Opening Scene of a New Story
"My father died," Jack said.
He might have been announcing the latest weather report, his voice flat and cold.
I'm so sorry, Daniel wanted to say, but he didn't.
Jack laid the fistful of papers he'd pulled out of the FedEx envelope carefully on the table. "The lawyer tried to reach me a few days ago, when we were offworld."
Daniel said, "I didn't know he was alive. Had been alive. I mean . . ." His voice trailed off, and he grew still and watchful. Jack never talked about his family, and Daniel always had assumed that both of Jack's parents were long gone.
"There were phone messages when we got back but I didn't return them."
Why not, Daniel wanted to ask, but he didn't.
"I have to go to Chicago. Put his affairs in order, sell the house."
Daniel wanted to move closer, but he didn't. His hand lifted a fraction of an inch, and dropped. "Arrange a funeral," he said.
"That too." Jack's voice matched his face. Not quite expressionless. Underneath, a trace of . . . annoyance?
"I'll go with you," Daniel said.
"No need." Jack pushed away from the table and stood, and took a step towards the door.
"Jack, it's your father." Let me be there for you, he wanted to say. But he didn't, because at that moment Jack turned back to Daniel, and the look in his eyes stopped him cold.
"The son of a bitch was already dead to me."