Page 19 of Their Stormy Reunion

Nothing ever got past my mom. I just kept walking beside her as she headed toward the kitchen. I zeroed in on the cookie jar. She was the only woman I knew under the age of ninety who kept a cookie jar filled, and my dad and I were damned happy about it. I opened it up and saw that she had my favorites. Oatmeal chocolate chip.

I grabbed three and had taken a big bite out of one before Mom could get a plate, napkin and glass of milk shoved in front of me. I smiled. I loved being home. I finished the cookie, and I asked Mom where Dad was.

“He’s in his study. He was on the phone with Rupert last I heard.”

“So he’s going to be awhile.”

“Likely. Besides talking about our investments, you know they’re going to talk about hunting and golf.”

“Never have understood how Dad could stand playing golf.”

Mom laughed. “I hear you. I still feel guilty that he had that custom set made for me, and I’ve only used it four times.”

“You go fishing with him.”

She nodded. “That’s fun. The quiet and the sun. It’s relaxing. Plus watching your dad relax makes me happy.”

“Yeah, it seems like he’s working more since he retired.”

“It’s not that bad,” she disagreed.

I watched as she put together two ham sandwiches. By the amount of ham and cheese she loaded on them, I knew neither of them were for her.

“What about you?”

“I already had a smoothie. You take this into your dad and pull him away from his computer.”

I walked around the island and pulled two beer bottles out of the fridge, then opened them. By the time I turned around, Mom had already put the two plates onto a serving platter for me to easily carry into Dad’s office. She didn’t miss a trick.

I kissed her on her cheek again, then walked to Dad’s office and pushed in his semi-closed door with my shoulder. Dad looked up at me with a smile on his face.

“Are you happy to see me, or the food and beer?”

“It’s a toss-up.”

Dad started moving papers and folders to the side so that I could set things down.

“God bless your mother. She always knows when I need feeding.”

“Same for me.”

Dad laughed. “Anytime you show up, you need feeding.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re over thirty,” Dad scoffed.

“That’s my point.”

Dad took the two plates off the platter and set them in front of us. I handed him his beer, then pulled out a chair, sat down, and relaxed.

“What brings you over?” he asked. “Usually you come on Sundays.”

“No particular reason. Just wanted to touch base with the two of you.” I took a bite of my sandwich and thought a little more. “Actually, it might have something to do with seeing Bob Vickers so sick. Damn, Dad. The last time I was over there was a little over a year ago and he seemed just fine. Same old Bob, big and full of bluster.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard how sick he is,” Dad said after he took a pull from his beer. “Damn shame. I also heard that you helped him out the other day.”

“How’d you hear that?”