They didn't have an answer. There was no good answer.
Ben arrived at six, still in work clothes. He brought coffee, real coffee from the good place, not the hospital’s coffee, and sandwiches no one had asked for but everyone needed.
“You don't have to stay,” Kate told him, though she desperately wanted him to.
“I'm exactly where I need to be,” he said simply, pulling a chair next to hers.
The evening nurse was kind, letting them all stay past visiting hours. “Sometimes families need to be together,” she said. “I'll be right outside if you need anything.”
They kept vigil through the night, taking turns dozing in uncomfortable chairs. Pop's breathing improved gradually. The terrible rattling eased, the oxygen levels stabilized. By morning, he was breathing almost normally, though he still hadn't woken, hadn't shown any sign he knew they were there. In the early morning, Ben left to get to his job which, as it happens, was close to the hospital.
“Promise to call me if you need anything?” he asked Kate.
“I promise.”
“You should all go home,” the day nurse said gently. “Get some rest, shower, eat real food. He's stable. We'll call if anything changes.”
“I'll stay,” Kate said automatically.
“No,” Tom said firmly. “We take shifts. You go first. Shower, check on the inn, come back this afternoon. I'll stay now.”
She wanted to argue but saw the wisdom in it. They couldn't all fall apart at the same time. The inn still needed tending, life still needed living, even while Pop lay suspended between worlds.
Kate drove back to Kennebunkport in a daze. The world looked too normal, people getting coffee, walking dogs, living their lives while her father lay in a hospital bed forgetting how to swallow.
The inn ran smoothly under Marcy and Rosa's care. Guests were at breakfast, unaware of the drama. Marcy hugged Kate the moment she walked in.
“How is he?”
“Stable. For now.” Kate's voice sounded hollow even to herself. “The antibiotics are working, but...”
“But it's not fixing the real problem.”
“No.”
Marcy held her tighter. “Your mama went through this with her father. The long goodbye, she called it. Hardest thing she ever did.”
Kate wanted to ask how her mother had handled it, what wisdom she'd had for watching a parent disappear by degrees. But Mom was gone, taking her advice with her.
“You need to eat,” Marcy said firmly. “Shower. Rest. Then you can go back.”
Kate obeyed because it was easier than deciding for herself. Shower, clean clothes, force down some toast, check that evening's reservations. Normal tasks that felt surreal when Pop was lying in York Hospital, lost in the failing machinery of his own body.
Her phone rang. Tom checking in. “He's the same. Sleeping. Breathing better though. You okay?”
“I don't know. Are you?”
“No. But I'm here. James takes over at two.”
Kate found herself at Pop's desk in the office, looking at old photos. Pop young and strong on his lobster boat. Pop and Mom on their wedding day, ridiculously young and hopeful. The four kids at various ages, gap-toothed school photos and awkward teenage years. A whole life documented in snapshots, now dissolving into nothing, one forgotten moment at a time.
That afternoon, she returned to the hospital. James was there, laptop open, working remotely from Pop's bedside.
“Any change?”
“He opened his eyes once. Didn't focus on anything, but they opened.”
Kate took over the vigil. Pop looked better, less gray, breathing easier. But still absent, still gone in every way that mattered. She held his hand and talked to him about the inn, about the perfect September weather, about anything except the fact that he was dying in slow motion.
