Page 49 of Woman on the Verge

“Dad, we’re not at the hospital. We’re at home.”

He looked around him, bewildered. “Oh,” he said. “I guess we are.”

“But youwerein the hospital.”

“I was?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“Where’s Ruby?” he asked, patting alongside him where the dog used to sleep. That dog was always at his side.

“Dad, Ruby died a long time ago.”

He sighed, and I could almost see him start to forget the conversation we’d just had.

“Do you have school today?” he asked.

“School?”

“Is Mom taking you?”

“Dad, there’s no school today. I’m visiting you from Orange County.”

“Orange County?”

“Yes. That’s where I live.”

I rested my head on his chest, his solid, safe-place-to-fall chest.

“Nikki, life sucks sometimes,” he said, apropos of nothing.

It was the most sensible thing he’d said since the beginning of this mess.

I felt the telltale tingle in my nose that always precedes tears. My vision blurred. I swallowed back the sadness, wiped my eyes. My grief would confuse my dad. He didn’t understand that there was anything to grieve.

“It does suck,” I said.

“But I guess it makes you appreciate the good times.”

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. He was still there, my dad. He was still him, at least for short moments.

“Why don’t I drive us to get doughnuts?” he asked.

Just like that, he was gone.

“Dad, no driving.”

He groaned.

“If you can count backward from one hundred by sevens, maybe you can drive,” I said.

“Oh, Nikki, that’s too hard.”

He laughed, so I laughed, both of us pretending he was joking, bonded by our mutual denial.

“Do you want me to help you get up?” I asked.

My dad has never been one to ask for help. Frankly, I have no memories of him needing help up until that moment. Merry did a lot to keep the household running, but she always seemed stressed, alwaysoperating in a state of mild overwhelm. My dad embodied strength and calm. He neutralized her anxieties. If I imagined our three-person family as a house, he was the load-bearing wall, that unassuming beam responsible for keeping everything from caving in on itself.

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