The Summer I Learned to Dive

Chapter 20

We swam in the pool until our skins became like prunes. Swimming helped me take my mind off things. That was what I had wanted, to forget everything that I had learned in the last twenty-four hours.

Jesse drove us back to his house around four o’clock in the morning. The sun would be up soon, which meant it would be another day. I needed to see my grandfather, to find out why he and Nana lied to me about my dad. There was so much that was still a mystery to me.

We sat on his couch watching TV. He instantly fell asleep. I couldn’t. Too much had happened in one day and I was still overwrought with anxiety, feeling a mixture of emotions. I watched him as he lay there, so peaceful. His hair still wet from swimming. I brushed a few loose strands away from his face. He made a brief noise and then moved his entire body, shifting to find the perfect position. I closed my eyes, never really fully falling asleep. So many thoughts ran through my head. I couldn’t concentrate, let alone give my body the chance to relax, to find solace even for a few hours.

Learning that my mom had lied to me about my father devastated me. Trusting her again would be nearly impossible. And knowing that my father left me was difficult to digest. He didn’t want me. I wondered how long it would take for me to accept that fact. Knowing that he was alive made me curious about him, more than I had been before. I wanted to know who he was and why he left.

***

“Are you ready?” Jesse asked staring at me. We sat in his car in front of the hospital.

“I guess so,” I said. I wanted to go see my grandfather. I had unanswered questions. If they knew my father was alive, why didn’t they tell me? And they had to know where he was, he was their son. I sighed heavily.

“You’ll be fine. You need to see him,” he said. He placed his hand on top of mine.

“That’s not the problem. I want to see him. I just…” I didn’t finish my sentence, afraid I’d start crying.

“I understand. If I were in your shoes, I would want to know why, too.” He reached over and hugged me tightly. “Call me if you need me,” he whispered in my ear. I kissed him quickly on the lips and got out of the car walking toward the hospital entrance.

He had his own room now. They had moved him from the Intensive Care Unit, which was a promising sign that he would recover. I knocked on the door before I entered not waiting for a response. I walked in hesitantly. Nana was knitting a red scarf sitting in an ugly vinyl green chair. Hospital décor is the worst. The pastel colors they use to make patients and their families feel happier in reality, just make them feel nauseated.

“Finn,” she said putting down her needles and yarn. She smiled broadly, happy to see me, as if it had been a long time. It felt that way. I walked over to her and hugged her. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered in my ear.

I let go of her and looked at my grandfather. Tubes still ran in and out of his body but his complexion had more color and there was a hint of rose in his cheeks. Even though he was recovering, his gigantic body appeared helpless stretched out on the hospital bed hooked up to machinery that was supposed to make him better. It pained me to look at him in this condition. I wondered if he would ever be the same.

“I guess you’re mad at us,” he said, his voice raspy.

“I…” I began unable to find the right words to convey what I was feeling. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t be cruel to him, not in his state. It would be unforgivable. As confused and hurt as I was releasing my anger at him would not make the truth go away. The fact was my father was alive somewhere and didn’t want me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

He took a deep, painful sounding breath. His chest rattled. He coughed a loud, hacking cough. Nana grabbed a cup of water and gently placed it up to his lips. He sipped it slowly, and then licked his lips. I felt guilty, remorse for having any sense of anger that I had when I had come into that room. At that very moment, I realized how little I knew and it was very discomforting.

“I’m sorry we lied to you,” he started, but I interrupted him.

“Please don’t apologize. You had your reasons,” I said.

He put his hand up, still bruised from the tube that had been inserted days ago.

“Let him talk, Finn,” Nana said.

He patted the bed, gesturing for me to sit down next to him. I complied and sat down, looking at his face, his pained expression.

“All this time, we never realized that your mother had told you that your father had died. We tried to get in touch with her for years, to tell her what had happened to him, but she wouldn’t speak to us, she wouldn’t answer our letters.” He coughed. I winced from the sound of it. He cleared his throat and continued, “It’s not entirely her fault. She didn’t read the letters until a few days ago. She thought Pete just left her. She didn’t know. We didn’t know how to tell you the truth. It felt wrong to lie to you, to let you continue believing that he was dead, when in fact he was alive but there never seemed to be the right time to tell you the truth. We were going to tell you that night, but I had a heart attack and that put things on hold.” He forced a smile but I couldn’t see the humor in his statement. Nana placed the cup of water to his chapped lips, he sipped slowly and then looked back at me. “We were afraid of losing you again, afraid that you would resent us for lying to you. I lost a son, I didn’t want to lose you, too, when I had just gotten you back,” he said, his voice hoarse. I looked at him confused. He read my expression. “Your father is alive, but he’ll never be completely the same.”

“I don’t understand,” I looked at them both trying to comprehend what he was saying.

“Your father was the light of our lives. We tried having other kids, and couldn’t, which made him all the more precious,” Nana said. “He was just as we described him to you. He was naturally talented at everything—sports, music, cooking—he could do it all. And people loved him. He was the life of the party and was beloved by anyone who came into contact with him. But things started to change.” She frowned.

“What happened to him?” I asked again, this time more frustrated because I was aching to know.

“We didn’t know what was happening to him. Your mother said he was acting strange. He was buying stuff they couldn’t afford. And he was becoming so reckless. His behavior was erratic. We had to bail him out of jail for drunk driving. We thought he had become addicted to drugs. He would have these highs and lows, and things he was saying didn’t make sense. We just didn’t know,” Nana said. She wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I still don’t understand,” I said. I could feel the tears forming.

“Your father left one day. We had no idea where he went or why he had gone. He loved your mother and you more than life itself, it didn’t make sense. We searched high and low for him, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together,” my grandfather said. He looked at me and held onto my hand. He continued, “We thought the worst, that he was lying dead in the middle of nowhere from a drug overdose.” He shook his head and frowned. “Your mother wasn’t the same and blamed us. She left Graceville, taking you with her. It was the darkest of times for us.” He reflected quietly for a moment and then said, “We never gave up searching, though. A part of us hoped that he was alive, that he would come back.”

“Where is he?” I asked looking desperately into his eyes.

He continued. “About two years later, we got a call from the sheriff in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Your father had been caught shoplifting and was arrested. The sheriff knew me and put two and two together, realizing he was my son. He called us. We drove up there as fast as we could, desperate to see him. When we got there, he didn’t look the same. He had lost a considerable amount of weight. He was so frail and he had let his hair grow. He wasn’t the same man we had raised.”

“What was wrong with him?” I asked again, this time more agitated. I wanted to him to tell me. But I had to be patient. I needed to hear him out, to listen to what he had to say to me.

My grandfather took a deep breath. “When we left the police station, we immediately went to the hospital. We thought he needed to be in rehab. Our instincts were wrong. What he needed was professional help and medication. You see,” he looked at me his tone even more serious, his eyes staring into mine, “your father suffers from bipolar disorder. All of his behavior was the result of his disease. He was sick.” A single tear trickled down his wrinkled face.

“Is he still sick?” I asked quietly.

He nodded his head and frowned. “He’s much better, but his disease will never go away. It’s permanently with him. As long as he is on his medication, though, he is stabilized and can live a mostly normal life.”

“Where is he now?” I asked. “I want to meet him. Does he know I’m here?” And then I asked quietly, “Does he want to meet me?”

“He knows you’re here. He’s,” he started hesitantly. “He wants to meet you, he’s afraid though.”

“Why?” I asked even though I knew the answer to his question. He was afraid I would reject him. My grandfather didn’t answer me. He waited for me to say something. I finally opened my mouth again, feeling courageous. “I want to meet him,” I said resolutely.

“Are you sure?” Nana asked her face disconcerted.

“I’m positive and you both need to let me do this on my own,” I said. They looked at each other, their expressions readable. “I mean it,” I added.

“It won’t be easy for you,” she said.

“No,” I sighed and looked down and then back at them. “I don’t expect it to be. But if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it and I can’t live my life like that.” I stood up and walked over to the window. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and sniffled.

“I was wrong,” Grandpa said.

“About what?” I asked him, turning my head in his direction.

“We should have told you from the beginning. You could have handled it. You’re grown, Finn,” he said quietly.

I didn’t respond. A part of me wanted to run in the other direction, back to my childhood where things had been carefully out for me. My mother had tried to protect me from the truth. But in reality, it held me back. It kept me from discovering the gritty and ugly things in life—all that was real. With the beautiful things I had discovered this summer, like loving and being loved, there was also the ugly truth that there was no such thing as perfect. If that meant living, really living, then I had to accept the good with the bad.