Rob in the armchair. Linda in the kitchen. Dylan helping.
It should have felt normal. It mostly did. Except I kept thinking about a corridor and a lanyard andadministrative thingssaid in a tone that meant something else, and the game on the TV was hockey, which I couldn't watch, which Dad had been switching away from every time a game came on and pretending he wasn't doing that either.
My phone buzzed.
Foster:Are you dead?
I ignored that one. I had other texts.
Jenkins:how r u feeling bro
I typed back:fine
Jenkins:liar
Jenkins:also heard something weird
I sat up slightly, which my head noted with displeasure.
what
Jenkins:is cross ok?
I stared at the screen, a sinking feeling in my stomach.
what do you mean
Jenkins:like he's not at work. i asked around and someone said he's taking time off or something
Jenkins:which is weird right bc doc doesnt take time off
Jenkins:morr??
I put my phone down.
Picked it up.
Put it down.
From the armchair Rob said: "Rest protocol means no screens."
"I know," I said.
"Linda will confiscate it."
"I know, Dad.”
I put the phone on the cushion beside me face-down and looked at the ceiling and thought aboutnot at workandtaking some timeandadministrative thingsand the space where a lanyard should have been, and all of those things were pointing at the same place—and I didn't want to look at where they were pointing.
Dylan came out of the kitchen.
He looked at me. Then at the phone face-down on the cushion.
"Jenkins?" he said.
"Yeah," I said.
Dylan sat on the other end of the couch. Dad turned the game down another two units without being asked.
