Page 22 of Into These Eyes
“Dad?” I squeeze his hand but get nothing in return.
After kissing his cheek, I stop at the nurses’ station and speak to one of the regulars.
“His obs aren’t looking too good, I’m afraid,” she tells me.
I blink at her. I should be prepared for this news. But can anyone ever be? “You think he’s getting close?”
Her kind eyes find mine and she nods. “Maybe a few more days.”
In the car on the way home, the urge to bawl my eyes out almost overwhelms me. Still, I hold on. He’s not gone yet. And I’m not a crier. What’s the point? It solves nothing.
Once home, I take a few bites of the hospital sandwich before throwing it in the bin. Then I get in a staring match with my phone. I want to call Anika. I need her here with me.
But I don’t. She’s only a few weeks away from finishing her training. The last thing she needs is to come home. Besides, Dad hasn’t asked for her once. The only time they interacted was when I put my foot down and demanded it. Even then, they had nothing to say to one another. I did all the talking between them, telling Dad how amazing she was, what a great police officershe would make. I frown, trying to remember him asking her questions. Trying to remember him even looking at her.
I can’t picture it.
Apparently, they don’t need each other. It’s only me who needs both of them.
The next day, I arrive at work early, thankful I don’t have to appear in court. When I return to my desk with a fresh coffee, my phone rings.
I stare at it with dread, hating that it announces who’s calling. Nothing good can come from taking this particular call. But I can’t ignore it.
“Jamie Evans,” I answer.
“Jamie, it’s Renee in the palliative care ward. I think you should come in. Your father … he’s … well, he’s in quite a state, refusing his meds until he sees you.”
I’m there in half an hour and what I walk into leaves me shocked. Dad’s sweating, his breathing laboured, eyes wide. When they lock onto me, he sinks into the pillows with utter relief. Then his shaking arm lifts slightly and beckons me to his side.
He glances over my shoulder. “Go!” he almost shouts, startling not only me, but the nurse who’s lingering at my back.
I nod at her as I grasp his hand, surprised by the strength of his grip compared to yesterday. For a brief moment, I wonder if the nurses are wrong. How can he be this strong if he’s so close to death?
Then I remember that pain can do strange things to the mind and body, and if he hasn’t had his medication, God only knows how much he’s hurting.
“Dad, what’s happening? Why won’t you take the drugs? You know—”
“Listen,” he interrupts, his voice just above a whisper now, all the strength of a few moments ago leaching away. “Closer,” he says, tugging weakly at my hand.
I lean down, lowering my head until we’re almost touching.
“I have … to tell … you,” he breathes. Leaning closer still, his grip on my hand tightens as he whispers to me in fragmented sentences. Words that I want to believe are said because he’s in a pain induced delirium. Words that can’t be true. Words that devastate.
“I’m … so … sorry,” he gasps.
Heart hammering, skin prickling, the shock of his words sends nausea rolling through my stomach as I wrench my hand from his grip.
Gasping for air, he stares at me, and for the second time in my life, I see tears spill from his almost dead eyes. Eyes that plead. Eyes that hold a truth I want nothing to do with. A truth I wish he’d never spoken.
Whirling around, I blindly flee, crashing into a nurse in the doorway.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “Are you okay?”
I nod numbly, desperate to get the fuck out of here before I fall apart.
“Do you think he’ll take the pain meds now?” she asks.
“Give him everything you can.”
