The Truth About That Summer

eighty-nine

I'm still walking funny when I re-enter the hospital's main entrance, my butt having gone numb a long, long time ago, sitting across from Casey's cross. My legs are stiff, the bottom of my jeans pretty dirty, but something feels... lighter.

Breathing is easier, the air ready in my lungs, unlike how I've felt for so long, drowning even above the water.

When I approach the waiting room, I scan it quickly, inhaling steady and slow through my nose. Holding for a few seconds, I spy Dad sitting alone, his face in a magazine. Releasing my breath, I keep looking until I find Mom.

I've circled the entire waiting room, finally giving up on finding her and wondering where she is, by the time I notice Dad is looking right at me.

The force of his stare is so unexpected, so unnatural now, that I nearly jump back. Somehow, maybe due to the imaginary therapist-Jax sitting on my shoulder, telling me to try and listen, I don't run for the door.

Not even as Dad's lip curves up at one corner, just like Casey's used to, in a sad smile. Not even as he stands and closes the distance between us, until he's right in front of me, looking down at me in a way he hasn't in years.

"Dylan." His voice is soft, like he might break me. Like he doesn't realize I've already been destroyed and haphazardly crammed back together before falling apart again just in the last few months alone.

"Are you okay?"

His question almost brings a laugh to my lips. Almost. It would, if it wasn't so sad that he can't tell how his own daughter is barely surviving.

Looking him in the eyes, I keep as much resentment as I can from my voice as I answer him honestly. "No, Dad. I'm not. I've been far from okay for a very long time."

Surprising me, he flinches, but doesn't drop his gaze. Even more surprisingly, he continues speaking, more words than we've exchanged since Casey died in these few moments than the years since.

"Me neither, Dylan. None of us have been." A gentle smile, one more time, maybe even an attempt to cross this bridge between us, to make amends. Something in my chest starts to crack. "I think it's about time we start talking about that."

He takes the words from my lips and I'm left gawking at him. Snapping my mouth shut, I glance around the waiting room another time.

"Mom..."

"She had to take a work call, she's in the car. Grams is asleep, we were waiting to tell her goodbye before we left. Mom will be back and we'll all talk together then, but... If it's okay, sweetheart-" He shakes his head just slightly, "If it's okay, Dylan, I think I have some things I need to say to you, first."

My mouth opens and closes, my mind racing. Yes, I have a lot I need to say to him, too. No, I didn't plan on facing him alone, without Mom's snappiness to cut through the heaviness that sits between my father and me.

No, I don't know what he'll say, and yes, I'll admit that I'm afraid of what I'll hear.

What if he tells me all the ways I've disappointed them since Casey passed, confirming every terrible thing I already knew? What if he tells me how hurt he's been and how I've only made it worse?

What if, what if, what if...

But somehow, I nod slowly anyways. "Okay."

His face lightens, just briefly, before turning serious again. Pivoting on his heel, he exits the hospital, assuming that I'll follow.

I do.

Right until we're outside and he takes a seat on one of the old, wooden benches in front of the parking lot. People rush in and out of the entrance, some in white coats, others simply visiting. As I watch them go about their business, I feel Dad's eyes on me.