Comprehension dawned in his father’s eyes, and his jaw hardened. “Did Stephanie put you up to this?”
As his momentary panic subsided, Richard Garrett again became the man he’d morphed into a few days after Josh’s funeral, when his elder son had told him he was ditching the corporate world to follow in his brother’s footsteps. Same grim expression, same parallel crevices carved in his forehead above his nose, same rigid shoulders that suggested he was primed for confrontation.
Not the most welcoming body language.
Zach tightened his grip on the laptop case.
Stay calm. Say your piece. Extend the olive branch. Give it your best shot. That’s all you can do.
“No, she didn’t. I make my own decisions.”
“But she did tell you about the surgery.”
“Yes.”
His father’s features tightened in displeasure. “I asked her not to.”
“She said she didn’t promise to keep it to herself.”
“No, she didn’t.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “She was always stubborn.”
Must run in the family.
But Zach left that unsaid.
The sweat on his forehead began to trickle down the side of his face, and he swiped it away with unsteady fingers. “I forgot how hot it can get here in the summertime.”
His father motioned toward the duffle. “You just arrive?”
“Yes. I took a cab straight from the airport.”
“You have a place to stay?”
“Not yet.” There were any number of hotels nearby, and he could very well end up in one of them if this reunion went downhill. But getting an invitation to stay in his childhood home would be encouraging.
“It’s too hot to stand out here talking. Come in out of the sun while you make arrangements.”
So much for encouraging.
His spirits nosedived.
His father pulled the door back, and Zach picked up his duffle. Stepped into the welcome coolness.
“On days like this, I’m grateful for air-conditioning—not that I have much use for it in Oregon.” He did his best to maintain a conversational tone. “It was sixty-five there this morning.” Perhaps a discussion about an innocuous subject like weather would smooth out the awkwardness before he tackled more serious topics.
Like heart surgery.
His dad closed the door. “The temperature doesn’t matter to me. I’m not outside much. You want to freshen up, use the facilities?”
“No.”
Silence.
Zach motioned toward the kitchen. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water—if it’s not too much trouble.”
“There’s no shortage of water.” His father strode toward the back of the house.
Zach left his luggage in the foyer and followed him, pausing on the threshold of the room.
Though it had been a long while since he’d been home, the kitchen hadn’t changed one iota. Same high-end stainless-steel appliances. Same granite countertops. Same sleek, modern furniture.
All reflecting the remodel his father had undertaken after Mom died, when being in the homey kitchen she’d loved had been too painful a reminder of his loss.
That was an insight Zach would never have gained if he hadn’t wandered down here late one night the Christmas he’d come home after her death and found his dad sitting at the table, tears streaming down his cheeks.
His father had actually spoken about his dark desolation on that quiet midnight, and not long after he’d commissioned the remodel.
That breakdown—and their discussion—had never been mentioned again.
Zach slowly filled his lungs.
He hadn’t thought about that incident in years.
But after what Stephanie had told him about Dad’s younger days, that night may have given him a rare glimpse of the little boy who’d once worn his heart on his sleeve.
“I have orange juice or Diet Coke if you prefer one of those over water.” His father opened the fridge.
“Diet Coke would hit the spot.”
His dad extracted two cans and set them on the island. “You have any food on the plane?”
“A couple of packs of pretzels.”
His father shook his head. “Airplane food was never all that palatable, but it’s gone straight downhill.”
“Another reason I’m glad I don’t have to travel anymore.”
“I suppose that’s one advantage to your new job.”
The only one, as far as his dad was concerned.
His reluctant host didn’t have to voice that for the message to come through loud and clear. His inflection said it all.
Zach opened his Coke, letting the CO2 hiss out, and implemented part B of his if-he-got-inside-the-house plan. “I was hoping you’d let me buy you dinner.” Unless his dad had broken pattern and started eating earlier than seven thirty, his evening meal should still be ahead.
The twin furrows on his father’s brow deepened as he released the tab on his own drink. “I hadn’t planned to eat much tonight.”
“Are there dietary restrictions prior to the surgery?”
“Fast after midnight.”
“That’s almost five hours away.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
Understandable.
If he was facing major surgery tomorrow, Zach doubted he’d have much appetite either.
“Instead of a big meal, why don’t we get a quick bite at Fetterman’s? I used to love their pastrami sandwiches.” And his favorite deli was still around, according to Google. If that didn’t fly, there were several other options, depending on his dad’s mood.
“I have business to take care of this evening.”
Was that true—or an excuse to avoid prolonging the conversation with his son?
Whichever the case, the message was unmistakable. The elder Garrett wasn’t receptive to sharing dinner.
Don’t push, Zach. Let him come around on his own terms and timetable—if he chooses to come around at all.
“Okay.”
More silence as they sipped their sodas.
“If you’re hungry, I keep a variety of frozen dinners on hand.”
His father’s offer was grudging—but it was an offer.
While a microwave dinner wasn’t the type of meal he’d had in mind for tonight, it was more appealing than eating alone in a hotel restaurant. The longer he could extend his stay here, the more opportunity he’d have to chip away at the wall between them.
“I can do frozen—if you’ll join me. I don’t like to eat alone.”
“Who do you eat with in Oregon?” His dad gave him a disapproving scowl. “Have you shacked up with someone?”
That hurt.
His father, of all people, should know he’d never violate the moral principles that had been instilled in him. Maybe he only paid lip service to his faith these days, but the virtues it taught were deeply ingrained.
“Not my style. Never has been, never will be.” He met his father’s gaze straight on.
“Hmph.” His dad was the first to look away. “Nice to know some things haven’t changed.”
“More than some.”
His father let that pass. “If you want to check out the dinners in the freezer, help yourself.”