said. “That goes with the territory.”
She was quiet for a minute. “There’s a big fat but coming at you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I figured.”
“It distracts me. Preoccupies me. Makes me not pay attention to you. Makes me treat you worse than you deserve. I wish it didn’t, but it does. It’s how I am. That’s what I mean when I say it’s me, not you.”
“What’s the but, honey?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out through her mouth. “It’s Daddy.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “He’s… sick.”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I think so. I’m assuming the worst. I keep telling myself he’s a rock, he’ll be all right, but deep down, I know it’s not true. He’s not going to be okay. I’m brimming with worst-case scenarios. They keep me awake. They come in my dreams. I try to be positive, but being positive seems stupid and unrealistic. So I’m being negative. And it’s eating me up.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I said nothing.
“My mother called me at work a couple of weeks ago,” Evie said after a minute. “I never talk to her, you know that. We don’t like each other very much. I didn’t know she and my father were even in touch. They’ve been divorced for almost twenty years. So this was a big deal, her calling me. So I answer the phone, and she says, ‘It’s your mother,’ like that. And I go, ‘Oh. Hi. How are you?’ And she says, ‘Your father’s sick. I thought you’d want to know.’ Just like that. She doesn’t have a clue about other people’s feelings. Anyway, she didn’t have any details, so I called him. Daddy. I expected him to laugh it off with his usual macho bluster. But he didn’t. He just said, ‘Yeah, I haven’t been feeling so hot lately.’ He sounded depressed and scared and lonely, like I never heard him before. I mean, that’s the opposite of him. He’s always carefree and brave and self-contained, you know?”
I nodded. I’d only met Ed Banyon once, but that was the way I remembered him, too. He was a strong, happy man at peace with his life.
Evie took a puff of her cigarette, then dropped the butt into her gin-and-tonic glass. “He didn’t want to talk about it. But finally I got him to tell me. He’s been losing weight. He’s nauseated all the time. No energy. No enthusiasm for anything. Even talking to me, he didn’t sound like he was happy to hear from me. You know how we are. Daddy and I always have fun.”
Evie’s father lived on a houseboat in Sausalito, just over the bridge from San Francisco. He was an old ponytailed hippie who wore sandals and seashell necklaces and knee-torn jeans. He kept a coffee can of marijuana in the refrigerator, and Jimi Hendrix and Buffalo Springfield posters hung in his bedroom. It was pretty obvious that the two of them, Ed and Evie, had one of those special father-daughter bonds that those of us with only sons envy.
“I wish you’d told me,” I said.
“It’s not your problem.”
“Of course it is,” I said. “Your problems are my problems.”
“I didn’t say that right,” she said. “It’s just, I needed to be alone with it, get my head around it. The idea that my father might die.”
“Maybe you should go see him,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “I want to, but I don’t want to, too. Do you understand?”
“It’s not really about what you want,” I said. “It’s about what you’ll regret if you don’t do it.”
“He’s going into the hospital,” she said after a minute. “To have tests. Then we’ll know.”
“It’s better to know than not know.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s got to be.” She snuggled against me. “When you can’t feel hope anymore, no matter how hard you try, even the worst thing is better than not knowing.”
I waited until ten o’clock the next morning to call Judge Adrienne Lancaster. It was Saturday, so I tried her at her home in Belmont.
She answered with an abrupt
She was quiet for a minute. “There’s a big fat but coming at you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I figured.”
“It distracts me. Preoccupies me. Makes me not pay attention to you. Makes me treat you worse than you deserve. I wish it didn’t, but it does. It’s how I am. That’s what I mean when I say it’s me, not you.”
“What’s the but, honey?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out through her mouth. “It’s Daddy.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “He’s… sick.”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I think so. I’m assuming the worst. I keep telling myself he’s a rock, he’ll be all right, but deep down, I know it’s not true. He’s not going to be okay. I’m brimming with worst-case scenarios. They keep me awake. They come in my dreams. I try to be positive, but being positive seems stupid and unrealistic. So I’m being negative. And it’s eating me up.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I said nothing.
“My mother called me at work a couple of weeks ago,” Evie said after a minute. “I never talk to her, you know that. We don’t like each other very much. I didn’t know she and my father were even in touch. They’ve been divorced for almost twenty years. So this was a big deal, her calling me. So I answer the phone, and she says, ‘It’s your mother,’ like that. And I go, ‘Oh. Hi. How are you?’ And she says, ‘Your father’s sick. I thought you’d want to know.’ Just like that. She doesn’t have a clue about other people’s feelings. Anyway, she didn’t have any details, so I called him. Daddy. I expected him to laugh it off with his usual macho bluster. But he didn’t. He just said, ‘Yeah, I haven’t been feeling so hot lately.’ He sounded depressed and scared and lonely, like I never heard him before. I mean, that’s the opposite of him. He’s always carefree and brave and self-contained, you know?”
I nodded. I’d only met Ed Banyon once, but that was the way I remembered him, too. He was a strong, happy man at peace with his life.
Evie took a puff of her cigarette, then dropped the butt into her gin-and-tonic glass. “He didn’t want to talk about it. But finally I got him to tell me. He’s been losing weight. He’s nauseated all the time. No energy. No enthusiasm for anything. Even talking to me, he didn’t sound like he was happy to hear from me. You know how we are. Daddy and I always have fun.”
Evie’s father lived on a houseboat in Sausalito, just over the bridge from San Francisco. He was an old ponytailed hippie who wore sandals and seashell necklaces and knee-torn jeans. He kept a coffee can of marijuana in the refrigerator, and Jimi Hendrix and Buffalo Springfield posters hung in his bedroom. It was pretty obvious that the two of them, Ed and Evie, had one of those special father-daughter bonds that those of us with only sons envy.
“I wish you’d told me,” I said.
“It’s not your problem.”
“Of course it is,” I said. “Your problems are my problems.”
“I didn’t say that right,” she said. “It’s just, I needed to be alone with it, get my head around it. The idea that my father might die.”
“Maybe you should go see him,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “I want to, but I don’t want to, too. Do you understand?”
“It’s not really about what you want,” I said. “It’s about what you’ll regret if you don’t do it.”
“He’s going into the hospital,” she said after a minute. “To have tests. Then we’ll know.”
“It’s better to know than not know.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s got to be.” She snuggled against me. “When you can’t feel hope anymore, no matter how hard you try, even the worst thing is better than not knowing.”
I waited until ten o’clock the next morning to call Judge Adrienne Lancaster. It was Saturday, so I tried her at her home in Belmont.
She answered with an abrupt
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