“Not today,” I say, longing for the novelty that his supplicants brought to our lives, the rhythm they brought to our days. And we’re not the only ones who have to recalibrate. Paula and Carl both seem mildly adrift now, too. Of course, they have the lives they led before we were all swept up in the oracle operation, but after what we created, none of us can simply pick up where we left off.
One day, Carl stops by just as a thunderstorm rolls in, with Cynthia at his heels.
“We were out walking, but I’m not sure we can make it home before this cracks open,” he says of the ominous sky. “Do you mind if we sit for a while?”
“Of course not,” I say. “When have we ever minded? You know you can stop by anytime you like, Carl.”
He sits and Cynthia wedges herself under his chair, shivering.
“She’s not a fan of thunder,” he explains, stroking the dog’s head to soothe her.
We watch the storm roll in, and within a minute, there is a deep rumble. As the rain begins to fall, my father starts to snore softly in his chair.
“There he goes,” I say.
“Like clockwork,” agrees Carl.
I lean down and scratch Cynthia’s back. “Carl, thank you for being so good to my dad. Even though… I mean… you’ve probably noticed. I don’t think he really knows who you are anymore.”
Carl shrugs. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t abandon your friends just because they don’t remember who you are. Hell, that’s when they need you the most.”
I smile. “I wish I were as equanimous. I try to be. But it hurts that he doesn’t know me.”
“Of course it hurts,” Carl offers. “But he knows you. Maybe hisminddoesn’t recognize you, exactly. But some part of him does. He’sstill him; and you’re still you. You’re just in a new phase; you can’t rely on your old shorthand anymore.”
“Our old shorthand—like my name?”
Carl smiles and nods. “This is the part beyond words. This is the part where we are all fumbling in the dark, writing the book as we read it.”
I look at Carl and wonder what he was like before his mother’s illness, before his personal crisis, before his renaissance.
“You know, I’m a bit scared,” I say. “Without our project, I feel kind of lost again. It makes me afraid for when my dad is finally gone. Without him, I’ll have no purpose.”
Carl gives me a skeptical look. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I’m serious. I’m sort of… aimless. I have been for a while.”
“Well, what did you like to do when you were a little kid? Like seven, eight, nine. How did you spend your free time?”
It’s not lost on me that Max asked the very same question. “I ran an animal hospital right over there.” I point through the wall of rain to the clearing in the trees. “Very important work. I saved imaginary lives, day in and day out.”
“There you go. That sounds like purpose,” says Carl. “You didn’t end up wanting to be a vet?”
“I did, actually.”
He picks up on the regret in my voice. “You know there’s a great veterinary college just forty miles from here, right?”
“I know,” I say.
“So what’s stopping you?”
“Well, I never finished undergrad, for one. I had bad grades.” I start counting the reasons on my fingers. “I didn’t take any premed classes. I can’t afford vet school. I’m twenty-seven. It’s too late.”
On some level, it feels safer to rattle off excuses than to reveal I’ve already been considering the idea. But on another, I realize that I’ve come to value Carl’s opinion as highly as anyone’s. His validation could be just what I need to stop talking myself out of my dream.
“I don’t hear any actual reason why you couldn’t become a vet.” Carl looks at me with a mix of sternness and care. “I want to knowwhy, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, you have already given up on yourself.”
His assessment startles me. It hadn’t occurred to me that’s what I had done, but of course it’s true. It happened after Seth died—a slow atrophy of confidence and ambition that I never recovered from.
