Every Breath
Page 29
“I see” was all Tru could think to say.
“I’d also like to apologize for not setting you up with a rental car instead of having a driver pick you up. It might have been more convenient for you.”
“It didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have known where to go. You said you were in the ICU?”
“I was released from the hospital yesterday. My kids tried to talk me out of coming, but I couldn’t miss this chance to meet you.”
“Would you like to sit?” Tru asked.
“I think I probably should.”
They crossed to the dining room table and Harry seemed to collapse into a chair. In the gray light streaming through the windows, he looked even more depleted than when he’d arrived.
Tru took a seat beside him. “May I ask why you were in the ICU?”
“Lung cancer. Stage four.”
“I don’t know much about cancer.”
“It’s terminal,” Harry said. “The doctors give me a couple of months, maybe less. Maybe a little more. It’s in God’s hands, I suppose. I’ve known since the spring.”
Tru felt a twinge of sadness at that, though it was the kind associated with learning bad news about a stranger, not family. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Appreciated,” he said. Despite the information he’d shared, Harry smiled. “I don’t have any regrets. I’ve had a good life, and unlike a lot of people, I’ve been given the chance to say goodbye. Or even, in your case, hello.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and coughed into it. When he finished, he took a couple of labored, wet-sounding breaths. “I want to thank you for making the trip here,” he added. “When I sent the ticket, I wasn’t sure you would agree to come.”
“Initially, I wasn’t, either.”
“But you were curious.”
“Yes,” Tru admitted.
“I was, too,” he said. “Ever since I learned that you existed. I didn’t know about you until last year.”
“And yet you waited to meet me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to complicate your life. Or mine.”
It was an honest answer, but Tru wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
“How did you find out about me?”
“That’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Frank Jessup, a man I knew from way back, happened to be in town. I hadn’t seen him in almost forty years, but we’d kept in minimal contact since then. Christmas cards, the occasional letter, but no more than that. Anyway, when we were having lunch, he made a reference to your mother, and mentioned that there were rumors she’d had a son less than a year after I left the country. He didn’t say it was mine, but I think he wondered about it. After the conversation, I wondered, too, so I hired an investigator and he went to work. Which took time. There are still a lot of people afraid to speak about your grandfather, even though he’s not around any longer, and we both know the country has gone to hell, so records are sketchy. But long story short, the guy was good and I eventually sent someone to the lodge in Hwange. He took photographs of you, and when I saw them, I knew right away. You have my eyes, but you got your facial structure from your mother.”
Harry turned toward the window, letting the silence hang. Tru thought about something the man had said only moments before.
“What did you mean when you said that you didn’t want to complicate my life?” Tru asked.
It was a few beats before his father answered.
“People talk about truth like it’s the solution to all of life’s problems. I’ve been around long enough to know that isn’t the case, and that sometimes truth can do more harm than good.”
Tru said nothing. He knew his father was building to a point.
“That’s what I’ve been considering. Ever since I realized that you’d agreed to come, I’ve been asking myself the question of how much I should tell you. There are some…aspects to the past that might be painful for you, and parts that, in retrospect, you might wish I hadn’t told you. So I suppose what I say next is up to you. Do you want the whole truth, or selected parts of it? Remember, though, I’m not the one who’s going to live with the knowledge for years to come. My regrets will be much more short-lived. For obvious reasons.”
Tru brought his hands together, considering the question. The opaque references and careful phrasing made him curious, but the warning gave him pause. How much did he really want to know? Instead of answering right away, he rose from the table.
“I’m getting some water. Would you like a glass?”
“I’ll have hot tea, if it’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Tru said. He found a teakettle in one of the cabinets, filled it with water, and set it on the burner. In yet another cabinet he found packets of tea. He filled his glass with water, took a drink, then refilled it. It didn’t take long for the kettle to whistle, and he prepared the cup and brought it to the table. He took his seat again.
Through all of that, his father said nothing. Like Tru, the man didn’t seem inclined to fill the silence with small talk. Interesting.
“Have you made up your mind yet?” his father asked.
“No,” Tru answered.
“Is there anything you do want to know?”
I want to know about my mother, he thought again. But sitting beside the old man at the table led to an entirely different question instead.
“First, tell me about you,” he said.
His father scratched at an age spot on his cheek. “All right,” he said. “I was born in 1914, in Colorado, in a sod house, if you can believe that. Three older sisters. In my teens, the Depression hit and times were tough, but my mother was a teacher, and she always stressed education. I went to the University of Colorado, and picked up a couple of degrees. After that, I joined the army. I think I mentioned in my letter that I was in the Corps of Engineers, right?”
Tru nodded.
“At first, most of my work was stateside, but then the war came. I spent time in North Africa, Italy, and then finally Europe. Mainly demolition at first, but by late 1944 and the spring of 1945, it was primarily bridge building, under Montgomery. The Allies were moving quickly into Germany by then, and there were a lot of water barriers, including the Rhine. Anyway, throughout the war, I grew friendly with one of the engineers from the British side. He’d grown up in Rhodesia and had a lot of contacts. He told me about the mining and the minerals, just waiting to be tapped, so after the war, I followed him there. He helped me find a job at the Bushtick mine. I worked there for a few years and met your mother.”
He took a sip of tea, but Tru knew he was also debating how much to say.
“After that, I returned to the States. I went to work for Exxon, and met my wife, Lucy, at the company Christmas party. She was the sister of one of the executives, and we hit it off. Started dating, got married, had children. I worked in a lot of different countries over the years, some safe, others not so much. Lucy and the kids either joined me there or stayed in the States while I did my time overseas. The perfect company family, so to speak, which aided my career. I rose through the ranks and worked there right up until retirement. Finished as one of the vice presidents and made a fortune along the way. We moved to North Carolina eleven years ago. Lucy had grown up here and wanted to go home.”
Tru scrutinized him, thinking of the new family—and life—that his father had created after his time in Africa. “How many children did you have?”
“Three. Two boys and a girl. All of them now in their thirties. My wife and I will celebrate forty years this November. If I make it that long.”
Tru took a sip of water. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”
“I think I have a pretty good idea about you. The investigator filled me in.”
“So you know I have a son. Your grandson.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any desire to meet him?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But it’s probably not a good idea. I’m a stranger and I’m dying. I don’t see how it would do him any good.”
“I’d also like to apologize for not setting you up with a rental car instead of having a driver pick you up. It might have been more convenient for you.”
“It didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have known where to go. You said you were in the ICU?”
“I was released from the hospital yesterday. My kids tried to talk me out of coming, but I couldn’t miss this chance to meet you.”
“Would you like to sit?” Tru asked.
“I think I probably should.”
They crossed to the dining room table and Harry seemed to collapse into a chair. In the gray light streaming through the windows, he looked even more depleted than when he’d arrived.
Tru took a seat beside him. “May I ask why you were in the ICU?”
“Lung cancer. Stage four.”
“I don’t know much about cancer.”
“It’s terminal,” Harry said. “The doctors give me a couple of months, maybe less. Maybe a little more. It’s in God’s hands, I suppose. I’ve known since the spring.”
Tru felt a twinge of sadness at that, though it was the kind associated with learning bad news about a stranger, not family. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Appreciated,” he said. Despite the information he’d shared, Harry smiled. “I don’t have any regrets. I’ve had a good life, and unlike a lot of people, I’ve been given the chance to say goodbye. Or even, in your case, hello.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and coughed into it. When he finished, he took a couple of labored, wet-sounding breaths. “I want to thank you for making the trip here,” he added. “When I sent the ticket, I wasn’t sure you would agree to come.”
“Initially, I wasn’t, either.”
“But you were curious.”
“Yes,” Tru admitted.
“I was, too,” he said. “Ever since I learned that you existed. I didn’t know about you until last year.”
“And yet you waited to meet me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to complicate your life. Or mine.”
It was an honest answer, but Tru wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
“How did you find out about me?”
“That’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Frank Jessup, a man I knew from way back, happened to be in town. I hadn’t seen him in almost forty years, but we’d kept in minimal contact since then. Christmas cards, the occasional letter, but no more than that. Anyway, when we were having lunch, he made a reference to your mother, and mentioned that there were rumors she’d had a son less than a year after I left the country. He didn’t say it was mine, but I think he wondered about it. After the conversation, I wondered, too, so I hired an investigator and he went to work. Which took time. There are still a lot of people afraid to speak about your grandfather, even though he’s not around any longer, and we both know the country has gone to hell, so records are sketchy. But long story short, the guy was good and I eventually sent someone to the lodge in Hwange. He took photographs of you, and when I saw them, I knew right away. You have my eyes, but you got your facial structure from your mother.”
Harry turned toward the window, letting the silence hang. Tru thought about something the man had said only moments before.
“What did you mean when you said that you didn’t want to complicate my life?” Tru asked.
It was a few beats before his father answered.
“People talk about truth like it’s the solution to all of life’s problems. I’ve been around long enough to know that isn’t the case, and that sometimes truth can do more harm than good.”
Tru said nothing. He knew his father was building to a point.
“That’s what I’ve been considering. Ever since I realized that you’d agreed to come, I’ve been asking myself the question of how much I should tell you. There are some…aspects to the past that might be painful for you, and parts that, in retrospect, you might wish I hadn’t told you. So I suppose what I say next is up to you. Do you want the whole truth, or selected parts of it? Remember, though, I’m not the one who’s going to live with the knowledge for years to come. My regrets will be much more short-lived. For obvious reasons.”
Tru brought his hands together, considering the question. The opaque references and careful phrasing made him curious, but the warning gave him pause. How much did he really want to know? Instead of answering right away, he rose from the table.
“I’m getting some water. Would you like a glass?”
“I’ll have hot tea, if it’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Tru said. He found a teakettle in one of the cabinets, filled it with water, and set it on the burner. In yet another cabinet he found packets of tea. He filled his glass with water, took a drink, then refilled it. It didn’t take long for the kettle to whistle, and he prepared the cup and brought it to the table. He took his seat again.
Through all of that, his father said nothing. Like Tru, the man didn’t seem inclined to fill the silence with small talk. Interesting.
“Have you made up your mind yet?” his father asked.
“No,” Tru answered.
“Is there anything you do want to know?”
I want to know about my mother, he thought again. But sitting beside the old man at the table led to an entirely different question instead.
“First, tell me about you,” he said.
His father scratched at an age spot on his cheek. “All right,” he said. “I was born in 1914, in Colorado, in a sod house, if you can believe that. Three older sisters. In my teens, the Depression hit and times were tough, but my mother was a teacher, and she always stressed education. I went to the University of Colorado, and picked up a couple of degrees. After that, I joined the army. I think I mentioned in my letter that I was in the Corps of Engineers, right?”
Tru nodded.
“At first, most of my work was stateside, but then the war came. I spent time in North Africa, Italy, and then finally Europe. Mainly demolition at first, but by late 1944 and the spring of 1945, it was primarily bridge building, under Montgomery. The Allies were moving quickly into Germany by then, and there were a lot of water barriers, including the Rhine. Anyway, throughout the war, I grew friendly with one of the engineers from the British side. He’d grown up in Rhodesia and had a lot of contacts. He told me about the mining and the minerals, just waiting to be tapped, so after the war, I followed him there. He helped me find a job at the Bushtick mine. I worked there for a few years and met your mother.”
He took a sip of tea, but Tru knew he was also debating how much to say.
“After that, I returned to the States. I went to work for Exxon, and met my wife, Lucy, at the company Christmas party. She was the sister of one of the executives, and we hit it off. Started dating, got married, had children. I worked in a lot of different countries over the years, some safe, others not so much. Lucy and the kids either joined me there or stayed in the States while I did my time overseas. The perfect company family, so to speak, which aided my career. I rose through the ranks and worked there right up until retirement. Finished as one of the vice presidents and made a fortune along the way. We moved to North Carolina eleven years ago. Lucy had grown up here and wanted to go home.”
Tru scrutinized him, thinking of the new family—and life—that his father had created after his time in Africa. “How many children did you have?”
“Three. Two boys and a girl. All of them now in their thirties. My wife and I will celebrate forty years this November. If I make it that long.”
Tru took a sip of water. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”
“I think I have a pretty good idea about you. The investigator filled me in.”
“So you know I have a son. Your grandson.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any desire to meet him?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But it’s probably not a good idea. I’m a stranger and I’m dying. I don’t see how it would do him any good.”
