Before I can ask him anything, he gives me a small smile, because he was also my mom’s doctor, so he knows what my life has become in the last few days.
"He's fully conscious, responding well, good cognitive function." He looks at me with something careful behind the professionalism. "The physical recovery will take time, but the prognosis is genuinely positive. He's out of the woods."
I press my hand over my mouth and breathe through my nose.
"We haven't told him about his wife," the doctor continues, gentling his voice. "We felt that news should come from family. He's been asking about her."
I don't say anything.
Hayden speaks beside me. "We'll tell him."
The doctor nods, and walks away, and leaves us standing in the corridor.
I turn to Hayden. "How do I tell him?" The words come out barely above a whisper. "How do I… Hayden, how do I walk in there and?—"
"I'm there." He looks at me directly. "Every second and if you can't find the words, I'll tell him. You don't have to do it alone."
I look at him for a long moment, then nod.
We walk down the corridor, and I stop for a second outside his room, take in a deep breath then walk in.
Dad is propped up slightly against the pillows. He looks smaller, the way mom looked smaller, and the bruising on his face has turned that deep yellow green that means it's healing. The tubes are still there.
His eyes are open, and they find me the moment I come through the door.
"Livvy."
"Hey, Dad." I stand by his bed, placing my hand on his.
"Hey, sweetheart." His fingers curl around mine.
We stay like that for a moment, then he looks past me.
"Hayden Crawford." Something moves across his face. Surprise, warmth, something that almost gets to a smile.
Hayden comes to stand at the other side of the bed. "Mr. B."
"You're here."
"Yeah."
Dad looks between us, the same way mom did. That same knowing look, that parental ability to take the whole story from two people standing in the same room.
"Together?" he asks, just like mom did.
I smile, because I don’t want to say anything else. This feels like déjà vu. Mom asked the same thing, the same way and then the machines started, but I do everything I can to push the thought to the back of my head.
"Good," he says. Just that, like it's the most natural conclusion to the longest equation.
"Livvy." Quietly. "Where's your mom?"
My throat closes entirely.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
Hayden's hand finds the small of my back.
"Dad." My voice is someone else's voice. "I need to tell you something."
