Misfit(120)
Swallowing his trepidation, Stretch answered. “Dad?”
“Louis?”
His mother’s wobbly voice came through the line. Stretch sat up, feeling around until he turned on his lamp.
“Mom.” The last time he’d seen her came to mind. Once he patched in, he’d called his parents to give them his updated number. She’d never once called him as he recuperated, leading him to believe she hadn’t kept his contact information. “What’s up? Is everything all right?”
“Oh, Louis.”
Pain and grief resounded in her tone. “What’s happened? Is everybody okay?”
One other person in his family mattered—his father. All the others could fuck themselves.
Mom released a sob. “It’s your father. He’s gone. Dead.”
His father couldn’t be dead. They hadn’t made up yet. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s dead!” she shouted around tears. “He’s cold.”
“What?”
“I woke up and he was cold, dead next to me.”
Stretch hobbled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg to hurry where his jeans where on the floor. “Call 911!”
“You have to come and help me.”
“I’m over eighteen hundred miles away. Even if I get a plane, it’ll be hours before I arrive. Maybe, a day or two.”
Why was she calling him? She had her brothers, his father’s brothers, the men who’d taken turns beating the fuck out of him and pinning him with the name faggot. Besides, Dillon and Uncle Harry lived in Kansas City, too. She could’ve easily called them.
“Please, Louis. Please, come. Everybody’s gone.”
Shit, what was he thinking? His mother needed him. She’d reached out, so he couldn’t ignore her.
“The bible says honor your father and mother and your days shall be long upon the earth.”
Stretch didn’t want to hear anything about the bible, so he ignored her quote. If he got her started, she’d never shut up.
“He’s dead!”
“Fuck, Mom. Call 911. You can’t keep Dad’s dead body next to you.”
A heartbroken sob greeted him.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Blasphemer!” she wailed.
“I’m going to call you back. Okay? Hang up so I can call an ambulance. There might be something that can be done to save dad.” Not if he was cold, but he kept that to himself.
“Okay,” she agreed through her tears.
He disconnected and made the call for an ambulance, giving the address to the house he’d grown up in, the one he tried not to think of after what took place during his last days there. Before he called his mother back, he dialed Cash’s number.
“What the fuck you want at three eighteen in the fucking morning?” he growled in greeting.
“I have to go home, Cash. My father. He’s dead.”
“I never met the motherfucker and I can’t stand him. After the way you were treated, you don’t have to go anywhere.”
“My mother called me. She needs me.”
“She needed to stick by you! Fuck, I can’t believe her.”
“I have to go.”
Cash growled. “You’re not obligated to do fuck all for her. Don’t let her bullshit get to you.”
“You don’t know her!”
“Thank fuck!”
“Asshole, this woman gave birth to me.” If Cash had no family loyalty, that wasn’t Stretch’s fault. Still, he wanted to try and get his point across. “She baked cookies for me. I disappointed her.”
“You’ve suddenly developed a switch to turn off your homoflexibility?”
“Shut the fuck up, Cash. I don’t need your shit or your politically correct terms.” Of all the times Cash chose to go PC, this was the wrong fucking one. “I’m not looking for your fucking approval.”
Those words rang with truth, startling Stretch. When had he stopped seeking Cash’s approval?
Fee’s lovely face rose in his head. The choice she’d given him, them, empowered him. Their conversation had been revealing and healing. Her fairness boosted Stretch’s confidence.
“If you would’ve called either of those motherfuckers, they wouldn’t have been receptive to you,” Cash continued.
Stretch couldn’t deny that. “I know.”
Cash sighed in irritation. “My words are falling on deaf ears so you have my sympathy, babe.” He spoke grudgingly. “Call me and let me know what’s going on.”
“I will.” After hanging up, he dialed his mother’s number. By now, EMTs were on scene.
“It’s too late,” she sobbed. “Your father’s dead.”