When Claire walks in, her face is solemn. It’s a strange and unnatural sight on her. She’s slow with her footsteps, gentle as she lowers herself onto the bed. “Hey.”
I glance at her. “Hi.”
We haven’t spoken over the last few days or so. I tried for a while. Tried acting like things were normal. Even stopped by her place to hang out with her and Bobby a few times last week—the same Bobby who was supposedly moving back to LA weeks ago. It’s not just her though; I haven’t spoken to anyone. I sent Jamie another postcard last week, and that seems to be keeping her happy.
“I, um, I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I’m sorry, Claire. I’m really not the best company right now.”
“No, it’s okay.” She bites her lip. “It’s okay. Listen, I wouldn’t have come except . . .” She looks down. Closes her eyes. “Lou. It’s Mr. Blackwood. He’s in the hospital.”
There’s a hitch in my chest, even with my irregular heartbeat. I say nothing.
“He’s had a stroke. And, well, it’s pretty bad. I just—I thought you should know.”
I shift my attention back to the ceiling, staring into the blinding whiteness. Staring and staring. Then staring some more, refusing to accept her words. A stroke. That’s ridiculous is what it is. Mr. Blackwood couldn’t have had a stroke, because he’s a stubborn hard ass. Too much so for something like a little stroke to knock him down.
The bed shifts as she stands. She hovers beside me for a minute, and I watch out of the corner of my eye when she turns and walks away.
“Claire.”
She whirls around so quickly I think she might fall. She doesn’t, though. “Yes?”
“Can you take me to see him? Would you mind?”
“Of course I’ll take you.”
Chapter 48
Claire droppedme off at the hospital’s entrance. She asked if I wanted her to come inside with me, but I insisted I’d be fine. Not that I am. But it’s better this way. I pull back my shoulders, lift my chin, and reach for the handle.
It’s not the first time I’ve been to this hospital, but it may as well be. The last time I woke up as a patient, and now I walk in as a visitor. The man at the front desk asks me to wait while he pages the doctor, so I do. Moments later, I’m greeted by a middle-aged brunette woman in a white coat. She’s kind, I can tell, but her serious demeanor warns me off the bat. This can’t be good.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lou,” she says.
The comment has me hopeful. “You have? So he’s up and talking?”
“Oh.” Her gaze darts down, her solemn expression deepening when she looks back up at me. “Um, no. I’m afraid not. I was referring to his earlier visits. He mentioned you quite a bit, you know.”
“Earlier visits?”
A crease forms between her brows, her head tilting. “Yes, that’s right.” I open my mouth to ask for clarification when she continues, taking off down the hall and gesturing for me to follow. “He told me what an excellent caretaker you’ve been, and that’s high praise coming from Mr. Blackwood.”Um, what?“Here we are.”
She stops before one of the rooms, then nods toward its window. I step closer to peer inside. The color drains from my face as soon as I do, and I forget all about my confusion over her words. Mr. Blackwood lies in the hospital bed, eyes closed and skin ghostly. I’ve never seen him without many layers on, and the thin patient gown and blanket do nothing to hide the sharp points of his bones. I almost can’t believe how frail he is.
“Lou,” she mutters, voice gentle, “as I’m sure you’re already aware, these recent weeks have been particularly rough on him. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for cancer patients to experience a stroke”—I blink, certain I’ve misheard her—“especially considering the sudden way it recently spread from his lungs. That, combined with his age, and the condition his health was already in prior to the diagnosis . . .” She glances toward him, a sad look crossing her face. “Again, I’m very sorry.”
“Wh-what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, we don’t expect him to wake. I’m afraid he doesn’t have very long, so I encourage you to see him soon if you’d like a moment to say goodbye.”
If there’s a way for all the air to leave your body at once without managing to kill you, I’m certain that’s what’s happening to me now. My throat’s suddenly too tight to take in the oxygen.Cancer? How long has he been hiding this from me?
“Lou?”
“Yes.” It’s a whisper, a distant sound even to me.
“Would you like to see him now?”
