Page 55 of The Secrets We Keep

And he thought of someone other than Rob. His mind turned to another influential male figure in his life—his father.

Dad had been the repository of all of his longings for more years than he could remember. Not in a twisted way, but in a way Jasper thought all sons must long for in a father. He’d wanted him to be there for him, more than anything else. Especially since, with his mother and siblings gone, his dad was really all he had when it came to family.

So it was a continual source of frustration and, often, late-night tears that his father remained so distant all the years of Jasper’s childhood and adolescence.

Even when he came out to him, his dad was nonplussed. Not condemning, to be sure, but his vague assurances that Jasper’s orientation was “okay with him” were underwhelming. Jasper recalled thinking atthattime that he would have maybe felt more loved if his dad had registered some surprise or even disdain.

But it had been as though Jasper had informed his father that he had brown hair.

He didn’t know if he wanted his dad to love him, because that was too big of an ask, too much to dare dream of.

But Jasper had wanted to beseen. And he did things that went against his grain to that end. His father watched a lot of sports on TV, football especially (he was fan of the Cleveland Browns and the Pittsburgh Steelers). So Jasper tried out for pee-wee football and made the team. He was a tight end (oh, the irony!). He hated every minute of the one season he’d played but had surprised himself by actually being pretty good—nimble and quick.

His father never found the time to come to a game.

Later, he ran track in high school, which he liked much better than football.

His father never came to a meet. Jasper would have loved for him to see him win his sole mile relay.

Ah, petty shit, Jasper thought.There were kids in your class who were abused, beaten by their parents. There were some who came home to alcoholics and drug addicts. You came home to a spotless house. And there was always food on the table. You always had clothes to keep you warm.

How dare you ask for more?

But I needed Dad’s love.

Jasper was surprised to find himself at the Loyola stop already. He was almost home. The last thought he’d had, that he needed his father’s love, brought him up short.

He was a tortured man whose grief never left him. He did the best he could.

He heard the thought in his head almost as though it was spoken by a feminine voice, somewhere outside himself. He even glanced behind him.

The voice continued.Have you ever, in all your wanting and needing to be “seen,” put yourself in his shoes? Here he was, not much older than you are right now, with a young family—two little kids and a new baby on the way—and suddenly his whole world is ripped out from under his feet. His wife, those kids, both born and unborn, were murdered. Brutally. Imagine the shock. Imagine the horror.

It’s no wonder Dad was numb for years!

Stepping outside of himself for perhaps the first time in his young life, Jasper didn’t see his father as a dad, but as a man. He didn’t see him as someone set down on this earth solely for the coveted position of raising him, but as a human being who’d experienced more shock and suffering than most.

And when he saw his father that way, as a fellow traveler on the road of life, Jasper abruptly felt swamped with emotion for him.

He stood up as he got to the Jarvis stop. He left the train quickly with tears in his eyes.

Outside, the world looked newly washed. A light breeze stirred the budding trees along Ashland Avenue as Jasper walked north to his home on Fargo.

He did his very best with me. He bore a horrible tragedy, and still he was always there for me… as much as he could be.

When Jasper got to his own door, he was eager to go inside because he remembered his dad telling him he loved him the last time they’d talked.

The apartment was empty, and Jasper was glad. Its stillness, with the sunlight slanting in through the partially open mini blinds, seemed portentous. He looked around this home he’d shared with a troubled young woman he’d loved and thought of all the mixed connections—and how easily they could be put to rights.

Without doing anything else, he plopped down on the couch and drew his phone from his pocket. He listened to distant ringing and imagined his father in one of his natty flannel shirts and Levi’s, his ever-present red baseball cap.

“Dad?” he said when his father picked up.

“You got him. What’s up?” Jasper took a deep breath and then said what was on his mind. “Dad. I love you.” And Jasper started to cry—big, choking sobs that went on for an embarrassing amount of time, leaving him breathless, his eyes burning.

His father waited, politely, Jasper thought, for him to finish. Then he said, “I know you do, son.”

Jasper wasn’t surprised when they both fell to silence. Their relationship had never been much for heart-to-heart conversations, and even though a heart-to-heart was exactly what Jasper had intended when he sat down to make the call, he realized that maybe it wasn’t necessary.