agenda.”
I stare over at Harley, wondering if he’s being serious right now. His stoic expression makes me laugh. “You did not throw a hashtag at me in conversation.”
“But I cheered you up, didn’t I? Hashtag winning.”
“Oh God, make it stop.”
I can’t be more thankful for Harley making jokes right now. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve never told anyone about my dad even though, apparently, my entire team knows. I don’t want pity … or help.