Going back and forth, the two of us argued about me taking the books for free, but I wouldn’t let up. Mr. Henson ultimately folded.
“And this is why I stick to my men. Women are too much like me. Come back in another day and I’ll give you a free tarot reading.”
I smiled. “That sounds like fun.”
He stood up and walked toward the storage room. “Tristan, ring her up, will you?” He turned to me and gave a slight nod before he disappeared into the back.
Tristan went to the cash register, and I followed.
I slowly laid the books on the counter. My eyes moved to the tan and black photos of the forest framed against the wall behind me. “Beautiful,” I said, staring at the pictures.
Tristan punched in made-up numbers for the books. “Thanks.”
“You took these?”
“No,” he said, glancing at the pictures. “I carved them out of wood then added the black ink.”
My mouth hung open in disbelief, and I moved closer. The closer I looked, the more I could tell that the ‘photos’ were actually wood carvings.
“Beautiful,” I muttered again. When my eyes locked with his, my stomach twisted with nerves. “Hi,” I repeated, this time with a sigh. “How are you?”
He rang my items up, ignoring my question. “Are you going to fucking pay or what?”
I frowned, but he didn’t seem to care. “I’m sorry. Yes. Here you go,” I said, handing him the money. I thanked him, and before I walked out of the store, I looked at him once more. “You act like such a jerk all the time, and the town only knows you as this callous man, but I saw you in the waiting room when you found out that Zeus was going to be okay. I saw you break down. I know you’re not a monster, Tristan. I just don’t understand why you pretend to be.”
“That’s your biggest mistake.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Pretending for a second that you know any damn thing about me.”
Chapter Seven
Tristan
April 2nd, 2014
Five Days Until Goodbye
When the taxi dropped Dad and me off at the hospital, I ran all the way to the emergency room. My eyes darted around the space, searching for something, someone familiar. “Mom,” I shouted, making her look up from the waiting room. I took off my baseball cap and hurried toward her.
“Oh, honey,” she cried, rushing to wrap her arms around me.
“How are they? How are…?”
Mom started sobbing harder, her body trembling. “Jamie…Jamie’s gone, Tristan. She was holding on for so long, but it was too much.”
I pulled away and pinched the bridge of my nose. “What do you mean gone? She’s not gone. She’s fine.” My eyes moved to Dad’s stare, who was shocked. Confused. Hurt. “Dad, tell her. Tell her that Jams is fine.”
He lowered his head.
My insides were set on fire.
“Charlie?” I asked, almost sure I didn’t want to know the answer.
“He’s in intensive care. He’s not doing great, but he’s—”
“Here. He’s here.” I ran my fingers through my hair. He was okay. “Can I see him?” I asked. She nodded. I hurried over to the nurses’ station and they took me to Charlie’s room. My hand wrapped around my mouth as I stared at my little boy, hooked up to more machines than I’d ever thought possible. A tube was down his throat, IVs ran through his arms, and his face was bruised and battered. “Jesus…” I muttered.
The nurse gave me a wary smile. “You can hold his hand.”
“Why the tube? W-w-why is there a tube down his throat?” I stuttered, my mind trying to stay with Charlie, but the truth of Jamie was slowly creeping in. Jamie’s gone, Mom said. She was gone. But how? How could she be gone?
“During the car accident, his left lung collapsed, and he’s been having a hard time taking in air and breathing. It’s to help him breathe.”
“He’s not breathing on his own?”
She shook her head.
“Will he be okay?” I asked, staring into the nurse’s eyes and seeing her guilt.
“I’m not his doctor. Only they can—”
"But you can tell me, can’t you? If you were me, and you’d just lost your wife—” The words forced emotion out of me and I choked it back down. “If that little boy was all you had, and you were all he had left, you would want to know how much hope there was, right? You would beg for someone to tell you what to do. How to act. What would you do?”
“Sir—”
“Please,” I begged. “Please.”
Her eyes faltered to the ground before she met my stare. “I would hold his hand.”