“Do you have many superpowers?”

“Just wait and see, Aria Watson. Just wait and see.”

I felt like I was flying.

* * *

When I arrived back at Dad’s after school, he was staring under the hood of his car in the front yard. A cigarette was hanging out of his mouth, and he was muttering to himself about something or other when I walked up to him. The knots in the stomach returned.

“Hey, Dad.”

He looked up, shook a few ashes from his cigarette, and went back to fixing his car.

“You need any help?”

“You know shit about cars?” he asked dryly.

I didn’t.

He snickered. “Just go play your flute or something.”

“Violin,” I corrected, holding the straps of my backpack. He cocked an eyebrow. “I play the violin. Not the flute.”

“Flute, violin, both sound corny as hell.”

Ouch.

“Okay. Well, if you don’t need any help…” I waited for him to ask me to hand him a wrench or something. It was pretty pathetic the way I stood waiting, but I finally headed into the house.

As I tossed my backpack onto my bed and my cell phone started ringing, I knew it was Mom. After I answered, she sounded just as worried and concerned as before.

“How are you holding up?” she said, probably pacing back and forth as she talked.

“Still holding on,” I replied, lying against the mattress.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back home? I can have a flight booked for you in about five minutes.”

Tempting.

“Not quite ready to pack it up just yet.”

“Why do you need this?” she asked, sounding somewhat irritated.

“I just got to try. I have to figure out who this guy is.” I wanted that father-son relationship I remembered from my memories. I wanted to try to get to know Dad again. The problem was I didn’t expect him to be so closed off, therefore that meant getting to know him again would be a little hard. I wasn’t afraid to put in the work at our broken relationship, but I knew it would take time.

Time.

We have time.

It wouldn’t be overnight, but it would happen.

Plus, Mom went through cycles of her own mental stability, and I knew she was currently struggling with her issues. It was those same issues that made me want to get away from her and come stay with Dad.

I wasn’t ready to go home to her.

Even if I missed her, I didn’t miss her enough to sit around and watch her fall apart.

She sighed into the phone receiver, expecting me to say yes to the idea of going home. “I spoke to Lance not too long ago. After a yelling match he finally let up why he thought it was so important for you to be up there with your father.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” She paused. Her silence made me push myself up to a standing position. “Ma?”

“He’s sick, Levi.”

I laughed, because it was the only thing I could do. “Sick? What do you mean he’s sick?”

“He has lung cancer.”

What?

Dad wasn’t sick.

“What’s wrong with you? Why would you say that?” I barked.

“Don’t talk to me with that tone, Levi. I’m just telling you what Lance said.”

It can’t be true.

My heart started pounding faster as I rushed out of my bedroom through the house. Mom was still talking on the phone, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Now all I was doing was searching through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, the drawers in the kitchen, and the coffee table in the living room. I was looking for any signs, any clear proof that Dad was sick.

Because if he had cancer there would be proof, right? He would have to take medicine. There would be paperwork or something…anything.

I looked at his office.

The door was closed.

“Levi!” Mom said in my ear, snapping me out of my hectic movements. “You’re coming home. There’s no way I’m going to have you there going through this.”

“I’ll call you back,” I said to Mom, hanging up before she could reply.

My fingers wrapped around the knob of the office door, and I pushed it open. Moving to his desk, I pulled open the side doors and looked at the orange pill bottles. I read the labels, but didn’t understand a single one.

I kept digging and found all of it. The paperwork. The medicines. All the proof.

I lifted a picture that was pushed in the back of the drawer.

Our fishing trip.

A lump formed in my throat as I stared at the photographic proof that we used to be happy together.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dad shouted, standing in the doorframe of his office.

Just staring at him I should’ve known he was sick. He looked sick. Skinnier than any man his height should’ve been. The circles under his eyes were dark, too, but I didn’t know what his normal look was and what was out of the norm because I didn’t know him.

“You a thief or something?” he hissed, giving me a look of disgust. “You looking for money?”

“No.” I cleared my throat, dropping his paperwork into the top drawer. “Ma just said—”

“I don’t care what your mom said.” His hand slammed against the door. “The door was shut, which meant stay out.” Nodding, I headed toward the door, and he stood in front of it, blocking my way out, his eyes filled with less emotion than before. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry. Pull your shit together and stop being a pussy.”

Who are you?

Pushing past him, I felt my breaths growing heavier and heavier.

Entering my room, I shut the door behind me. My back landed against the closest wall, and I pounded my hand against my chest, over and over again.

Cancer.

Cancer.

Cancer.

I couldn’t go back to Alabama.

I couldn’t walk away knowing that I was leaving him alone and sick. Plus, there was my selfish need to want to know more about him. What made him so cold? When did he shift from the playful guy I used to know into this mean personality? How could I fix it? Fix us?

I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t keep trying for a relationship with him before he…

I blinked and swallowed hard.

Time.

I need more time.

I came out of my bedroom an hour later and saw him sleeping on the couch. I knew if I walked away now, there would be no possibility of me ever learning about this stranger who shared my DNA. I also knew that if I left, he had no one. He would never admit it, but he had to be afraid. Cancer had to be scary, and he was going through it alone.