The Nomadic Life

Chapter 41

The Call

Dad’s email was touching. It brought me joy and hope. Maybe one day we will be able to talk again, maybe even mend the fences so carelessly trampled down. Today, however, I must protect myself. I cannot risk enduring that pain again.

Life goes on in San Diego.

And in Jackson, Mississippi, another life ends.

Richard calls. His voice is trembling with shock and disbelief. He found Dewey lying on the kitchen floor the prior evening. For years, they had a quiet ritual, dinner together every night. And now, that tradition has been shattered.

I am suddenly aware that I am one of the two people left that Richard has managed not to alienate. And that is only because I have been too stubborn to let him shut me out. He has Linda as well, thank God, to drive him to doctor’s appointments. If not for her, I might feel obligated to return to Jackson and care for him myself. He is family, after all.

I start making travel plans for Dewey’s funeral when Richard’s voice stops me cold.“Don’t come,” he says. “Mable wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Anger flares in me. Screw what Mable wants. Dewey was family. I need to say goodbye.

But, as I always do, I relent, honoring Richard’s wishes, not Mable’s. I do not know why he thinks Mable does not want me there, and I do not press him. I have never been one to stir conflict during times of grief.

It is a choice I will regret for the rest of my life.

Dewey was not just a family friend; he was like an uncle, an uptight, overeducated, holier-than-thou uncle who never let you forget how proud he was of his “superior intellect.” Yet behind that formidable brain was a heart bigger than his ego, a heart that loved fiercely. And, in the end, it was that heart that failed him, collapsing as he prepared supper for the only man he ever truly loved.

For decades, I watched Dewey bail Richard out of financial scrapes. Richard would run up his credit cards until only minimum payments were possible. Then Dewey would drive up in his trusty white Bonneville, checkbook in hand, to save him, again. He would cut up all but one of Richard’s credit cards, leaving Richard with one visa card and one gas card, and clear the debts.

This would happen about every ten years, the same story. Richard never learned to budget. He never had to. Dewey’s love was his safety net.

And Dewey knew. He knew Richard was using him, but guilt bound him like chains. Years ago, Dewey had cheated. One brief betrayal, one night of weakness, and Richard never forgave him. He often lamented how he had “given his youth” to Dewey, only to lose it to a fleeting encounter.

Dewey died with that regret still gnawing at him, still in love, still punishing himself. He never sought another partner. He made a vow to never love again, and he kept it to his last breath.

He was kind to me too, in his own way. He did not throw money at me, nor would I have accepted it. But when I truly needed help, he was there. Quiet, steady. Family.

Something inside me shifted when Dewey died. It was not just grief, it was an ache that burrowed in, something wordless and heavy. A loss that, for some reason, I could not define. My heart hurt, and nothing seemed capable of soothing it.

And as life often does, it reminded me: things can always get worse.

Months pass. Dewey is still gone. Richard sinks deeper into depression. I am thousands of miles away, powerless to help. Richard cuts off communication, the way he always does when life gets too heavy. I respect his “space,” knowing he will reach out when he needs something, he always does.

Meanwhile, San Diego swells and hardens. The city I once loved feels foreign. Shops and restaurants are jammed with impatient newcomers. Servers absorb the brunt of sharp tongues and hurried lives. Paradise has grown crowded with people too busy chasing the “good life” to say hello, to look around, to breathe.

I miss the San Diego of the ’90s.

With Richard silent and Dad only sending the occasional email, a quiet disillusionment creeps in. I start imagining a move. Houston? No. New Orleans? I do not have the stamina for its 24/7 rhythm anymore. New York? Absolutely not. If I wanted that attitude, I could just walk down the street here.

I mentally retrace the roads taken in my past; the cities I have called home. Each held a piece of me, but not one is calling me back. They belong to my past. I want to move forward, but the road ahead feels hazy. Colorado’s mountains? Alaska’s endless days? I cannot muster excitement for any of it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I am over San Diego, but I have nowhere else to go. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel stuck. And I have always hated that feeling.

Then, one day, an email arrives from Dad.

Call me.

That is all it says. No greeting. No sign-off. Just those two words, like a flare in the dark.

My stomach tightens. This cannot be good.

Finding a pay phone these days is like hunting for relics. I remember the 7-Eleven on the corner still has one. I walk there quickly, my mind racing through every possibility.

I dig out my prepaid phone card, punch in the numbers. The line rings and rings, then rolls to his receptionist. I leave a message, telling her I will be at this number for an hour.

“And who are you?” she asks.

I smack my forehead, realizing my rudeness. “Please tell him his son called.”

I lean against the pole beside the pay phone, shivering. The weather has turned cool, and I forgot my jacket. I rub my arms, hoping the friction will bring warmth into my skin. As the minutes stretch on my mind, plays out several scenarios as to why dad would leave such a cryptic mesasage. Forty-five minutes pass. No call. My prepaid card balance is too low to try again.

Maybe he is too busy. Maybe what he has to say is not that important after all.

I push myself off the ground and head inside for coffee. Something warm. Something familiar.

And then, the phone rings.

My stomach drops. I do not want to answer, but I must.

"Dad?"

Silence

"Dad, is this you?"

"Yes," his voice low and soft, nearly audible.

The next words he speaks changes my life completely.

I have always been a man who reacts negativly change that is not of my choosing and what dad had to share broke me completely.