I knew that feeling.
I’d been doing the exact same thing for ten years.
“And then I got sick,” Greg said. “And I thought, okay. This is it. I’ll die alone in a motel and nobody will ever know. And that’s fair. That’s what I earned.”
He turned his head. Toward the doorway. Toward Nathan.
“And then my son walked out of a Speedway with two Slurpees,” he said.
His voice cracked down the middle.
Ezoic
“Ten years,” he said. “And there he was. Six foot one. My eyes. My hands. Your smile. Standing in a parking lot. And he looked at me like…” He couldn’t finish.
Ezoic
“Like what?” I asked quietly.
“Like I was still his dad,” Greg said.
Nathan came into the room.
He stood at the foot of the bed in the olive green jacket.
“You are still my dad,” he said.
