The Girl From Home Read Online Free

pipe. Pulling it out, he examines the label. It’s a blend, and a crappy one at that. A brand Jonathan had never seen in an advertisement or a liquor store or on a restaurant menu, and Jonathan can’t help but shake his head in disappointment. Even when William Caine was trying to go all out, he was subpar. It only further fuels the mystery in Jonathan’s mind of how it could possibly be that he had fifty percent of that man’s DNA running through him.
    For an occasion nearly two decades in the making, when the seal on the scotch was first broken, it occurred without any pomp. Jonathan was on his way to go out and celebrate with his friends when his father asked him to stay for just a minute longer and handed him a glass filled with a centimeter of amber liquid.
    â€œI can’t believe you’re giving your just-turned-eighteen-years-old son alcohol right before he gets in a car,” Jonathan’s mother had said.
    â€œIt’ll be just a sip, Linda. And, besides, I doubt he’s going to like it much . . . To my son on his eighteenth birthday,” William Caine had said, clinking his own glass with Jonathan’s. “You’re going to want to sip it very slowly. Just take a small swallow in your mouth, and then let it roll down your throat.”
    Jonathan followed his father’s instructions. Even so, it tasted like smoke at first, and then morphed into fire as he swallowed.
    The entire event lasted no more than ten minutes. His father mentioned making the scotch drink an annual birthday ritual, but the following years saw Jonathan spending his birthdays at college. He and his father never shared another glass.
    The bottle appears just as full as it was twenty-five years ago. After pouring a generous amount, Jonathan takes a sip. As he had expected, it’s barely drinkable. Jonathan hasn’t had anything but top-shelf scotch since . . . maybe since the day he turned eighteen.
    He takes the glass outside. Even in the bright sunlight, there’s a sharp chill in the air. As cold as it is now, Jonathan knows it’s going to get much worse before it gets better.
    Much like his own life, come to think of it.
    *  *  *
    An hour later Jonathan pulls his Bentley into the Lakeview Wellness Facility parking lot. He hasn’t yet seen any lake that might be viewed, although he leaves open the possibility that there’s some body of water somewhere, so maybe every part of the name isn’t a total lie.
    Jonathan has no illusions that the wellness part couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s certain that no one ever gets well at Lakeview. Like the old Roach Motel commercials—people check in, but they don’t check out.
    An odd anxiety takes hold the moment Jonathan enters the facility. He fears that his father has just died, or will expire in the next few minutes—before he makes it to his old man’s room. Less than a hundred yards away from his destination, Jonathan begins to jog through the halls, full of dread that he’s too late.
    When he reaches his father’s room, his fear appears to be realized. William Caine lies there motionless.
    Jonathan can feel his heart thumping as he approaches. His father does not stir, even as Jonathan reaches out to grasp the man’s thick, hairy fingers.
    They are warm to the touch. Then his father slightly moves his hand but still doesn’t open his eyes. Nevertheless, it’s enough proof for Jonathan that his father’s alive.
    Jonathan walks out of the room to the nurses’ station. It’s manned by three women, all wearing white nurse’s uniforms. One is African American, and the other two appear to be Hispanic. Each is at least fifty pounds overweight.
    â€œI’m Jonathan Caine,” he says to none of them in particular. Then he points at the room he just exited. “That’s my father, William Caine. How’s he doing?”
    â€œOh,