“That’s it. You didn’t leave another one.”
He nodded slowly, then turned his attention to his salad, spearing hunks of cheese with his fork.
“I really don’t want to ask this, but Xander brought up a point,” I started.
“You played this for your brother?” he snapped.
“I did. I was hoping he’d already given you what you asked for.” My entire body felt tense, like I had to balance on the one cleared spot of a minefield. There was nowhere to move without getting blown up.
“Ask your question.”
Dorothy raised her eyebrows but didn’t say a word.
“Do you remember leaving the message? Is this…really you asking for this?” The stem of the fork bit into my finger, I gripped it so hard.
Dad studied me, his gaze unforgiving and harsh. Then he stabbed more of the cheese, avoiding the lettuce. “No. I don’t remember leaving it.”
I sagged in my chair. Had I really come all this way—?
“But it’s true. I want one. I’ve been telling him that for a while.” He shoved a forkful in his mouth and began chewing.
“I’ll talk to Xander again.” I didn’t mention that my brother had frozen me out since I brought up the DNR in the first place.
His posture softened. “He won’t change his mind. Once Xander thinks he’s right, that’s all there is to it.”
“This is your choice to make. Not his.” The weight of what it would mean to fight Xander settled on my heart. “If this is what you want, I’ll fight for it.”
He scoffed. “You willing to take on the town? Because that’s Judge Bradley sitting on that bench. Not sure if you remember, but he hates you.”
“Don’t pull any punches, Dad.” I pushed my salad around the bowl as my mind raced.
“You’ve never been the one who needed me to,” he replied.
“And Judge Bradley hardly constitutes taking on the entire town. He’s one man.” One man who wouldn’t bother pissing on me if I were on fire, but still.
“One man who’s up for a retention vote this November,” Dorothy noted. “He’ll take public opinion into account—you can be sure of it.”
“How is that fair? He’s a judge.”
“Since when is politics fair? Don’t forget, your own brother is the mayor,” she countered.
“Xander isn’t corrupt,” Dad snapped. “Don’t even think about implying that.”
“Relax, Art. I’m just saying that Judge Bradley isn’t going to forget that it’s Mayor Daniels on the other side of that courtroom.”
Dad grunted. “That, I believe.” He looked to me and shook his head. “Unfortunately, you really are the only person Xander will listen to. If you’ve already tried and he’s denied you, then there’s not much else you can do without getting your ass kicked in court.” He dropped the fork and leaned back in his chair.
The pros and cons list in my head was pretty much all cons, but I knew one pro could outweigh them all.
“Tell me your reasons. I want to hear them while you’re…you.” I kept the words soft, but there was no mistaking the demand.
“I’m not trying to off myself, if that’s what you’re asking. I just don’t want to stay any longer than I have to. If the Lord is going to take my mind, then I sure as hell don’t want my body to hang around. The last thing I want is to wake up with no idea who or where I am, stuck in a hospital bed with a tube down my throat. I can’t imagine a life where anyone wants that…”
Taking on Xander… Dad was right. It would mean taking on the town, and I wasn’t exactly the welcomed prodigal son. Judge Bradley despised me, Xander probably had Milton Sanders on retainer as his attorney already, and there wasn’t another lawyer in town. I would be classified as a bigger villain than I already was, the bad seed who came home from war just to kill his dad, against the perfect blond mayor of Alba who was fighting to keep his father alive.
I’d never have peace here.
Maybe that was my penance, living a long, battle-filled life to pay for the one I’d failed to protect.
“I’ll do it,” I said, looking at Dad. “I’ll take it to court. I’ll fight for your right to determine your own fate. You deserve that much. But I want two things.”
Dad’s brows lowered. “Of course you do. What are they?”
“First, I want a truce.” I spoke every word clearly and slowly so he couldn’t possibly misunderstand.
“A truce.”
“I’m well aware that you share the same opinion of me as the rest of the town. I’m not stupid. But as of this moment, we have a truce. You don’t ban me from the house. You don’t attack me verbally, and you definitely don’t shoot me again.”
“The house…” He tilted his head.
“I’m still staying at Cal’s—at my house. It’s time, and I figure that my staying here would only make this harder.”
Dad nodded slowly, considering my words. “And second?”
My stomach twisted, but I knew this was my only chance.
“You hate me because I got Sullivan killed.”
Dad stiffened, his eyes stricken with pain and anger, but I kept on.
“You’ve never been willing to hear what happened that day. Not past the choice I made.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed.
“When this is over, when I’ve given you what you want, you’ll listen. Maybe you’ll hate me even more once you know the truth of it. That’s a chance I’m going to have to take. At least I’ll know your hatred will be based on fact.” It was the most I’d said about Sullivan’s death in six years.
I saw the rebellion in Dad—the curl of his fists and the flare of his nostrils as he struggled for control.
“If you deserve to determine your future, then I deserve to explain my past.”
His eyes met mine in a clash of will and grief, but finally he nodded. “Fine. But I have one caveat.”
“Of course you do.” I used his own words on him.
“There are days and moments when I won’t be able to keep our truce. I can’t remember who I am, let alone who you are. And those days will come when even if I do recognize you, it might not be this version of you I’m seeing.” He gestured to my torso.
“Okay. I can handle that.” I didn’t expect the sadness that engulfed me, clogging my throat as he admitted that he was no longer himself 100 percent of the time. No longer completely sane or dependable. The man who preached that you were only as good as your word was no longer capable of keeping his.