by Gary Duehr
Jack is talking on his cellphone to his dad while Jack is driving in a heavy rain back from New York to Boston, his dad is anxious, asking in a raspy voice if he should have an operation to his colon that could maybe save his life and otherwise it's only weeks or months; his dad is calling from the ER at St Joe's back home in Joliet where Jack's mom has taken him when sharp, stabbing pains had made him double over in his armchair; in the dusk the rain is blotting out the windshield while Jack is somewhere in Connecticut, so he pulls over on the shoulder and starts the hazards blinking, the downpour pounding on the Camry's roof, he clamps the cellphone to his ear and asks his dad what Mother thinks that he should do, then there's a breathy pause while headlights scissor past, and Jack imagines that his dad's pale feet are poking out from light blue sheets, the curtains in his bay just barely leaving room for Mom to sit beside him, then Mom comes on the line Hello, Hi Mom says Jack, are you ok?, and Mom says that she's fine, and Jack asks if Dad is in much pain, and Mom says no, they've given him a drip that's calmed him down, she was a nurse for 40 years right at St. Joe's, and Jack asks Mom if Dad should have the operation, and Mom says Well, it's hard to say, the doctors are unsure if it will work or what recovery will be like, and you know Dad is stubborn—Oh wait, he wants to speak to you again, and Jack imagines how his dad is gesturing impatiently, his face getting red; the line goes quiet, the other cars are whooshing past and throwing swaths of water with a thud against the car doors, then Dad is back, Hey Jack, what should I do, his voice is smoother now and liquid like he's half asleep, and Jack feels bad that he's not there, he's been down in New York for a couple days while Meg, his wife, holds down the fort with their two kids, and they have tickets in a month to fly home to Chicago for a visit, should he rebook that trip and pull the kids from school so they can all be there, or maybe he should fly out first thing in the morning, but he knows Fran his sister's there in town with them, where she has helped them out for years, and he can call her in a little while to get her take on things, but now his dad is waiting for an answer, and Jack says Yeah, I think that you should do it, Dad, it's your best shot, and we'll be out there soon to see you, it will all work out—it's gotten dark so Jack puts on the overhead and feels like he is in a tiny bubble all lit up, the ocean out there somewhere, some blinking lights of towns off to the east—and Jack can hear his voice get softer as he tries to make his dad believe it's all ok and make himself believe it too, the way his dad has always insisted everyone make up after a fight and say they're happy, they're ok, like Jack is telling him a bedtime story and getting sleepy too, that Mom will stay there with him, and Fran will be there in the morning, and Meg and I will come out in a couple weeks to see you with the kids, and we'll all go out to Steak and Shake because that's where we always go for thick vanilla shakes and salty fries and Jack confesses that he loves how his two kids have come to crave them too and cry for Steaky Shake as soon as we can make out Joliet's smokestacks from Highway 55, belching spurts of flame into the sky.
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