Dear John(45)

I got up when I heard my dad in the kitchen. I was wearing the same clothes from the evening before, but I doubted he was aware of it.

“Mornin’, Dad,” I mumbled.

“Hey, John,” he said. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Sure,” I said. “Coffee ready?”

“In the pot.”

I poured myself a cup. As my dad cooked, I noted the headlines in the newspaper, knowing he would read the front section first, then metro. He would ignore the sports and life section. A man of routine.

“How was your night?” I asked.

“The same,” he said. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t ask me anything in return. Instead, he ran the spatula through the scrambled eggs. The bacon was already sizzling. In time, he turned to me, and I already knew what he would ask.

“Would you mind putting some bread in the toaster?”




My dad left for work at exactly 7:35.

Once he was gone, I scanned the paper, uninterested in the news, at a loss as to what to do next. I had no desire to go surfing, or even to leave the house, and I was wondering whether I should crawl back into bed to try to get some rest when I heard a car pull up the drive. I figured it might be someone dropping off a flyer offering to clean the gutters or power-wash the mold from the roof; I was surprised when I heard a knock.

Opening the door, I froze, caught completely off guard. Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Hi, John,” he said. “I know it’s early, but do you mind if I come in?”

A wide strip of medical tape bridged his nose, and the skin surrounding both eyes was bruised and swollen.

“Yeah . . . sure,” I said, stepping aside, still trying to process the fact that he was here.

Tim walked past me and into the living room. “I almost didn’t find your house,” he said. “When I dropped you off before, it was late and I can’t say I was paying that much attention. I drove by a couple of times before it finally registered.”

He smiled again, and I realized he was carrying a small paper sack.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, snapping out of my shock. “I think there still might be a cup left in the pot.”

“No, I’m fine. I was up most of the night, and I’d rather not have the caffeine. I’m hoping to lie down when I get back to the house.”

I nodded. “Hey, listen . . . about what happened last night,” I began. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

He held up his hands to stop me. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t. And I should have known better. I should have tried to grab one of the other guys.”

I inspected him. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It just happened to be one of those nights in the emergency room. It took a while to see a doctor, and he wanted to call someone else in to set my nose. But they swore it would be good as new. I might have a small bump, but I’m hoping it gives me a more rugged appearance.”

I smiled, then felt bad for doing so. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” he said. “And I appreciate it. But that’s not the reason I came here.” He motioned to the couch. “Do you mind if we sit? I still feel a little woozy.”

I sat on the edge of the recliner, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. Tim sat on the sofa, wincing as he got comfortable. He set the paper bag off to the side.

“I want to talk to you about Savannah,” he said. “And about what happened last night.”

The sound of her name brought it all back, and I glanced away.

“You know we’re good friends, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Last night in the hospital, we talked for hours, and I just wanted to come here to ask you not to be angry with her for what she did. She knows she made a mistake and that it wasn’t her place to diagnose your father. You were right about that.”

“Why isn’t she here, then?”

“Right now, she’s at the site. Someone’s got to be in charge while I recuperate. And she doesn’t know I’m here, either.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why I got so mad in the first place.”

“Because you didn’t want to hear it,” he said, his voice quiet. “I used to feel the same way whenever I heard someone talk about my brother, Alan. He’s autistic.”

I looked up. “Alan’s your brother?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked. “Did Savannah tell you about him?”

“A little,” I said, remembering that even more than Alan, she talked about the brother who’d been so patient with him, who’d inspired her to major in special education.