"Thank you for updating us," Mom says, placing the card in the side of her purse. Her hands are shaking so hard, she has difficulty sliding the card in, so I reach over to help.
As Dr. Lynne leaves, the three of us stand, ready to find Dad’s room. "Girls," Mom says. We stop and look over, waiting to hear what she has to say. "He’s a fighter, and he’s not giving up until he has to. Just know this."
Dad’s room is full of machines, odd noises, and lots of cords, but he’s awake and alert. "You’re all here," he says, struggling to smile. "This is all I had to do to get my family in one room?"
"Dad, you’re being ridiculous. Of course, we’re all here.” I lean over and kiss his head.
"I always wanted to take a ride in an ambulance. I guess I can check it off my bucket list," he says, trying to laugh through a small cough.
"Dad," Journey groans. "Really?"
"I didn’t say I wanted to confinedto a bed," he says, pointing at her. "You take what you can get, right?"
It hurts to think about laughing, but he’s trying to cheer us up when he’s the one suffering. "Right," I agree with him.
"Wait, if you two are here. Who’s helping Brett in the shop?"
"Harold, will you stop worrying about the shop? It’s fine," Mom scolds him.
"Brett seems to have everything under control," I add before looking away to roll my eyes.
"Well, that’s good to hear."
After a while, the alertness Dad had when we first walked in fades into a state of exhaustion. We take the cue to pause our conversations and claim the few seats around his bed while wesilently watch him rest.
I study every freckle on his face as if I had never seen them before. His hair he has is a mess, and I hate it. He never leaves the house without combing every strand it into place. His hands are covered withbruises too, and I hadn’t noticed them before. I wonder why.
Journey is thumbing through her phone. Her legs pulled up to her chest as she hides her facebehind her long dangling waves of hair.
Mom has a Home and Gardens magazine open, but her eyes are glossy, and I don’t think she is reading the words in front of her.
A nurse comes in to bring Dad his dinner, and I watch as he struggles to lift his arms to feed himself. "Do you want help?" I ask him.
Dad raises a brow. "I think I can manage," he croaks out. He stillseems determined to take care of himself.
I’m sure Dad wishes Benji could be here to eat the food he’d rather drop off his fork, but he needs the sustenance.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, feeling the desire to let my head hang backward off the back’s edge. I haven’t slept in what feels like days, and it’s catching up to me.
There’s another knock on the open door, but nurses and doctors have been in and out so many times over the last few hours, I keep my eyes closed, unfazed by whatever check-in is occurring now.
"I thought you ladies might be hungry," I hear.
The voice. His voice. It’s Brett.Why is he here?
He’s still in the same shirt and tie he had on earlier today but has a fewpaper bags full of food in his hands. He walks in and places the food down on the side table, sweeps his hands off on his pants and reaches out to shake Mom’s hand. "It’s been a while, but I’m Brett Pearson."
"You look just like your father," Mom says. "Goodness. You’re all grown up now. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I’m not sure I would have recognized you if we passed by on the street. It’s amazing what a decade can do."
"Age does that, I guess," Brett says, sounding uncomfortable. It’s the first time I’ve heard this man sound uncomfortable. Over the last two days, he’s done nothing but ooze confidence and forgetfulness.
"Brett, is that you?" Dad mutters through a phlegmy choke.
"Yes, sir. Just closed up shop and wanted to check-in to see how you are doing."
"I’m doing great," Dad says, curling his lip to one side. "They said I can run try running a few miles tomorrow if I’m up to it." There’s never a dull moment with Dad and his endless jokes. "Tell me, did the water shipment arrive today?"
"Yes, sir. I have everything settled."
