“Come in,” James’s voice was barely audible.
Quinn opened the door and stepped into the room. His father sat behind the desk, elbows resting on its top, hands clasped before his mouth. James looked at him and then away, his gaze finding the window and lingering there.
“You didn’t finish supper,” Quinn said, stopping behind the chair in front of the desk.
“Not hungry anymore.” James coughed again and cleared his throat. “Is everyone done?”
“Yeah. You want me to bring in your wine?”
“No, no that’s okay.”
The silence stretched out between them, Quinn studying the floor and letting what he needed to say build until it boiled within him. He would just say it, get it out into the open and then it would be done, like lancing an infected wound.
“I’m sorry for keeping you here, son. For holding you back.”
Quinn’s jaw worked for a second without saying anything.
“It’s okay. I understand why you did it.”
“I don’t think you do, but maybe someday you will. When you have a son or daughter of your own, then you’ll know and maybe you’ll be able to forgive me.”
“Forgive you? You’ve taken care of me. You’ve given me everything I need.”
“No, not everything. I’ve failed miserably there. I always thought that if I could fix the burden you were born with, change the hand you were dealt, then I could justify it, but I can’t. The last years have taught me that.”
Say it, tell him now.
“Dad, you don’t have to-”
“I do. I need to. Everything is…” James shook his head and looked out the window again. His face was glazed in sweat and there were dark circles beneath his eyes that Quinn hadn’t noticed before dinner. “…everything is wrong,” he finished in a whisper.
Quinn fidgeted with the loose stitching on the chair’s back, tugging it one way and then another as if it were the seam holding back the words.
“I’m sorry, you wanted to tell me something,” James said, turning back to him. “You mentioned it before dinner.”
Quinn bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes before shaking his head.
“It’s nothing. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m tired and I’m sure you are too.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Don’t forget what you wanted to talk about.”
“I won’t.”
As Quinn neared the door, James coughed, harder this time, a short wheeze accompanying the sound like there was something caught deep in his lungs parting the air.
“Are you okay, dad?”
“Never better. Just need some sleep, I’ll be fine in the morning.” He smiled tightly, and Quinn nodded once before closing the door.
But in the morning he was worse.
Chapter 4
The Beginning
“He’s got a fever.”
Teresa stood outside his father’s door, one hand on the knob as if keeping him from going inside.
“Is he okay?” Quinn asked, shifting his gaze from her to the door and back.
“He’s going to be fine. His temp is only at a hundred. He must’ve picked a bug up while he was traveling. He had to take a public flight instead of the jet since it was being maintenanced. Those airports are cesspools of germs if you ask me.”
A rasping cough came from behind the door that trailed off into a wheeze.
“Should we have Graham or Foster take him in to the hospital?”
“I already asked him and he says he won’t go. Stubborn as ever.”
“How about having a doctor come here?”
Teresa lowered her voice. “I was thinking the same thing. If the fever hasn’t broken or is worse by this afternoon, we’ll call the clinic and either have an ambulance come get him or we’ll call his old physician in Portland.”
Quinn had to smile. “Doctor Kain? Dad hates him.”
“I know, but he’s the only physician I know of that makes house calls.”