Chapter 3:

Grace considered her two siblings gathered at the dining room table in the home they grew up in. The glass doors overlooked a courtyard surrounded by trees and flower bushes. A peaceful and enviable place to be. But the kids were uneasy regardless. 

“Why would Dad have us all meet here and make sure we showed up before he did?” asked Grace.

“You don’t know what this is about?” said Paul.

“No. Do either of you?” The brothers shrugged at her. They went quiet, occasionally checking their phones or shifting their heavy chairs in and out from the table’s edge, preferring not to walk around, as if someone had told them to ‘stay put!’

Matthew inherited his father’s penchant for brown liquor, and while Grace and Paul were chatting (“It’s twenty bucks every time I go for yoga”) she saw Matthew sneak over to the bar, give himself a healthy pour of bourbon, and sit down again to sip before they could begin giving him disapproving looks. 

“Do either of you want a drink?” Grace and Paul shook their heads. “Dad’s on his way to tell us he’s dying or getting a sex change, and neither of you wants to be a little… ‘prepared’ for that?” 

“It’s 3pm,” said Grace. 

“It sure is!” said Matthew. He looked at her with a cultish smile like he was communicating telepathically with her and saying Do it! You know you want to! 

Grace folded. “I’ll join if you make me a Negroni.” Matthew prepared two and stuck one under Paul’s nose.

“I’m driving, and also, I don’t one want.” He pushed the drink back across the table. Matthew pushed it back toward him with his free hand. 

“Then I would suggest having no more than three. Maybe dad’s going to show up with some broad half his height and a third his age,” said Matthew. Paul and Grace never insulted Matthew by telling him this, but they both believed that he was most concerned about preserving his father’s wealth. The idea of some gold-digging foreign bride claiming the million or so dollars he was hoping to inherit was most unwelcome. 

Grace had a feeling Allen was about to tell her he was. “My hypothesis is that he’s marrying some Italian woman he just met. He’s lost all his money in a stupid investment. He’s having another child. He’s already had another child. He’s converting to Islam. He’s traveling to South America for a ‘medicinal ceremony,’ which… I fully support. Or he wants to spend more time with all of us and signed us up for family therapy.” 

“I really hope it isn’t that last one,” said Matthew. Grace and Paul looked over at him. 

“Out of all those scenarios, you think family therapy is the worst?” asked Grace.

“I do, and if it is that, I’m not going.”

“You do realize you’re the one who needs it the most, don’t you?” said Paul, reaching over like he was depositing a covert package in front of him.

“I do realize that, and I don’t care. I accept myself.” He looked over at Paul with faux pity. “When are you going to accept me, brother?”

Grace feared that her father would arrive with a combination of the seven scenarios she’d imagined: “This is Sonia. This is our son, River. This is our Guru-imam-shaman, Bodhi.” All scenarios where Grace would have to accept something stupid and inappropriate for the foreseeable future. If my dad is that unhinged, who am I? 

When Allen finally arrived, he was carrying a large folded posterboard and a handful of markers. “OK! My two wonderful sons and daughter! I’m glad you’re here.” He glanced at the melting ice cubes in Paul’s untouched drink. “Paul, you might want to have a drink yourself,” he said.

“I’m good, Dad.”

“Alright then.” Allen picked it up, took a heavy gulp, then sighed. “I spoke with Dr. Steele last week. I’ve been having nightmares and momentary memory lapses where I find myself in the middle of some past event…”

“Is everything ok, Dad?” asked Grace. 

“I’m afraid not, dear. I’m afraid things are quite fucked.”

“What do you mean?” said Matthew. 

“I mean, it’s dementia!” Allen shouted as he slapped on the kitchen table to make the situation more ominous. 

“Fuck!” said Paul. 

“I know,” said Allen. 

“No. I mean, can you not do that? We’re right here! We can hear you.”

“What did Dr. Steele say? How can we fight this?” said Grace.

“Oh, who remembers?” said Allen. “The important thing to know is that I’ll never see the day when this condition manifests.”

“What does that mean?” said Paul. 

“It means you’re going to have to kill me,” said Allen pointing at Paul and looking into his eyes with a straight face. Matthew, who had been in the middle of a throaty sip of bourbon, coughed and sprayed the amber mist all over a vase on the table. 

“Kill you?” he stammered. “Why would we do that? Kill you how? Are you insane?”

“I like where your head’s at,” said Allen pointing at Matthew and ignoring the last question. “How about making me another drink while I set this up?” He was referring to the folded poster board resting on the table between them. Matthew flinched, then got up to refill his own drink. Grace pushed hers away. 

“Dad, I’m worried about you,” she said. “It’s really not cool to say that kind of thing to us. We’re your kids. Your family. We love you, and we’re all each other has. 

“It’s obviously a joke,” whispered Matthew, putting another two cocktails on the table.

“Not a joke, son.” Allen erected the board on a telescopic easel, then finally unfolded it revealing a series of plans drawn with stick figures in a poor and disorganized manner.

“What’s with the airplanes?” asked Paul, mentioning some of the only fairly clear objects drawn on the board.

“First,” said Allen, whipping an oblong object on the board with a pointer. “The four of us are going to have a fun family trip through Africa, ending in Cape Town.” He gestured hurriedly through the steps of the plan. “We’re going to rent a plane and fly over the Western Cape. Last, I’m going to drink a fifth of scotch.” he raised his glass as he said it. “And I’m going to jump out of the back of the plane. At this point, I might hire some goons to make sure I actually go through with it. Hopefully, I’ll die on impact. The sharks will take care of the mess… I think it’s a pretty cool way to go out. Any questions?”

The room was silent. All the air had been sucked out of it. “JESUS CHRIST!” yelled Paul, slapping the table the same way Allen did earlier. 

“Are you fucking joking?” demanded Grace. 

“Do you really think a fifth would be enough for that?” asked Matthew. Grace and Paul regarded him impatiently. So, Matthew changed direction. “I mean, we’re not fucking doing that, you kooky old cock sucker!”

“What did you call me?” Allen began to churlishly move around the table toward Matthew, but Paul held out a hand. “Dad, maybe you should sit.” Allen stopped. 

“Please tell us now that this is a joke and what’s really going on,” said Grace. Allen saw tears start to form in his daughter’s eyes. 

“Look, honey. I didn’t want things to turn out this way. But you’re too young to have known your grandfather very well. He became angry and malicious. He found reasons to hate the world that didn’t exist before he went through cognitive decline. And I’ve already begun my descent.” Grace tipped the glass into her mouth until only red ice cubes were left. 

“Daaad,” she coughed. 

“Yes, my love,” said Allen, smiling at her.

“I get that this is a cry for help. Unnecessarily profane, but we’re here to help you, ok? We’ll get through this together.” She reached across the table to put a hand over his. 

“What you’ll get,” said Allen with venom in his voice. “What you’ll find is that two years from now, you and your brothers will be arguing about which one of you ‘has to check in on dad this week’ until, at some point, you’ll be arguing about which one of you has to identify my corpse on PCH after my car plummets off the cliff.”

Paul pressed himself up out of his chair. “I’m leaving.”