Ezoic
When his friends talked about their dads, he’d change the subject. When there was a father-son thing at school, he’d say he had a headache. When he turned thirteen, Denise’s husband, Cole’s dad, offered to take both boys fishing. Nathan said no thanks.
I thought it meant he didn’t care.
I thought he’d moved on.
I was wrong about so many things.
“It’s Dad,” Nathan said.
He was standing in my front hallway at 4:37 in the morning. In a bloody T-shirt and his father’s army jacket. Shaking.
“He’s at UK Hospital,” he said. “In the ICU. They took him in an ambulance. At midnight. He was throwing up blood. So much blood, Mom. It was everywhere. Cole and I tried to stop it. We didn’t know what to do. We called 911.”
Ezoic
I couldn’t speak.
“They wouldn’t let us stay,” Nathan said. “In the ICU. They said we’re minors. They said they needed an adult. A legal guardian. Somebody who could sign papers.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of the jacket. “And Dad doesn’t have anybody. He doesn’t have anybody but me. So the social worker said I had to go get you.”
