Page 11 of Pity Play

I’m home now, and I like being here. So what if there’s a tiny failure to launch. I’ll do that when I’m good and ready and no one is going to make me doubt myself.You hear that Noah? I’m talking to you!

CHAPTER SIX

LUKE

Sitting in the hospital parking lot feels a lot like waiting to go into the dentist’s office to have all my teeth pulled. I know that sounds extreme, but that’s how unsettled I currently am. While my mom will be happy to see me, I have no idea how my dad is going to react.

I turn off the car as soon as the Hosier song I’m listening to ends. That guy is a genius when it comes to singing about everyday life. I wonder if he could write a hit about my situation. He could call it something poetic like, “Paternal Disappointment.”

Getting out of my car, I walk determinedly into the hospital. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man for Pete’s sake, not some uncertain kid with no life experience. I sternly order myself to pull it together while stopping at the information counter to get my dad’s room number. I consider whether I should also go into the gift shop to get him some flowers, but ultimately decide he wouldn’t care one way or another, so I don’t bother.

I take the elevator to the third floor and then follow the signs to room 308. My heart is racing a million miles an hour. My mother came alone to my restaurant opening two years ago and Ihaven’t seen her since. I haven’t laid eyes on my dad in closer to four years. Growing up, there was no sign that anything could or would ever divide my family, which makes the whole situation hard to wrap my head around, especially when, oddly, I’m the one being blamed.

With a deep breath, I call on a supernatural force to push me through the door before I lose my courage and run in the other direction. It turns out that force isn’t paranormal, it’s human. “You must be John’s son,” I hear a voice over my shoulder say. “Your mother said you were on your way.”

I turn and greet a man in his sixties. He’s wearing a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. “Yes, hi,” I tell him. “I’m Luke. You must be my dad’s doctor.”

He stretches his hand in my direction. “Mark Butler. It’s nice to meet you.” He gestures for me to precede him through the door. He follows close enough behind that I have no choice but to keep moving.

My dad is lying on the only bed in the room. One leg and one arm are attached to a pulley system hanging above the bed. He looks like he’s in the throes of some medieval torture. Luckily he’s sleeping, so I don’t say anything.

My mom, who is sitting at his side, looks up and sees me. Tears flood her eyes as she stands up and walks into my arms. In the two years since I’ve seen her, she’s obviously become older, but there’s a new frailness about her that I don’t remember noticing before.

“Luke.” She exhales my name like it’s been on the tip of her tongue for months.

“Hey, Mom.” I hold her close while asking, “How are you doing?”

I look over to make sure my dad is still sleeping. “I’ve been better,” she says. “I swear to God, watching your dad’s body fall past the picture window in the living room took ten years off my life.”

“That had to be scary.”

Dr. Butler steps closer to my mom. In a low voice he tells her, “We’ll keep him in traction for a few days to make sure he stays aligned.” He adds, “Landing with as much force as he did is a real shock to the system.”

“Jeez,” I whisper under my breath before asking, “Are there any other injuries?”

“He has a mild concussion,” the doctor tells me. “We just let him go to sleep after keeping him up for several hours which is probably why he didn’t wake up when he heard your voice. He’s exhausted and his body is desperate for rest.”

Personally, I’m grateful he didn’t wake up, but I don’t say that. “He’ll probably sleep for a while then.” Turning to my mom, I tell her, “Why don’t I stay with him while you go home and catch a nap?”

Her expression brightens. “Do you think that will be okay, Dr. Butler? I mean, is there anything you need me here for?”

He shakes his head and smiles kindly. “Taking care of yourself is the best thing you can do. We’ll keep an eye on your husband.” Gesturing toward me, he adds, “Your son can give you a call if there are any updates.”

Walking my mom out to the hall, I tell her, “Take as long as you want.”

She looks uncertain. “I kind of wanted to be here when your dad sees that you’ve come home.”

Attempting a joke, I say, “It’s good he’s in the hospital. That way if he has a heart attack, he’ll get immediate help.”

“Ha, ha,” she says in such a way that suggests she doesn’t find my comment funny. “Be gentle with him,” she warns.

I’m not sure what she thinks I’m planning. “Why would I be anything else?”

“Your dad has not always had an easy life, Luke.”

I don’t think anyonealwayshas it easy so I’m not sure what trauma she’s referencing. I simply nod my head and smile, then watch as she walks down the hallway. Once she gets on the elevator, I turn around and head back into my father’s room.

Dr. Butler returns my dad’s chart to a hook at the end of his bed before saying, “Let the nurses know if you need anything.” Once he reaches the door, he adds, “Your dad is lucky to be alive.” Then he’s gone.

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