The First Counsel

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As my car leaves the parking lot and bounces along the path of the dirt road, Nora and I each have a hand out the window. We're throwing parade-float waves at my father, who's frantically waving back after us. "Goodbye, Dad!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.

"Goodbye, son!" I reply. He saw the name reversal in an old movie and immediately fell in love with it. Since then, it's become our customary way to say goodbye.

Pulling back onto the rolling roads of Virginia, I check the rearview mirror. Harry and the tan Suburban are right there.

"Wanna try to lose him again?" Nora asks, following my gaze.

"Funny," I say as I turn onto Route 54. Over my shoulder, the sun is finally starting to settle into the sky. Nothing left to do but ask. "So what'd you think?"

"What's to think? He's wonderful, Michael. And so's his son."

She's not one for compliments, so I take her at her word. "So you're okay with all of it?"

"Don't worry--you have nothing to be ashamed about."

"I'm not ashamed. I just . . ."

"You just what?"

"I'm not ashamed," I repeat.

"Who else have you told about him? Trey? Pam? Anyone?"

"Trey knows--and I told him he could tell Pam, but she and I never had the conversation ourselves."

"Ooooooh, she must've been plenty mad when she found out."

"What makes you say that?"

"Are you kidding? The love of her life holding back on her? It must've broken her little heart."

"The love of her life?"

"C'mon, handsome, you don't need X-ray specs to see this one. I saw how she was holding your hand at the funeral. She's dying to put the smoochie on you."

"You don't even know her."

"Let me tell you something--I've met her type a hundred times before. Small town predictable. When you walk into her bedroom, she's already got her clothes picked out for the next day."

"First of all, that's completely wrong. Second, it doesn't even matter. We're just friends. And good friends at that, so don't pick on her."

"If you're such good friends, why weren't you the one to tell her about your dad?"

"It's just the way I deal with it. Whenever I bring it up, people get self-conscious and they suddenly have to prove they're sensitive." Keeping my gaze locked on the power lines along the road, I add, "It's hard to explain, but there're times you just want to let it go. Or maybe grab them by the face and shout, 'Back off, Barnum, it's not a sideshow.' I mean, yes, it's my life, but that doesn't mean it's out there for public consumption. I don't know if that makes any sense, but . . ."

Out of the corner of my eye, I get a quick look at Nora. Sometimes I can be such a dumb bastard. I actually forgot who I was talking to. She's Nora Hartson. Just reading USA Today, you'd know who she was named after, her college major, and the fact that she spent her last birthday climbing Mount Rainier with the Secret Service. Turning my way, she raises a single, trust-me-on-this-one eyebrow. To Nora, it makes perfect sense.