“Not exactly, Dad.”
She calls me Dad again. Is she really my little girl? Is she tricking me?
“Where’s Honey? Where’s my wife?” I push myself to my feet. “Why can’t I see her? I need my Honey.”
The woman stands up, reaching for my arm like she thinks I’ll fall over. Like she thinks I’m a crazy old man. I’m not. Doesn’t she know I don’t need her doggone help? “Where’s Honey?” I shout.
“Shh, Dad. You’re getting too—”
“Don’tshhme.” I jerk my arm from this bossy woman. Who does she think she is? “I want Honey.” I see the other woman pull the snot-nosed girl closer. Does she think I eat small children? Now a woman in pajama clothes comes up to me. She is round like a pumpkin with pictures of cats all over her pajama shirt.
“Can I help you?” Pumpkin Cat Woman asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Can you?”
“I work here,” she says. “You seem worried.”
“I want Honey.”
“Are you hungry? Diabetic?” She looks at the woman who says she’s my daughter. “Do you need assistance?”
“I need Honey!” I can hear the two women talking quietly. I can’t hear their words, but they are talking about me. I know it.
Pumpkin Cat Woman takes my arm. “I can get you honey,” she says. “Come with me.” Now she leads me somewhere. A hallway. Another place. A room with a couch and two chairs. Not my living room. Same green, speckled carpet. Not my carpet. “Sit down here,” she says. “I’ll get you some honey.”
I sit down, but I think Pumpkin Cat Woman is balmy. I don’t wantsomehoney. I want my Honey. I want Honey to take me home. I want my bees. Pumpkin Cat Woman leaves, but the woman who says she’s my daughter stays right by the door. She’s looking at her phone, but I think she’s guarding the door like acentury. Is that what they’re called? Century, sensory, sentry? That’s it. Sentry.Where’s Honey?
I bend over, holding onto my head with my hands so I can keep it from spinning away. It spins away sometimes. Goes off on its own without asking me first. I can’t stop it. I can’t start it. I can’t find it. Honey says it’s not my fault. It’s tricking me. But why does this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?Where is Honey?
“Doing okay?” the door sentry asks.
I make my fierce face. I think I do. Honey says I can scare people. Can I scare the door sentry?
“Dad?” She steps inside the door. “Are you okay?”
“No! I am not okay. Where is my wife? I want to go home!”
“Your wife is being seen by the doctor. She’s in—”
“She does not need the doctor. She needs me. Now.”
“Mom is sick,” Sentry Woman tells me. “She needs medical attention.”
“Sick?” I try to remember what that word means. I think I heard that I am sick. Honey is not sick. Honey is Honey. “Honey isn’t sick.”
“Yes. She is, Dad. She needs help.” Sentry Woman’s arms are folded in front of her like a locked gate. I don’t think she’ll let me leave. Maybe if she turns away, I can sneak out.
I rub the sides of my head, trying to make it work. “Miguel!” I remember now. “He hurt her. He knocked her down. In the kitchen. He hit Honey.”
Now Pumpkin Cat is back. She carries a paper cup. “Tea and honey.” She hands it to me.
“Honey?” I sniff the cup. Doesn’t smell like honey.
“Have a sip. It might make you feel better.” Pumpkin Cat turns to talk to the door sentry quietly so I can’t hear. Now Sentry Woman leaves and Pumpkin Cat guards the door. She is big. I don’t think I can sneak past her.
I try a sip from the white cup. It tastes like paper. Not honey. I set the cup on the green, speckled carpet. Not home. I need to go home. The fog is thicker. I forget ... where I am ... where ishome ... where is Honey? My face is all wet again. I think the roof is leaking. I need to get on my feet. I need to escape this green, speckled carpet place, away from Pumpkin Cat, away from the snotty-nosed girl. But Pumpkin Cat blocks the door. I am lost. The fog is swallowing me. Eating me alive.I need my Honey.
7
