“I’d like to talk about the surgery first.”
“Nothing to talk about. Arteries in the heart are blocked. The doc’s going to fix them. End of story.”
“What about after the surgery? Are you going to a rehab place?”
“I’m not planning to. They can send a home health aide here. After the first week or so, I expect I’ll start working from home.”
“I thought the recovery took six to twelve weeks.” That’s what all the websites he’d scoured had said.
His dad gave a dismissive flip of his hand. “I’ll be bored out of my mind in two days. Working will keep me occupied until I can go back to the office.” He gave him a steely look. “There was no need for you to traipse across the country for this. Who’s running your store?”
It wasn’t a store. It was a business.
But that was an argument for another day . . . or not. He’d come here to build bridges, not rehash old fights.
“I have two excellent part-time employees who are working extra hours to cover the gap while I’m gone.”
“Your staff consists of two part-timers?”
“Any more would be unnecessary overhead—and I’m there every day. It’s a lean, efficient operation.”
“I bet you work longer hours now than you did in your corporate job.”
“During the start-up, yes. Not anymore. And even when I’m working, it doesn’t feel like work. I love what I do.”
“It can’t be all that profitable.”
“It pays the bills.”
“And you’re satisfied with that?” The corners of his father’s mouth turned down.
“I had a nest egg saved from my corporate career that provides a comfortable cushion and all the security I need. Anything on top of that is gravy. I’d rather have flexibility and the leisure to enjoy what’s important in life than an extra zero on my bank balance.”
“You won’t scoff at that zero if your business ever goes under or the cushion you have gets eaten up by an emergency.”
Zach swigged his soda. Now might not be the best time to bring up what Stephanie had told him about his father and the judge—but would there ever be a good time?
Besides, his father’s comment was the perfect lead-in to the discussion he wanted to have that could lay the groundwork for the olive branch he was trying to extend.
He set the can back on the island and braced. “Aunt Stephanie and I had a long talk before I came back here.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”
“About your first job.”
Muttering a word Zach had never heard him use, his father turned away and stalked over to the sink. Twisted the knob. Rinsed his can.
Zach waited.
“She had no right to tell you that.” His voice quivered with rage. “She knows how I feel about rehashing old history.”
“In her defense, I think she hoped it would help me understand why you were so upset about what Josh and I did—and why you were always guarded with your emotions. It worked. I knew your dad’s bankruptcy had an impact on your view of security, but the judge story was enlightening. Had I known when Josh died what I know now, I may have broached my career change differently with you.”
His father swiveled toward him and crossed his arms. “Are you saying you’d have considered staying in Chicago?”
“No—but I would have tried harder to explain to you why I was doing what I was doing instead of getting mad at your reaction.”
“The outcome would have been the same. You’d still have gone off to become a barista.”
“I’m more than that, Dad.” He maintained a calm tone—with an effort. “I run a business. One that turns a healthy profit and brings joy to me and my customers. People come from miles around because of the welcoming atmosphere I’ve created.”
“You’ll never get rich.”
“I don’t care. Money doesn’t buy happiness.”
“Don’t spout pious adages to me.”
“It happens to be true. You’re rich. Are you happy?”
“Of course I’m happy. I’m exactly where I always wanted to be. What more could I want?”
“A relationship with your son?”
A subtle flinch at his quiet query gave Zach his answer, even though his father sidestepped the question.
“The breach between us wasn’t my choice.”
“Wasn’t it? You could have picked up the phone anytime and called me. I left the door open to that before I went back to Chicago after Josh’s funeral.”
“You wanted me to apologize. I’m not sorry for the way I feel about what you and your brother did. I thought it was foolish and reckless, and my opinion hasn’t changed.”
“I can accept that. But does your disapproval of my career choice have to mean we can’t have a relationship? I don’t agree with how much you’ve sacrificed for your job, but I can accept—and respect—your choice.”
His father blew out a breath. “Tonight isn’t the time for a discussion like this.”
“I know it’s not ideal—and I wish we’d had it sooner—but I don’t like unfinished business. Losing touch with you has been my one regret. I’d like to do what I can do to resolve our differences, get back on track. Life is too short to build walls that cut you off from the people you love.”
There.
He’d said the L-word.
It hung between them as the ice maker dumped a new load of frozen cubes into the holding compartment.
When his father responded, there was less animosity in his inflection. “It’s not like I’m planning to check out tomorrow, you know.”
“I’m not expecting you to either. But after we lost Josh, I learned not to take anything for granted. Can’t we establish a truce? If you won’t accept my choice, could you try to accept me? I’m your son. The only one you have left. Do we really want to spend the rest of our lives at odds?”
His father took Zach’s empty soda can and walked over to the sink. Rinsed it. Gripped the edge of the counter and looked out the window, where day was morphing to dusk, muddying the view into the distance.
In the silence, Zach focused on inhaling and exhaling.
Prayed.
If his dad rebuffed his overture . . . refused to cooperate with this last-ditch effort to reconnect . . . it was doubtful the rift between them would ever be mended.
Should that worst case come to pass, he’d find a hotel. Tomorrow, he’d go to the hospital during the surgery. Hang around Atlanta until his father was released from intensive care. Then he’d go back to his life in Oregon.
While the gulf between them would always bother him, he could take a modicum of comfort in knowing he’d done his best to bridge it.
His father remained at the window, his back to the room as he spoke. “I’m not up to a discussion tonight. Have a frozen dinner if you’re inclined. Stay in your old room if you want to save the cost of a hotel. I’ll be in my office for an hour or two. After I finish, I’m going to bed. I have to get up early.”
It wasn’t much of a concession—but it was more promising than the silent treatment . . . or being shown the door.