Not Much Time. Free Short Story.

 

Years have gone by, yet the phone call still plays clear as a bell in my mind.

"He needs to come home. Please tell him. There isn't much time."

The thin, frail voice of the caller lent weight to the urgency of her call. No, there couldn't have been much time.

"Daddy, a lady called. An old lady. She said there isn't much time." I tiptoed up to his armchair. I spoke softly, hesitantly. I was only a child, and I knew nothing of his past. "She says, she says, you must go home."

"No!" The armchair shook with the force of his rage. "No! And don't talk to that woman again." 

No further calls came from the frail-voiced lady. At least, not that I know of.

***

Daddy was nearing the end. The end of a long, long battle. I was in my forties, married, and with children of my own.

"Who was she Daddy?" I asked gently, hoping with God's help to bring him to a place of peace and forgiveness. But his face tightened and he turned towards the cold green wall.

***

After his funeral, my mother gave me the few scraps of information she had. The lady was Daddy's mother. Daddy had never forgiven her for marrying again after his hero father died in the war.

My heart ached deeply for them both. It was too late for Daddy to go home.

There truly is not much time.

***