A Curve in the Road(46)

“On the Friday before the accident,” I say, “Dad found out he had cancer.”

Zack’s mouth falls open. “What? Cancer? And you didn’t know? You only found out yesterday?”

I nod my head. “That’s right. He didn’t tell me. I’m not sure why. Maybe he was planning to, but I think that’s why he was drinking that day. He was upset.”

Zack stares at me, mouth agape. “What kind of cancer was it?”

“It started in his kidneys, then it spread quickly to his lungs, liver, and bones. I’m told there were no symptoms. Apparently he went to see his doctor about a mark on his shoulder, which he thought looked suspicious. That led them to the root of the problem, and by then it was too late. The cancer was very aggressive, and they didn’t expect him to live more than a few months.”

Zack frowns in disbelief. “So he was going to die anyway?”

“Yes.” My voice breaks.

Zack turns away, covers his eyes with his hand, and weeps.

It kills me to see him in pain. I want nothing more than to make everything better, but that’s not possible. His father is dead, and it’s tragic. There’s no escaping it. All I can do is lay my hand on Zack’s shoulder and wait for him to get over the shock of what I just told him.

“How did you find out?” he asks.

My heart lurches because I can’t possibly tell him the truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“The doctor told me,” I lie.

“Because of the autopsy?” Zack asks.

We don’t even have the autopsy results yet. We won’t have them for at least another week, but Zack doesn’t know that. I simply nod my head.

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?” he asks, sounding hurt and incredulous.

I scramble for a reply. “I’m sorry. It was late when I got home from the vet, and I was barely keeping it together after what happened with Winston. I just needed time to sleep and put myself back together. I was a wreck. I’m so sorry, honey.”

At least that much was true.

I’m relieved when Zack accepts my explanation. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “It’s okay, Mom. You’ve told me now.”

I raise his hand to my lips and kiss the back of it. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I wish everything could be normal again.”

“Me too,” he replies, “but it’ll never be normal again. We just have to get used to it. Are you going to be okay, Mom?”

I love him so much for thinking of me when he has his own grief to manage.

“I don’t have much choice, do I? I’ll have to be.”

We hug each other tightly. Then I sit back and think about what to do next.

“If you want to go home, we’ll go home,” I say. “Winston’s okay now, and Carla and the kids are leaving tomorrow anyway.”

Zack nods at me. “Can we go today?”

“That soon?”

“Yeah, I’m restless here, Mom. I can’t sleep. Even though the funeral’s over, I still feel like the worst is ahead of us. I just want to deal with it.”

I stare at him for a moment. “Okay,” I say reluctantly. “We’ll pick up a rental car, pack up our stuff, and go after lunch.”

And just like that, ready or not, I am back on the road, heading for home. The only problem is . . . it doesn’t feel like home anymore, and I don’t know if it ever will.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on the house that would become our family home. Alan and I had been hunting for weeks but couldn’t find anything that felt right. Then a new property came on the market. When we pulled up in front of it to meet the real estate agent for a viewing, the exterior was strangely familiar to me, as if I’d already lived in it, or maybe I recognized it from a dream. I’m still not sure where the feeling came from, but I just knew that this was meant to be our house.

It was a century-old Tudor revival with a multigabled roof and decorative half-timber framing in the elegant, upscale South End of Halifax. Alan and I both fell in love with it instantly, and we shared a look as we got out of the car. This was two months before Zack was born, and he was kicking in my belly as we climbed the steps to the front door. We made an offer the same day, even though the house was run-down and in desperate need of an update.

We spent the next few years tidying up the ivy-cloaked exterior and renovating the inside with a modern, updated kitchen and fresh paint on every wall, while we retained all the gorgeous Renaissance-style embellishments we loved—like the arched board-and-batten front door with hefty metal hardware, the exposed ceiling beams in the main living area, and the leaded-glass windows with diamond-shaped panes.

And when Zack was three, he loved trains, so we decided to redecorate his room with a steam-train wallpaper border. But first, we had to repaint the walls blue, so we were up early one Saturday morning, dressed in our painting clothes and caps, with a plastic tarp spread across the floor. I remember—just as if it were yesterday—how thrilled Zack was by the crinkling sound it made when he jumped on it. His sweet cheeks flushed bright red as he laughed and bounced across the floor.

“Hey, buddy, do you want to do some painting?” Alan asked, kneeling low and offering Zack the brush.