Recovering Charles by Jason F. Wright Read Free Book Online

know you do.” I finished my pickle. “I should call him back, at least to tell him I can’t make it. That’s the right thing to do.”
    “You’re serious?”
    “Of course.”
    “You’re not going to go look for your father? You’re not
interested? Curious? He could be alive somewhere. He could be looking for you.”
    “Jordy, he’s got my cell. He’d call.”
    “Unless he’s in trouble.”
    I shook my empty soda cup and reached across to grab hers.
    “Luke, you’re right, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry I keep pushing.”
    I drank her soda until the straw pulled up the final noisy drops. “I just . . . I just don’t know what I’d gain by going on an expedition. If he was in New Orleans when the storm hit, and if his friends haven’t seen or heard from him, he’s probably gone. And I’m OK with that. I know his heart was good, even though we’d drifted apart. There were no hard feelings between us the last time we spoke. No regrets.” I said the words hoping they’d feel true. They didn’t.
    “Then I support you. Whatever is best for you. I’m all in.”
    ~ ~
     
    All in. I remember the first time I heard Dad say those words. Dad’s friend Kaiser suggested a poker night during the holidays the year Grandma died. He showed up with five or six guys from the firm and a pack of brand-new cards from Caesars Palace he’d picked up on a business trip to Vegas. That first night they sat around a table in the basement drinking beer and playing Texas Hold’em. I was supposed to be glued to a movie on the huge rear-projection TV dad had bought, but poker and its strategies fascinated me. Probably more than that, I just liked hearing Dad laugh.
    That night became the first of many poker nights. It didn’t take long at all for Dad to purchase a real poker table. He also bought a special table for the cashier, real poker chips, a silly dealer’s visor, and an expensive safe to put the cash in.
    He said it wasn’t complete until he built the bar in the basement to go with it.
    Sometimes I watched. Sometimes Dad had his guys play a round with pretzel sticks so I could sit in. Mom didn’t seem to mind when I asked her what she thought about it. She didn’t mind much of anything.
    Dad’s group played every Friday night. And though Dad didn’t always win, they always played in his basement where he could keep an eye on Mom and be there if she needed him.
    Dad was lonely during Mom’s final year, but he was also resolute that she’d survive and break her addictions. He prayed for her as she shuffled in a slow circuit from her bed to the refrigerator to the couch in the living room to the medicine cabinet and back to bed. He prayed she would feel better, sleep better, be in a better mood when she woke from her daylong naps. He prayed her mood swings would ease.
    He prayed he could save her.
    Sadly, I don’t think Mom ever grasped just how lonely Dad had become without her.
    On rare occasions, Mom could be talked into dinner out or a Sunday drive, but I think she did it to appease us more than the chance to breathe fresh air or remind herself what Fort Worth looked like. We dragged her to a couple of Dallas Mavericks
basketball games—which she didn’t pretend to enjoy—and a movie or two.
    And Dad kept asking, even though she stopped saying yes.
    “I’ll never stop asking, sweetheart, because I love you.”
    “I know, Charles, I know. But let me sleep now. I’m exhausted.”
    “How about a trip up north? Oklahoma City next week?”
    “You’ve got to work, Charles.”
    “I could take a few more days.”
    “You’ve already taken weeks, Charles. Maybe next month. I’ll go next month.”
    She didn’t.
    “Sweetheart, you up for breakfast out? Pancakes? Waffle House? Maybe we could stop by the nursery after and you could help me pick some new plants for around the fountain in the front.”
    “No thanks, Charles. You and Luke go. Bring me back something to eat.”
    “Next time,