Free Aidan by Sydney Landon Page A

established neighborhood with some newer houses beginning to replace ones that had seen better days. People rarely wanted to spend the time or money to refurbish anymore. It was an impatient world, and everyone demanded immediate results. Of course, it didn’t matter that a new build took longer. That didn’t really enter into it. The modern one-size-fits-all was better to most than its drafty, classic counterpart.
    I spot my parents’ white Victorian surrounded by, of course, a white picket fence. Its style has been featured in countless movies, and it’s been the inspiration behind fairy tales and love stories. The porch light glows in the early morning light as if it had been expecting my arrival all along. Home . Our initials are carved in the oak tree out back, and under it, two dogs that had died of old age are buried. I rub a small scar under my chin and grin as I remember Luc and I having the bright idea to ride our bikes off the steep porch. Luc’s had been fine, but mine had made a sideways flip that had ended with me in the emergency room. I’d proudly told everyone at school about my five stitches. It had actually been two, but that hadn’t sounded as badass, so I’d embellished just a tad.
    I step out of the car, closing the door behind me quietly, loathe to disturb the peace of the moment. I know that as soon as I make my presence known, it will be gone. Despite feeling right that I’m home, I’m almost fearful of moving from the spot I’m frozen in. My mind is urging me toward the front door, but fear is holding me captive with one hand still on the door handle as if preparing for a quick escape. I’m still mired in doubt when I hear footsteps behind me. I swing around and am shocked to see my father walking up the driveway toward me. His hands are buried in his pockets, and his gait is heavier than I’ve ever seen before. With lines in his face that were not previously there, he looks as if he’s aged several years since I’ve been gone. I also notice that for all of my shock, he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. “Son,” he says simply, as he closes the last of the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” I hear him mutter as I return his embrace.
    When we part, I speak the obvious. “You knew I was on my way.”
    He shrugs before giving a single nod. “I had no way of knowing for certain, but I felt sure that Luc would contact you. Your mother likes to sleep a little later these days. Why don’t we walk down the street to Joe’s and get a cup of coffee? She’s going to be so excited when she sees you that this may be the only alone time we get today, and I’d like to spend a little time with my son.”
    A million questions are on the tip of my tongue, but I push them back. My dad has never been one for blurting anything out, and that hasn’t changed. I know he wants to talk about Mom while she’s not around, so I fall into step with him. I’m thankful for the small talk about the neighbors as we walk toward the old café at the end of our street. The air inside is thick with the smell of coffee and grease as we take a seat across from each other on the stiff and sticky vinyl. I can’t help but grin as I see the miniature jukebox on the table. I’m tempted to pop in a quarter just to see if it actually works, but figure it’s a little too early for Elvis or Patsy Cline. A quick glance shows that Joe hasn’t bothered to update his music selection in years. A gum-chewing waitress, who looks bored with life, sets our hot cups of coffee down and takes off before we change our mind about ordering food. I take a cautious sip and wince. Just as strong as I remember. Hell, for all I know, this is the same damn pot from a year ago. “So what’s going on?” I ask my dad point-blank. I think we’ve covered the casual chitchat portion by now. “Your mother has uterine cancer.” He doesn’t bother to act ignorant. He’s always been the direct sort and