Dead Country (Book #1)

Chapter 22: A Quick Celebration

"Lovely weather, eh?" I asked my dad, as he brushed his wet hair after a morning shower.

He peered out the closest kitchen window as the wind howled relentlessly, the trees out front looking like they could be ripped from the earth any second.

"Today is an unlucky number," he informed me, watching the force of the wind.

"It's the thirteenth?"

"Yup." Stepping away from the window, he put his small black hair brush in his back pocket. "I guess I'll have to do damage control again."

"Of August?" I asked, still befuddled.

My dad stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the kitchen. Placing his hands on his hips he stared at me in amusement. "Boy you lose track of time easily. It's September. When was the last time you checked a calendar?"

I exhaled as I closed my eyes and gave my head a good shake. "Clearly a long time ago."

"That's for sure."

He walked past me out of the kitchen and downstairs. Had I really not noticed how much time had passed by? The summer was over, we were now on the cusp of winter and I hadn't even noticed. Blowing wind definitely wasn't going to tell me the temperature was dropping outside. When we worked on the garden the other week the air was rather warm.

Later that day I slowly descended the basement stairs to find my dad tinkering with the radio he had fixed a while ago.

"So much for it being fixed, eh?"

"Hmm?" He turned around with glasses on and a screwdriver in hand. Elaborating with a shrug, "It's old. It didn't seem to be working so I'm double checking. You wan' it to work don't chu?" Still peering over his glasses, he watched me open the spare freezer.

"Well, yeah," I replied, holding the door open with my right hand. "A radio transmission is better than watching the final news report again."

We both turned away from each other as I checked our stock for the winter.

"Looks like we're gonna run out of frozen pizzas soon," I announced as I dug through the bottom section.

"Save them for tomorrow then," my dad instructed.

"Why?" Sorting through more items as my fingertips began to go numb.

"You never remember, do you?"

I finished taking a count of what we had left, then stood up and closed the door. Rubbing my hands together to warm up my fingertips, I walked over to my dad.

"Your birthday?" I guessed.

"Lucky guess." He didn't look at me as he lined up the back of the radio and began putting the screws back in.

"Oh." I was genuinely surprised. "Well at least I didn't forget."

My dad chuckled. "That's because I gave you a heads up."

The following day I got up early and rummaged through all the baking ingredients and supplies my mom had stashed away in cupboards. Some edible items had expired, but there was also a large stock of items she had bought on sale. I managed to find a cherry chip cake mix and vanilla icing, which I decided would suffice for my dad's cake. So long as I didn't burn it of course.

It took me a few tries of checking in random drawers and cupboards for measuring devices and the beater, but once I found everything I needed, I followed the instructions to the t.

I was licking the beater ends when my dad finally showed himself. Trying to hide what I had done, I quickly shoved the bowl into the sink and turned on the hot water. As he took his morning piss, I squeezed soap into the bowl and began scrubbing measuring cups and other utensils clean.

Before he finished, every item sat on the drain board. He walked out and straight over to the coffee machine, ignoring the fact that I was now drying some of the dishes and the oven was on very early. I'm sure he had some idea of what I was doing, but since he walked around in his boxers like he was sleepwalking, I said nothing.

When the timer for the cake went off a while later, it was perfect timing. My dad was in the shower, so I removed the cake, flipping it over onto a cooling rack. I pulled a towel from a drawer next to the sink, then covered it while I thought about how I was going to decorate it.

There were some old food colouring bottles in the Lazy Susan, so I pulled out the one that looked blue. I hid it in the cupboard with the container of icing for later, then waited until he finished his shower and slipped away to his tinkering dungeon for the day.

After an hour of playing video games in my room, I walked out into the kitchen to find the cake cooled off enough for decorating. I flipped it over into a large enough container for fridge storage later on, then began to divvy icing up for the lettering. Once I eye-balled an approximate amount, I covered the entire cake with vanilla icing. The food colouring I had found looked purple more than it did blue, but it was my dad's favourite colour, so I knew he wouldn't mind.

Remembering how old he was, I wrote, "Happy 65th Birthday Dad," around the outer top edge of the cake, with his age in the very middle. I was no professional cake decorator, but I thought it looked pretty good.

Proud of myself that I had followed directions and not screwed anything up, I put the lid on the container and put it in the fridge. I put the extra icing into the freezer, then emptied the leftover purple icing into my mouth since there wasn't much left.

As we sat around the kitchen table that night, plates void of the pizzas we had just finished eating, I wished my mom was there. My dad was celebrating a big birthday, and I had done all I could to make it special for him.

I stood up from the table and walked over to the fridge. Retrieving the cake, I set it down on the counter, then pried the lid off.

My dad's eyes widened as I set the cake down in the middle of the table, then sat back down.

"Sorry about the lack of candles, I couldn't find any."

"That's okay," he assured me as I pulled out a box of wooden matchsticks.

Striking one against the box, it lit. I quickly stuck it into the cake and watched as he laughed, then blew it out just before the flame touched the icing.

I set the box of matches down on the table as a smirk enveloped my face. He carefully pulled the match out of the icing and set it down on his plate before picking up the knife and cutting two pieces.

As we ate our pieces of cake in silence, I looked over at him.

"How is it?" I asked.

"It's good. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Looking back down, I took another bite of the sweet cake. It was pretty good considering I had only ever helped my mom with things and never taken the reins.

Setting my fork down on the plate as I finished my last piece, I couldn't remain silent anymore about what I had hoped he wished for.

"I wish my mom was here," I mumbled, trying to keep eye contact with my dad.

"I do too." Bringing the last piece of his slice into his mouth, he chewed. "Thanks again for the cake." I forced a closed smile back at him as he stood and added, "I'll do the dishes."

As he picked up our plates, I stood. He walked over to the sink to wash everything, while I returned the remainder of cake to the fridge. I knew my dad wouldn't be expecting the gift I was about to present to him, but it was all I had for the occasion.

While he scrubbed the dishes clean and rinsed them off, I went to my room to retrieve what I had finished a couple days ago in secret. I returned to the kitchen carrying the stone with two hands, then set it down on the kitchen table.

My dad dried his hands, then looked over at me in curiosity. "What's that?" he asked.

"Come look."

He rubbed his hands against his jeans, then stood next to me. I watched from the corner of my eye as he read what I had painted on the stone: Sandy Martins 1957 – 2016. Around the edges I had painted a couple angels and flowers. I was no Da Vinci, but as my dad's anguished face turned toward me, I knew what I had done was appreciated. He wrapped his arms around me and I mirrored the action.