Page 24 of Saving Summer
Samuel snorted. “Your mother asked me to pass along her condolences. Maybe you could call her in the morning? Let her know how you’re doing so she doesn’t worry so much?”
Not the response he’d been expecting, Jamie made another attempt to goad his father into an argument. “What’s she doing in London anyway? Did she finally leave your sorry ass?”
“No, but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.”
“Me either.” Silence filled the room as he waited for Samuel to take the bait. When a sharp response didn’t come, Jamie’s curiosity got the better of him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re acting weird.”
“Weird, how?”
“I don’t know, it’s almost like you’re human with feelings and shit.”
“I’ve always been human with feelings and shit.”
“Wrong. You were a fucking Autobot.”
“Oh.” Samuel cleared his throat. “Well, I guess now would be a good time to apologize for that too.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re apologizing for being an emotionally stunted, egocentric asshole?”
“I guess that’s one way to put it.” The mattress springs creaked as Samuel shifted his position. “I understand why you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I wasn’t there for you or your mother the way a good father and husband should have been. I put my career ahead of my family, and I wanted you to do the same. For what it’s worth, I see now how wrong I was, and I’ll take those regrets with me to the grave. But I am truly sorry, and even though I don’t deserve it, I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Well, fuck. Epiphanies aside, most people had a coming to Jesus moment for one reason and one reason only. “Is it cancer?”
“No, nothing so terrible.”
“Then what?”
“Parkinson’s.”
Parkinson’s.A degenerative brain disorder, resulting in the gradual loss of muscle control, and a career-ending disease for a surgeon who based his entire life around steady hands and a scalpel. “What stage?”
“Stage two. The tremors still come and go, but they’re getting more frequent these last few months.”
“Months? How long have you known?”
“Symptom onset started about a year ago. Difficulty sleeping, loss of smell, infrequent muscle rigidity. At first, I chalked it up to fatigue and then the natural aging process, but when the shaking started, Lillian called bullshit and dragged me in to see a neurologist. I got the official diagnosis in July.”
Caught off guard by the news, Jamie sat in stunned silence, unsure of what his response should be. Anger for not being told sooner? Pity for a man he didn’t like? Sorrow for the surgeon who wouldn’t be able, or even allowed, to follow his calling for much longer? “Does the hospital know?”
“Yes, of course. I advised the board immediately and was put on administrative duties as a precaution until my retirement in the new year.”
“But you were my surgeon?”
“Damn straight I was. You think I’d let anyone else operate on my own son?”
Jamie shook his head. “How many rules did you break just to be the one to slice and dice into my liver?”
“All of them.”
“And how many people did you bring to tears in the process?”
“One, but he was a lawyer, so he doesn’t count toward my final tally.”
He barked a laugh. He couldn’t help it. When it came to making interns cry, his father was legendary. “Did you break the record?”
