Free The Sweetheart Deal by Polly Dugan

dishonors your mother.” My sister and I called them the Js, even to my father— What are the Js up to? I’d ask him when I called, and he would chuckle quietly, Oh, we’re just fine
,
like the cat wasn’t entirely out of the bag. He never tired of defending his relationship with Judy, or thinking that he needed to.
    I put my hand on his shoulder. “Dad, I know,” I said. “Please tell her hello from me. You’ve got a plane to catch. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you came.”
    It was like we were doing two different things—I kept lobbing a ball, unreturned, and he was gathering leaves, which the wind kept scattering—even though we were standing in the airport looking at each other.
    With my hand still on his shoulder, he let go of the handle of his suitcase and moved his coat from where he’d draped it over his arm and rested it on top of the suitcase. He reached out with both his hands and cradled my jaw, staring at me. It was a stance we hadn’t shared in decades.
    “Garrett, I know your business is your own. But when people are lost, and they need each other, it’s not something to ignore. It’s a gift. I know how fond of Audrey you are,” he said again. “Down the road she may need you in ways you aren’t aware of right now.”
    “Jesus Christ, Dad.” I took my hand off his shoulder, but he left his hands where they were on my face. “I’m happy for you and Judy—after three years already, you have my blessing. What the hell are you even talking about? We just put Leo in the ground.”
    “I know, son,” he said. “I know we did.”
    He pulled me against him and grasped me hard and held me before he stepped back and kissed me. He picked up the coat, put it back over his arm, and grasped the handle of his bag. “I love you, Garrett,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He walked away, straight and true, with his long easy strides, neither slow nor fast, to the end of the line. He stood behind the last person, and when he put his bag down again and turned and lifted his hand, I waved back.

Andrew
    I t was because of me that my mom asked us all to go to the Dougy Center, to talk with other kids who had a mom or dad who died too. At least once
,
please
,
she’d said. This has happened to other families and sharing can help. I have to know you’re all right . Even if they went just once, I was ready for Chris and Brian to complain about it, and I was ready to fight back and remind everyone that Chris had turned into a creep who always had the door of any room he was in closed, and that I couldn’t believe no one else noticed, and that Brian was freaking out in his sleep, but my brothers didn’t say anything. And neither of them was punching or biting people. But I had had it with things.
    It really bugged me that Christopher took up all the hot water in the shower every morning, like the rest of us didn’t have to use it and he could shower forever. And that he was always shutting the bathroom door. None of us ever shut the bathroom door, even my parents, and if I had to go, I had to go. I didn’t care if a door was open or shut.
    “I have to pee!” I announced when I walked in the bathroom.
    “Get out, Andrew!” Christopher shouted.
    “Hurry up!” I said. “Other people are waiting!”
    “Go downstairs!” said Christopher.
    “Why should I!” I said.
    But what bugged me more was what an asshole Gannon Keegan had turned into after my dad died and how because of him I started getting in trouble at school. The basketball season had ended the first week in February and my dad had been our coach. He had coached since I started playing in third grade, and he was great at it, not like the other lame coaches who didn’t teach their guys any real skills, so our team had ended the season with a winning record. My dad had been a basketball player, a really good one, so he knew what he was doing. He had us run suicides, and he did them with us, slow at first so