“Hello?”
“Gray Bennet?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Bunker. I manage the Dirty Dog?”
“Right.” I remember the name Frank mentioned and right away a sense of doom comes over me. Last time I spoke with Frank was last week, but he told me again he didn’t want me driving out. “Is there a problem?”
“Have you seen Frank recently?”
“I’ve talked to him. Apparently he prefers no visitors.”
“Yeah, that’s what he told me too,” the man says, sounding annoyed. “Come to find out, just now from one of his buddies, Enzo Totti, Frank is at his end stage.”
“How the hell does he know?”
“Apparently one of Frank’s nurses is his niece.”
That feeling of doom only gets heavier. I’ll admit, I hadn’t thought much about the man while I was inside, but that’s changed since he sat me down for a talk a month ago.
“I’m driving out there,” I announce, my plans changing on a dime.
“Was hoping you’d say that. Otherwise I’d have gone and you would’ve been stuck with the bar.”
That would’ve been a disaster, since I don’t have the first clue how to run a bar. Besides, I owe the old man.
“I’ll keep you up-to-date.”
“That’d be good. Give the old coot my love.”
Before I can say I will, the line goes dead and I head back to the shop.
“I thought you were leaving?” Jimmy says, poking his head up from the engine he’s working on.
“I am, but I’m going to Clare. Just got word Frank Hanson’s dying. Don’t know if I’ll be on time, but I won’t be leaving until he breathes his last.”
I know don’t have to explain to Jimmy why that is important, he seems to understand and nods right away.
“Of course. Go. Stay in touch. Do you need money?”
“I’m good. Thanks, Jimmy.”
With that, I head up the steps to my apartment where I throw an overnight bag together, remember a book and the charger for my phone, and return downstairs.
Jimmy’s waiting by my truck.
“Here. Just in case.” He slaps some money in my hand. “Makes me feel better.”
I pin him with a long hard look, before giving in with a nod. I shove the bills in my pocket, climb behind the wheel, and peel out of there.
Half an hour later, I walk into the main entrance of the one-story building and aim for the desk in the lobby. A gray-haired woman, probably in her sixties, smiles up at me when I approach.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Frank Hanson.”
She dials her smile down to a sympathetic one immediately.
“Are you family?”
Without blinking I respond, “The only one he has.”
It’s not exactly lying.
“Room seventeen, in the south wing.” She points at the hallway to the left. “Check in at the nurses’ station first.”
I can’t find a nurse, but I find Frank.
Christ.
He looks much smaller lying down. His eyes are closed and his whole face has sunken in on itself. I stand there for a moment, watching to make sure his chest is still rising.
“Sir?”
I turn to find a nurse with a stern expression on her face.
“I’m here to sit with Frank,” I announce, and stare her down. She glances past me into the room at Frank’s prone body, and then looks at me again.
“He didn’t want anyone here.”
“I know. I’m still here to sit with him.”
A faint smile breaks through as she nods.
“Don’t let him chase you off.”
“Don’t plan to.”
She gives me a little shove into the room and I take the chair beside his bed.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when his eyes blink open and stare straight at me.
“Always were a stubborn little shit,” he rasps, barely moving any air.
His fingers twitch on the bedspread, and without thinking I reach for his hand.
“Damn straight,” I tell him, folding my hand around his.
I couldn’t be there for my mother or my sister, and I sure as fuck am not going to let another person I care about die alone.
Whether he wants to or not.
Chapter Thirteen
Robin
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m already sick of winter.”
I look up to find Mom staring out the kitchen window at the snow coming down again. I can’t remember the last time we’ve had this much snow so early in the season.
She’s been a little subdued since I picked her and Paige up earlier today, and I suspect it’s the holidays affecting her more than the actual weather.
I put a hand in the middle of her back and lean in to kiss her cheek.
“Are you missing Dad?” I ask carefully.
It’s not really something we talk about often. Not anymore. Time just seems to move along, and what was at first a gaping hole, slowly fills in with everyday life.
I’m shocked when she turns to face me, the glisten of tears in her eyes.
“You know I loved your father to distraction, right?”
I drape my arm around her and give her a little squeeze.
“Of course I know.”
“I met someone,” she blurts out, and I see guilt written all over her face.
I ignore the small pang of hurt and smile at her encouragingly. Inside me a battle rages between the selfish need to hang on to that perfect memory of my parents’ love, and my mother’s happiness.
“That’s wonderful,” I force my lips to form.
“He is,” she mumbles, returning her gaze to the softly falling snow. “He moved in two doors down, the week I stayed with Paige in New Jersey. He helped me with my suitcase when I got home. We bumped into each other a few times, and one day last month he gave me a hand with my groceries and stayed for dinner.”
“Tell me about him,” I encourage her.
She faces me again and I see a little blush high on her cheeks.
“His name is Ken. He recently retired from the police force and wants to travel. With me,” she adds hesitantly.
I swallow down the knee-jerk ‘mom’ speech I want to give her, remembering just in time this is the woman
