“You called me because your kid needs a stuffed animal?”
“Not just that.”
Aaron sounded different.
Wade heard it.
Fear beneath the joke.
“What?”
“Come sit with her.”
“No.”
“Bear.”
“No.”
“You’ve avoided meeting her for eight years.”
“That’s worked.”
“For you.”
Wade stood.
“Don’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Aaron exhaled.
“Room 417.”
Wade said nothing.
Aaron continued.
“She already knows you.”
“No, she knows lies you told about me.”
“She knows stories.”
“She calls you Uncle Bear.”
Wade closed his eyes.
He hated that.
Loved it.
Hated loving it.
“Aaron.”
“Just one hour.”
“I’ll get Patches.”
“Come back.”
“You can leave.”
Wade looked toward the garage door.
Snow had begun sticking to the parking lot.
“Why tonight?”
Aaron did not answer quickly enough.
Wade became still.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Aaron.”
“I updated the guardianship documents.”
Wade’s entire body tightened.
“No.”
“You agreed years ago.”
“I was drunk when I agreed.”
“You were eighteen.”
“Same thing.”
Aaron laughed once.
Then coughed.
Wade heard movement.
Hospital sounds.
“Listen.”
Aaron’s voice lowered.
“My sister can’t take her.”
“You know that.”
“My parents are dead.”
“Her mom’s parents are gone.”
“I don’t have twenty relatives hidden somewhere.”
Wade gripped the workbench.
“I’m not a parent.”
“You were.”
The words struck.
Hard.
Wade’s face changed.
Aaron immediately said:
“I’m sorry.”
“Go to hell.”
“Bear.”
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
Wade looked toward the framed photograph mounted above the toolbox.
He almost never looked directly at it.
A woman with red hair.
A little girl missing one front tooth.
A younger Wade, still large but less weathered, holding both.
Rebecca.
Maya.
Dead twelve years.
Wade turned away.
Aaron continued.
“You were a good father.”
“Stop.”
“You were.”
“I said stop.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Wade ended the call.
He stood motionless for perhaps thirty seconds.
Then the phone rang again.
He ignored it.
A message arrived.
AARON: I’m sorry.
Then:
AARON: Please go sit with her.
Wade stared.
Another message.
AARON: One hour. That’s all I’m asking.
Wade grabbed his leather vest.
The club president looked up from the card table.
“Where you going?”
“Hospital.”
The room changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”