“Yes Dad,” Franco started carefully, inching closer along the bridge as not to startle him.

With Paul resting his arms against the inside barrier, fists clenched, it wouldn’t take much to set him off: a startle, a sudden gesture, the wrong word perhaps. 

Franco quickly panned his head to scope the area around them, he had no idea what to expect.

The lights from his Suzuki shone a golden streak over the cold cement as he made his way closer. The swirling bursts of clouds veiled a hefty thunder that rumbled behind it, like a heavy blanket in the sky keeping a monster at bay. Explosions of black, grey, and bright white hues shone down from the heavens for the whole city to behold.

Franco’s own voice was snuffled out by the moaning of cars that sped past beneath them with the high rising winds that gently swayed him and Paul from side to side, his black beard rustling beneath his face.

He whipped the hair out his mouth and wished he had shaved the damned thing already.

Paul leaned against the barrier, clasping something in his hand, staring out over the cars that zoomed by underneath.  

“Can you hear me?!” Franco tried.

He figured that to be the best place to start but, in reality, he felt helpless and hopeless. He shouldn’t be the one to do this, after all, what could he ever do to help his dad?

Franco had been packing up with Uncle Adrian when the call came through. When Franco heard the name and where Paul was, he ditched everything and raced to that bridge. He was the first to meet his dad there. When he got his father’s attention, he made himself give a warm smile but wanted to show nothing but resentment.

Ultimately, he made himself remember his words: Sometimes people just need encouragement and validation, not problem-solving. Maybe people just need to feel heard.

He gently stroked his beard. “What happened, Dad?”

“We found him,” Paul answered, staring into the distance, clenching the object in his hand ‘till his knuckles turned white. “My-missing-friend.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, as the howling of the wind filled the silence.

Franco had never known his father to struggle for words.

“After I had spoken to him…” Paul swallowed hard again. “…and he had admitted to me that he was planning to kill himself.”

Franco stopped where he stood. In that moment, he couldn’t help but pity Paul. His dad had it hard with such things, he clearly never recovered after Uncle Christian.

Franco moved closer. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He heard his father try to mutter his traditional ‘it’s not your problem’, but the words clearly stuck in his throat as only a tired sigh escaped from his mouth. Paul drew a deep breath, fiddling with the object in his hands. “He didn’t though…he told me that on the day he was about to do it…it just took the kindness of one random stranger…” He chuckled, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek as he fidgeted with the object. “He gave me this, to remind me that we’re never alone.”

Paul clenched his hand tight once more as his lips started to quiver. “Don’t give up, Son. We’ll do it together this time.”

Franco didn’t understand his father’s words. In an alternative world it almost sounded like encouragement, but for what? It wasn’t important anyways. He made his voice loud to rise above the howling winds. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Dad.”

Paul snickered and looked to the rumbling sky, almost as if testifying to the heavens. His voice was barely audible. “That the son redeemed the father…”

Franco now realized with an overwhelming sense of guilt how this all had broken his dad. He had done this to him, forced his father to relive the trauma, the sting of defeat. It wasn’t just Franco that failed when the shop closed, he now realized, it was his dad too.

How confused and hurt he had made him. Truly despicable.

Regardless, Franco pushed past his overwhelming sense of guilt and realized he couldn’t fight his father any longer. Paul wasn’t the enemy, even though Franco wanted him to be. No, the real enemy was his own defiant optimism, that he pushed on against all odds, not knowing when to bow out until he was finally knocked out.

He gave up his bitterness and embraced Paul. For once, it wasn’t hard and unyielding, it was soft and lingering.

“Thank you, Son.”

The fool inside him could die with peace. It truly tasted bittersweet. With his dad now on his side, even failure isn’t a complete loss. Franco sighed, patting him on the back. In that moment, he released his dad from his hate and released himself from the wager.

For a moment, he dared to ask the question, he simply couldn’t understand what had been said. That the son had redeemed the father?

His voice was low and laden with disappointment. “Dad, what difference could I have made anyways?”

“That friend of mine…”

His dad held out his first and slowly revealed what was inside.

And for a moment, everything else blurred around Franco as he was left speechless.

Paul puffed his moustache, the solitary tear stuck atop his cheek. “Sorry I made you cry.”

Franco tried to blow it off as he snubbed the wetness from his eyes. “No, it’s fine, Dad.” He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Tears are good for the beard…helps it grow.”

Now they both looked down at Paul’s opened hand.

For as his father’s heart had wilted for more than a while, now fiddling an old whiskey cork between his fingers, his mouth slowly sprouted into the beginnings of a smile…