After Jenny ascended the stairs, Diane turned her attention back to the box of donuts, prying it open with a grin. "Alright, let's see what we've got here: chocolate-glazed, vanilla, blueberry, strawberry, and—" She held up a vibrant purple donut. "Your favorite, Debbie! Beth's special purple berry donut."
Debbie's eyes lit up. "You know me too well, sis." She plucked the donut from the box, chuckling. "I haven't had one of these in ages. Thanks, Di."
As they chatted, Diane began to share some gossip. "Oh, you wouldn't believe the drama Tammy filled me in on at the donut shop. Apparently, the mayor's daughter has had, like, a dozen plastic surgeries, and her face—"
While the sisters laughed and exchanged stories, Mark's gaze drifted to the young man seated quietly at the table. This must be Frank's son, he thought, observing him closely. Slim build, short brown hair, and those same piercing grey eyes as Debbie and Diane. He looked no older than eighteen but carried a weight on his shoulders—a quiet, distant sadness.
Sensing Mark's gaze, the young man glanced up, meeting his eyes. They exchanged a brief nod, a silent acknowledgment of each other.
Mark felt a pang of sympathy. This kid just lost his father. Debbie had mentioned Frank earlier, but the gravity of the situation only hit him now. Before he could dwell on his thoughts, Diane's voice dropped.
"So, about the funeral tomorrow…"
Debbie immediately coughed, shooting Diane a subtle look. Mark quickly caught on—the young man was still present, and discussing the funeral now would likely deepen his sorrow.
"Right," Diane cleared her throat awkwardly.
Debbie turned to Mark with a polite, if forced, smile. "Mark, why don't you take James outside? Show him the pool, maybe tell him a story or two about his dad."
Mark froze, his heart pounding. I never even met Frank. The story of their "friendship" had been a fabrication, a way to explain his presence here. Now Debbie expected him to recount memories he didn't have.
He looked to Diane for help, but she only offered a sympathetic smile, as if to say, Sorry, you're on your own.
With no other choice, Mark stood up, trying to keep his voice steady. "Uh, sure. James, want to take a look at the backyard? I hear the pool's pretty nice."
James shrugged and stood up, offering a polite nod. "Yeah, okay."
As they stepped outside, Mark couldn't help but admire the backyard Debbie had created. Unlike Diane's farmhouse, Debbie's home was polished and suburban, complete with a sparkling pool, well-maintained lawn, and decorative plants. The luxury felt out of place compared to the upbringing Diane had spoken of.
Do these people even know what 'poor' means? Mark thought wryly.
The silence between them stretched on as they walked toward the pool. Mark's mind raced, trying to come up with something to say. He had no stories about Frank, no shared memories. Just lies.
James broke the silence first. "So… you knew my dad?"
Mark winced internally but kept his voice steady. "Yeah, I did. We met a few years ago. By the way, I'm Mark—your Dad' s friend from out of state."
"Oh, sorry, my name is Franklin James. People around here call me Frank Jr., but my friends call me James."
"Nice to meet you, James," Mark replied, offering a handshake, which James accepted.
Intrigued by Mark's earlier comment, James asked, "Out of state? How'd you meet him? I mean, my dad rarely went out of town."
Mark could feel the pressure mounting. He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, we met through work. I used to travel a lot, and we crossed paths a few times. You know how it is—life's full of unexpected connections."
James studied him closely. "What kind of work did you do? Did Dad ever mention it to you?"
Mark hesitated, feeling sweat gather at the back of his neck. He had no idea what kind of work Frank had done. He glanced at the pool, buying time. "Construction work, actually. Your dad was a hard worker. A good man."
James frowned slightly. "Construction? My dad never worked in construction. He was actually pretty bad at fixing things." He paused, recalling a memory. "I remember him messing up a shelf in the kitchen once, and we had to call someone to fix it."
Mark's stomach dropped. Oh, crap. He scrambled to recover. "Oh, no—I didn't mean he worked in construction. He just happened to be around when I got hurt on the job. I twisted my ankle pretty bad. Your dad gave me a ride to the hospital. We hit it off after that and kept in touch."
James blinked, his confusion fading as the story sank in. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "That sounds more like Dad. He'd help a stranger if they needed it."
Mark relaxed, grateful that his lie had somehow stuck. "Yeah, that's Frank. He was always willing to lend a hand."
James looked down, his voice softening. "I wish I'd had more time with him, you know? He was always busy with work, but he made time when he could. Still… we didn't talk much toward the end." He hesitated, his sadness deepening. "I never even knew my mom. She died when I was born, and now Dad's gone too." His voice cracked under the weight of the realization—he was the last one left in his family.
Mark felt a surge of guilt. This kid doesn't need lies. He thought of his own parents, the regrets that still haunted him. Placing a hand on James' shoulder, he tried to offer some comfort.
"I'm sorry, James. I know it's tough. But your dad—he was proud of you. I'm sure of it."
James nodded, swallowing hard. "Thanks."
Though James accepted the words, Mark's mind drifted elsewhere, the weight of his own past pressing down on him—the memories he had long buried. He hesitated before speaking again, his voice dropping as old wounds reopened. "You know… I lost my parents too. It was a long time ago, but it was because of my own foolishness."
Mark's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken regrets.