Will It Ever Be Well?

Sneak Peek

September 1983

Nod, Illinois

Why is Dad home from work so early?

His car sat in the driveway when I arrived from school, so I parked on the street to avoid blocking him. The back of my parents’ heads showed through the picture window as I neared the house—Mom’s hair graying, Dad’s thinning.

I hesitated before opening the screen door.

“What’s going on?”

I caught the door with the toe of my shoe, so it wouldn’t slam—something my parents had reminded me about for eighteen years.

They startled and sat up straighter.

“You two look like you need a chaperone.”

Silence.

Mom picked at her hose. “Your dad saw a doctor.”

My eyes shifted to Dad as she continued.

“He has an enlarged spleen.”

Not good. I dropped my gym bag and leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

Dad ran his hands over his knees. “Well, it might be a number of things.”

Mom rested her hand on his.

I waited, but they only looked at each other. “Remember, I graduate in eight months. You don’t need to hide things from me.”

They nodded.

I swallowed and took a breath. “It’s not cancer, is it?”

Dad cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “They’re running tests.”

Mom reached for a piece of paper on the coffee table. A chipper tone replaced her earlier hesitancy. “Now, they gave your dad a list of things to eat and not to eat…”

I shook my head. Dad’s upper body looked normal for someone reaching, bending, lifting, and stacking crates in a warehouse all day. “How do you feel?”

He touched his left side and motioned to his shoulder. “It’s painful from here to here, and I tire more easily.”

“So, no more pitch and catch in the back yard.”

Dad frowned.

Mom shifted on the couch. “Thomas, maybe you can help your dad clear out the gutters.”

I took Mom’s suggestion as an attempt to keep composure. Dad said the doctors were running tests, and his blank stare seemed to say they needed a break for the day.

“Sure, of course I will.” Dampness gathered in the corner of my eyes, and I couldn’t think of anything helpful to say. “I have a quiz tomorrow. I’d better study.”

Dad’s focus returned. “Thank you, Thomas.”

I put on a stiff smile, turned, and trotted up the stairs to my room. Doctors. Tests. Causes. Mom and Dad hadn’t said much. Could I blame them? I grabbed the “S” book from the World Book Encyclopedia set, plopped in bed, and flipped through the pages until arriving at Spleen. When the c-word appeared in the article, I couldn’t continue. Studying at that point was out of the question, as well, so I changed clothes and headed out to clear the gutter.

That night at dinner, clanking forks and spoons replaced conversation.

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