Fathers & sons

On the way back home I had a conversation with  F__ that I’d had with him twice a year;

“You remember where the go-bag is?”

“Yeah.” F__ said, rolling his eyes like he always did.

“Humour your old man.” I said and nudged him with my elbow.

“It’s under the shed, double bagged in garbage sacks.” F__ said.

“And when do you go for it?”

“If you don’t come home when you say you’re going to and don’t call.”

“Or ...”

“If M__or Mom or Jamie say so.”

“Where do you go with it?”

“To M__.”

“Not Mom?”

“No.  Not Mom.”

“Because?”

“She’ll gamble all the money.”

“Good.” I said, “I know you love Mom, but she has a problem and we have to be real about it.”

“I know.” F__ said, staring out at the shadowy desert and the distant glow of local towns.

“Who do you give the big envelope to?”

“M__.”

“Nobody else?”

“The cops if M__ comes up missing too.”

“What’s in the bag that you need to keep secret?”

“The bank book in my name.”

“What’s the money for?”

“My education.” F__ said, “For college.”

“Not for a hot car or to spend on girlfriends.”

“Dad.”

I laughed.

I guess most fathers don’t have go-bags for their kids, nor have those kinds of conversations with them, but even though D__ treated me well and trusted me as much as anyone in his crew, I didn’t trust him.

'__&__' (hush, it's a secret until it's published)