Back in Mom’s room, I’m conscious of the heart monitor beeping and the sound of the ventilator machine pushing air into Mom’s lungs.
I text Becky:Have you seen the news?
She replies instantly:Yes.
People are saying terrible things about Dad. #PeggysCoveMurder.
Becky responds:I saw that too, but don’t let it get to you. People have too much time on their hands. They’re just looking for entertainment. It’ll blow over.
I hope so.
I watch three dots floating, and then Becky texts again.
Chin up, okay? I’m here for you and Connor. We have to stay strong for your mom.
I’ll do my best.
I put my phone away and look up when the nurse walks in. She’s a slender woman in navy scrubs, about Mom’s age.
“Maybe you should all think about going home to get some sleep,” she suggests. “It’s important that you get your rest. We’ll take good care of her and call you if there’s any change.”
“But what if she wakes up?” I ask. “We want to be here for that.”
The nurse speaks to all of us reassuringly. “We’ll be watching her closely all night, and I promise, if there’s any change in her condition—any improvement at all—we’ll call you right away.”
Wondering what Dad thinks, I turn to him.
“She’s probably right,” he says. “We should get some rest because we’ll be no good to Mom over the next few days if we’re all exhausted.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Dad, are you serious? She almost drowned today.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the nurse leave the room. “You don’t want to stay with her?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Of course I do, but we all need to sleep at some point. We can’t function otherwise, and if Mom wakes up, she’s going to need us to be strong.” He gestures toward the door. “And the nurse said she’d call if anything happens.”
I wonder if he cares at all, or if it’s all just fake, because he certainly didn’t care last week when Mom and I were at the police station, or when Connor was scoring goals in the tournament.
Dad reaches for his jacket draped over the back of the chair. “Let’s go home. We’ll come back first thing in the morning.”
While he moves to kiss Mom on the forehead, Connor and I exchange a look and gather our things.
A moment later, we’re following him out of the ICU. The door swings shut behind him, and he uses the wall dispenser to sanitize his hands. “You guys okay?”
“As good as can be expected,” I reply, feeling bitter inside.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Always,” Connor says.
Dad wraps his arm around Connor’s shoulders. “Me too. Let’s stop for some takeout on the way home.”
“Five Guys?” Connor asks.
It’s an understatement to say that Dad is not a fan of fast food, but tonight he passes no judgment. “Sure.”
We walk to the elevator, and he presses the down button. While we wait, I try not to stare too closely at him, but it’s not easy. I’m still so angry with him for taking Mom to Peggy’s Cove. He may not have pushed her, like people are saying, but what happened to her is still his fault, and if she doesn’t make it, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him.
Dad is behind the wheel, driving, while I sit in the front seat with him. Connor sits in the back, devouring his burger and fries. I still have no appetite, so I opted out of the takeout order, but surprisingly Dad got a burger and fries for himself. I suppose everyone has to eat.
“Did they miss you at the restaurant tonight?” I ask him.
