Page 24 of Woman on the Verge

“I will.”

“Who hit his head?” my dad asked.

“You did, Rob.”

Merry was turning all her concern and fear into frustration—a magic trick of self-preservation.

“I did?” he said. “When?”

She stood up and took her breakfast dishes and mug to the sink, muttering something under her breath.

“Mer, why don’t you go ... do something?” I said.

I tried to think of something to suggest she do, but struggled to come up with anything she enjoyed. She read books. She browsed atrocities on the internet. She gardened occasionally.

“You’re sure I shouldn’t come?” she asked.

“Just stay here. Try to take it easy. If he’s admitted, you’ll be at the hospital all the time.”

“You think they’ll admit him?” she asked me, her eyes pleading with me to be omniscient.

“I don’t know, but probably.”

“Who’s going to the hospital?” my dad asked from the table.

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.”

Merry looked hesitant. I don’t think she wanted to go with us. I think she just didn’t trust me to do things correctly. It occurred to me that Kyle must feel toward me how I feel toward my stepmother, and this was deeply unsettling.

“Okay,” she said, finally, as if after serious thought. Then: “I’m going to take a shower.”

“That sounds great.”

With that, she went upstairs, and I went to the table for my dad’s dishes.

“Dad, I’m parked right out front, okay? I’m going to drive you to the doctor.”

I didn’t want to sayhospitalorERbecause I figured that would freak him out. I resolved to talk to him the way I would talk to Grace and Liv.

“The doctor?” he said.

“Yes.”

He was perplexed, but he didn’t resist when I encouraged him to stand. I hooked his elbow into mine, and we made our way to the front door. He put more of his weight into me than I expected him to, admitting with his body that he needed me probably more than he wanted to. He had at least sixty pounds on me, and I worried what would happen if we both went down.

“You okay?” I said to him, but also to myself.

“Yep,” he said, still with joy in his voice.

It took about fifteen minutes for us to shuffle to the car, but once I helped lower him into the passenger’s seat and buckled him, I exhaled with relief.

“Thanks for driving me,” he said when we were on our way.

“No problem. I’ll take any opportunity to hang out with you.”

A few minutes later, he said it again: “Thanks for driving me.”

I repeated what I’d said before, and it was clear he had no recollection of it.

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