Dad

Dad
William Wharton

After being summoned home by the news of his mother's heart attack, John Tremont is forced to confront his own middle age.While John’s mother begins to make an astonishing recovery, his father deteriorates; having long ago handed over the running of his life to his domineering wife, he is unable to cope without her. With the help of his nineteen-year-old son, John assumes the role of carer. Before long, John finds himself caught between his son's feckless impatience to get on with his life and his father's heartbreaking willingness to let go, as both sons become trapped in the consuming, terrifying and repetitive world of looking after a dying loved-one.Brilliantly capturing the relationship between sons and fathers with humour and poignancy, Dad is a story of the love that binds generations of fathers and sons.

WILLIAM WHARTON

Dad

Table of Contents

Title Page (#uf6140b1e-5667-5f99-b2dc-0f377e3570c6)

Dedication (#uc1ba0725-783b-5b7e-aff8-d0012422a41c)

Epigraph (#u523b93ca-6d58-5d9f-9ca5-1198f0888ea2)

Chapter 1 (#u44614d1a-0c46-509b-9d70-baba8a6ca434)

Chapter 2 (#uc4ebe894-e546-5246-aead-1d5b4fbc2023)

Chapter 3 (#u3ccd879b-00b5-52c8-b82d-ff5650b6ee7d)

Chapter 4 (#u3d216a66-1a9f-53f7-b667-e29ab4587c05)

Chapter 5 (#u4bb15426-afc7-5a2a-ab20-e0f896b5faf8)

Chapter 6 (#u831f62df-bd75-5b31-a75b-238eae322822)

Chapter 7 (#u857cce7e-77cc-5e09-80cc-49ceeec4f26d)

Chapter 8 (#u106cb8e6-8fcf-523b-a97b-bfbafa23ad12)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by William Wharton (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

To the women in my life:

Mother, sister, daughters, wife

That man’s father

is my father’s son

— Second half of a riddle

1 (#ulink_9586ef7d-bae3-540a-aa06-527035183cf4)

AAA CON is the first name in the phone book of most large American cities. This outfit arranges drive-aways; searches out people to drive cars for delivery from one place to another.

My son Billy and I are waiting in the L.A. AAA CON office. I’ve had my medical exam, deposited a fifty-dollar bond, filled out forms and given references. Billy’s too young to take a drive-away; the minimum age is twenty-one. A car’s already been assigned to us and we’re waiting now for them to drive it up.

Billy’s excited because it’s a Lincoln Continental. I dread telling him he isn’t going to drive. I’m not a super-responsible person, but I’m that responsible, especially with someone else’s fifteen-thousand-dollar automobile.

So I’ll be driving all the way across this huge country and I’m not looking forward to it.

The office here is grim. These places are only processing centers; nothing’s spent on carpets or fancy furnishings. I figure they make a hundred bucks or so on each car they move cross-country.

Finally, the beefy fellow at the desk calls us over. He asks what route we want and agrees to 15–70–76. It’s the least trafficked by trucks because of the high, unfinished pass at Loveland. After that, it’s double-four most of the way.

We’ll be delivering this car to Philadelphia, my old hometown, then we’ll take a plane to Paris. Paris is our real home now, has been for fifteen years.

Half an hour later we get the car. It isn’t new, maybe two years old, deep maroon with a black vinyl top; flashy-looking affair; looks like a gangster’s car. We’re delivering to somebody named Scarlietti, so who knows, maybe we’re driving a bump-off car.

This must be the twentieth time I’ve driven cross-country; more than half those trips Drive-Away.

One time we moved a pale yellow Chevy Impala convertible. That was in the days of convertibles, before air conditioning and stereo. We tied our kids in that car with jump ropes so they couldn’t fall out, then zoomed west to east mostly on 66, top down, wind, sun in our faces. The kids could fight, scream, play, holler, make all the noise they wanted; we couldn’t hear a thing. It was almost like a honeymoon for Vron and me.