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“What is the meaning of this?” Don snapped.
Tate pushed him aside and strode into the foyer.
“I didn’t say you could come in!” Don yelled.
Tate turned around and stabbed his finger against the button on his father’s shirt. “I didn’t ask!” he shouted.
“I’ll call the police!” Don shouted back.
A slow smile spread across Tate’s face.
“I am the police. Now shut the hell up and listen, because I’m not going to say this twice. I doubt that you give a damn, but Mom is dying. The nursing home just called me. She fell and broke her hip. They’re taking her into surgery in the morning, but in the long run it won’t matter, because she’ll be gone before the bone can ever heal.”
The newspaper fell from Don’s fingers as he staggered, then steadied himself with a hand against the wall.
“Is it that disease?”
“By that disease, are you referring to the one you refused to acknowledge she had? ‘That disease’ has already destroyed her, but it isn’t what’s killing her. She hasn’t known her name—or me—for over two years. She moaned and cried over you for five years, and then her Alzheimer’s kicked into high gear and she forgot the son of a bitch she’d married even existed, then she forgot me, and then, even worse, she forgot how to tell someone that she hurt.”
“Stop!” Don said. “Stop talking. I don’t need to hear this. She left me. I didn’t leave her.”
Tate’s hands curled into fists. “If you weren’t old, I would hit you where you stand. You know what you did. You are a self-serving, sanctimonious bastard who doesn’t deserve peace of mind. Mom had end-stage breast cancer before anyone figured out she was sick, and that was four months ago. The doctor who called me tonight isn’t sure she’ll live through the surgery, but they have to try.”
Don’s face was as white as the shirt he was wearing.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I can’t believe you even asked me that,” Tate snapped. “I told you because you’re still her legal husband, you asshole. She made me promise years ago that when she died, I would tell you face to face.”
Don’s hands were shaking. “She’s not dead. You said she wasn’t dead. Why are you telling me now?”
“Because of a fucking serial killer, that’s why. There’s every chance we will be called away to a new location at any time, and when we’re through here, I won’t be back. Unlike you, I don’t break my vows.”
“She lied to me!” Don screamed. “And even then, I forgave her! I told her she could stay! I told her we would get past it! But she packed up and left me, anyway.”
“You lost her when you threw me away, and I hope the rest of your life is as miserable as your soul.”
Tate pivoted angrily and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Don shouted. “Wait!”
Tate turned around. “What?”
“Where is she?”
Tate shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, you don’t get to play that hand. You don’t get to make a last-minute run to her bedside to assuage your guilt by being there in the end. It doesn’t matter where she’s at.”
Don’s hands were trembling. “But you’re bringing her home to bury, right?”
“She issued orders years ago that she wanted to be cremated. It was her way of destroying the disease that was destroying her. I’m done here. Have a nice night.”
Tate slammed the door behind him when he left, but by the time he got in the car he was crying. He drove through the streets with tears on his face. He couldn’t go back to the gym like this, and he hurt so bad it hurt to breathe. Then he saw the spire of St. Andrew’s and headed toward it. He hadn’t been in church in years, but he had a sudden need to give his confession.
It was just after 8:00 p.m. when he pulled up to the church and got out. The lights were still on. The door was unlocked. When he opened the front door and stepped inside, it felt like coming home. He didn’t recognize the priest walking toward him, but it didn’t matter.
“Welcome, my son,” the priest said. “How can I serve you?”
Tate took a deep breath, wanting the rage in his heart to be gone.