I didn’t argue. I wrote on my legal pad in big block letters and held it up so he could read it.
IT’S FAMILY MONEY. YOU’RE FAMILY.
He read it. His chin trembled. He looked down at his big, scarred hands, the hands that had climbed poles for thirty-eight years, and didn’t say anything.
I handed the card to the receptionist. She ran it, and the machine beeped. Approved.
There was $200 left in the account labeled MOM’S 60TH.
Out in the parking lot, Dad stopped beside my car and kept shaking his head.
“That’s your money, Kayla,” he said again, too loud. “Your and Josh’s money. You been saving it for something.”
I didn’t tell him what for. I’ve never told him. He doesn’t know to this day that the money was meant for Cindy’s cruise. I think it would break his heart, and I think he’d try to pay it back, a hundred dollars at a time out of his pension, for the rest of his life.
So I just wrote: We were saving it for something important. This is important.
He folded the page carefully, tore it off the pad, and put it in his shirt pocket.
The new hearing aids had to be ordered from the manufacturer. Dr. Nguyen said it would take three days.
Those three days were hard. I called Dad every morning and every evening by FaceTime, so he could see my face and read my lips. On Tuesday, he didn’t answer. I drove over on my lunch break, my heart in my throat, and found him in the backyard pulling weeds. He hadn’t heard the phone.
On Wednesday, the pharmacy in Ozark called his house phone to say his blood pressure prescription was ready. He didn’t hear that either. I found out because the pharmacist, a sweet woman named Gloria who’s known Dad for twenty years, called me instead.
“Kayla, honey, is your daddy okay? He didn’t pick up, and he always picks up.”
“He’s okay, Gloria. He just can’t hear right now. It’s a long story.”
That night, Josh came home from work at the John Deere dealership and found me crying at the kitchen table.
“He’s going to be okay,” Josh said, putting his arms around me. “Thursday. Just one more day.”
“It’s not just the hearing aids,” I said into his shirt. “It’s that she did this to him, and she doesn’t even care. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t texted. Nothing. She doesn’t even know if he’s okay.”
Josh held me tighter. “She called me,” he said quietly.
I pulled back. “When?”
“Yesterday. She wanted to know if we’d booked the cruise yet. Said the spring prices were dropping, and Darlene at the beauty shop had a cousin who works for a travel agency.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we’d talk Saturday. In person.” He wiped my face with his thumb. “I’m not doing it on the phone, Kayla. She’s going to look at me when I tell her.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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