Page 156 of Puck Me Secretly

I studied him. His cheeks were pink and rosy. “Your color is better.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.”

“Oh, come now, your old man is fine. You should be at work. Haven’t I taught you better?”

“Dad!”

“Just because I’m here on vacation, hanging out with the cute nurses and my gorgeous wife, doesn’t mean you get paid time off too.”

“You almost died.”

“I’m more than alive. I feel fantastic. I feel like I have a new lease of life. I’ve never felt better. When I get out of here, I want to learn how to sail. In fact, I think the whole family should learn so we can take some fun family vacations together.”

What the hell?Dad didn’t sound himself. “You sure are chipper.”

“Your mom told me how Baxter stepped up and took over. I should have let him do that years ago so that your mom and I could take time off together.” He kissed her hand.

It felt like an alien had taken over Dad’s body. Who was this man?

“Dad, about that.”

Mom stepped forward and took over. “We’re so pleased that Baxter is helping us out. It gives us so much peace of mind knowing that Baxter is there for our family, right Rory?”

I paused, knowing she wanted me to shut up. “Yes, but we are also glad it’s only temporary.”

Dad laughed. “He’ll do great. Baxter is one of the most trusted men I know. I’d trust him with my life.”

I wanted to tell Dad what was going on, but I was sure it’d only upset him.

“Dad, maybe I’ll stay here for the morning.”

“What? No! Go on! You’re not doing any good sitting here staring at me. Go to work. Baxter will need someone to show him the ropes.”

My eyes lifted to Mom. Did she not see that this was not my father in this bed?

She lifted her chin. “Your father’s right. Let’s get back to normal.”

This whole situation made me want to scream. “Okay well, don’t eat too much Jello.”

Dad laughed harder than if I was a late-night comedian. “You’re so funny. Come back tonight and tell me all about it.”

With a lingering gaze back at my parents, I headed off the ward. I ran into the doctor at the nurses’ station.

“Miss Ashford, how is your father doing? I’m on my way to see him.”

I debated. “He doesn’t seem himself.”

He frowned. “How so?”

“That’s not my dad. The guy in that bed doesn’t care about his job and he’s talking about dancing and vacations and he seems indifferent about things he used to be obsessed about.”

The doctor patted my hand. “Your father is heavily medicated. That’s the drugs talking.”

“Really?”

“Really. Did he seem euphoric?”

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