Goldie got Tom settled back in bed, and when he asked her to continue the story, she told him Sharon was downstairs. She asked Tom if he was up for a brief visit, and he nodded. Goldie kissed him on the forehead and said she’d send her up in a few minutes.
Downstairs, Sharon was boiling water for tea, and her hands shook while she put a spoon of sugar into a teacup. She looked up when she heard Goldie in the doorway and asked what happened. “I thought Morty was going to take the tumor out?” she cried. Goldie sat down at the table and motioned for Sharon to sit beside her. Sharon poured two cups of tea and carried them shakily to the table. Goldie explained that the surgery didn’t go well, and that the cancer had spread. When Sharon protested, reminding Goldie about her husband, Alan’s, mother, Carolyn, and how her breast cancer had spread to her lymph nodes, but they could treat it anyway, Goldie stopped her. “It’s everywhere, Sharon,” she said, bluntly. “It’s too far gone.”
Sharon buried her face in her hands and cried. When she looked up again, she asked Goldie the same question Ben had: How long? Goldie gave Sharon the same answer she’d given Ben. “Days, probably.” Sharon’s mouth fell open, and they sat in silence for a few minutes before Goldie relayed Morty’s message. “You kids should say your goodbyes,” she said softly. “Soon.” Sharon searched her mother’s face and realized that by soon, Goldie meant really soon.
Sharon climbed the stairs and tapped gently on her father’s bedroom door. He called for her to go in, and she did. She was taken aback by how much more weight he appeared to have lost in the few days since she’d last seen him. Tom motioned for her to pull up a chair, and she brought one over to his side of the bed. “Hiya, pretty girl,” Tom said, which was how he’d referred to Sharon since she was old enough to remember. “Hi, Dad.”
“I know this isn’t the outcome any of us wanted,” he said.
“No. It’s so unfair.”
“Life’s unfair, baby.”
“How do I thank you for a lifetime of taking care of me?”
“It was my job. It doesn’t require a fruit basket.”
“I can’t live without you, Dad. I just can’t.”
“You can, and you will. If you live long enough, Sharon, bad things are going to happen to you. You’re going to lose people, get your heart broken in one form or another, face tough times, and possibly get a bad medical diagnosis of your own someday. There’s no stopping it, honey.”
“Well, just know that no one will ever compare to you in my eyes, Daddy. Not if I live to be a hundred.”
“Right back atcha, kid.”
Sharon and Tom sang along to the radio, both out of tune, both knowing it would be the last laugh they’d probably ever share. When she could see he was dozing off, Sharon kissed Tom on the cheek and stood to leave. “Wait!” he said, loudly, stopping her in her tracks. When she turned to see what he needed, Tom mustered all his strength and sat upright on the bed. He motioned for Sharon to come back, and she rushed to his side.
He stood up, opened his arms, and pulled her in for a long hug. A slow song played on the radio, and Tom swayed back and forth with Sharon in his arms. “This reminds me of the father-daughter dance at my reception,” Sharon whispered. “Do you remember, Daddy?” Tom answered, saying he did, and letting her know that marrying Bruce was a good decision. “He’s someone I’d have picked for you myself, Pinky.”
“Yeah, he’s a good man,” Sharon said. “Almost as good as you.”
Sharon fought back the tears, and she’d later look back on that as the moment in life she’d been asked to drum up the most courage. It took every single ounce of strength she had to feel her father—the strongest man she’d ever known—wobbling in her arms, and not break down in tears in front of him.
The embrace lasted until Tom grew too weak to stand any longer. When they broke free from one another, neither could manage a word. Sharon turned and left the room, and both of them released a lifetime’s worth of sadness that they’d never get to accuse each other of cheating at cards again or fight over who was better, the Steelers or the 49ers, or time each other on reciting all fifty states to see who could do it faster. Their memories were all complete. There would be no more new ones.
Sharon sat on the top step and cried until her head throbbed. Goldie sat at the kitchen table sipping her tea that had grown cold, and fighting the urge to go up and tell Sharon it would all be okay. She didn’t want to lie to her, because Goldie was fairly certain things would not be okay ever again after Tom died.