The last time Kier had spoken to his son was more than six months earlier when Jimmy had called to tell him that Sara had cancer. Kier’s response was less than sympathetic—not that he didn’t care, rather that he was stunned. Jimmy wasn’t pleased. His final words to his father—before slamming down the phone—still resonated with him: “You should be the one dying.”
Kier’s flight landed at Logan International around two in the afternoon. He checked into a hotel near the airport, then took a cab to the Massachusetts College of Art and Design.
Kier went to the housing office and located his son’s dorm. He was knocking on the door when a passing student told him that Jimmy was still in class but should return before long. Kier sat in the student lounge for more than an hour, waiting.
Jimmy arrived back around five, a backpack over one shoulder. He froze when he saw his father. He looked more angry than surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” Kier said calmly.
Jimmy walked past him. “A phone call wouldn’t suffice?” Kier got up from his chair and followed him down the hall. Jimmy unlocked the door to his room and walked inside.
Kier followed him in uninvited. “I was hoping that maybe I could take you out to dinner.”
Jimmy emptied his backpack. “I’m meeting with my study group tonight. I have a final tomorrow.”
“You’ve got to eat.”
He looked up at his father. “We haven’t spoken for months. What did you expect?”
“I thought,” Kier stopped to correct himself, “I had hoped that maybe if I flew out here you might give me a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“To apologize. And to fix things between us. Or at least start.”
Jimmy looked down for a moment. “Look, I appreciate you making the time to drop by, but this isn’t going to happen. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing between us and there never will be.”
Kier frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room; the bed was unmade and a pile of dirty clothes sat in a corner. An art portfolio leaned against the wall. “This isn’t bad.”
Jimmy put his hands in his pockets, clearly annoyed that his father wasn’t leaving. Kier looked at the oil painting hanging above Jimmy’s desk. “Is that Juliet?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful. The girl and the portrait. You’re very talented.”
“That’s the first time you’ve ever said anything about my paintings. Or my girl.”
“Jimmy, I’ve done, or not done, a lot of things I’m not proud of.” He stepped away from the desk. “Anyway, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind. So I’ll leave.”
“Don’t you have other business out here?” He sounded surprised.
“No, I came to see you. But you’re right. I should have called first.” Kier looked into his son’s eyes. “I know you don’t like me, Jimmy. I understand that. I didn’t like my father either. I didn’t even go to his funeral. When I was younger I planned on being a different kind of father to you, but obviously I failed. I regret not going to my father’s funeral. But not as much as I regret not being the father you needed.”
Just then Jimmy’s roommate walked in.
“Hey, Jimmy, some old dude was . . .” He stopped when he saw Kier:
“Give us a minute,” Jimmy said.
“No worries.” He walked out. Kier watched him leave then turned back to Jimmy. “If you ever need anything, just call. I may be twenty years too late, but at this point, it’s all I can do.”
Jimmy said nothing.
“Take care of yourself.” Kier walked toward the door. Then he looked back and their eyes met. “I hope you can find a way to forgive me someday.” He turned and walked out.
As he left the building he felt an overwhelming grief. There was a time when his son ran to him. Now Jimmy couldn’t wait until he was gone. What I wouldn’t give for a second chance, he thought as he hailed a taxi.
