Page 7 of Gulfside Girls
“Hey, Dad.”
She got the water and put the straw to his lips. He lifted his head and sipped a drop.
“I did it to keep you three safe.”
“What?”Is this a hallucination? What was he talking about?
“You understand? I am sorry, but it was bad. You could have died.”
“I could have died?”
She had no idea what he was talking about.
“I need you to know! I’m sorry. It was the only way.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
“I tried to do the best. But I’m not her. I couldn’t be her.”
“Mom? Are you talking about Mom?”
He never talked about their mom. The memories Ali had were fleeting, precious, and never enhanced with the help of her father.Was he talking about Mom now? Did he see her?
“Okay, Dad, it’s okay.”
He’d never expressed anything but gruff confidence in his life as their father. Never a moment of parenting doubt. Was this the last thing he’d think about? A final worry?
“It had to be done. Cut off. The only way,” he continued haltingly. “I thought—I’m sorry—Tell Faye and Blair.”
As he said it, Faye walked in.
“Dad, I’m here too.” She sat down on the other side of the bed and gave Ali a look. Ali answered with a look of her own. A look that let Faye know she had no more idea of her father’s intentions than Faye, who’d just walked in.
“Blair, my Blair.”
“Sure, Dad, it’s Blair.” Her father kept mistaking Faye for Blair. Blair lived in Cincinnati. She’d come in and out when she could work remotely. Blair had done her best to sit bedside and help relieve her two older sisters. But Blair was not there at this last moment.
She’d never make it in time. Cincinnati was four hours away. The rattle Darlene warned about did not last that long.
Faye didn’t seem upset that in her father’s mind, The Middle Daughter was unremarkable. He’d switched Faye for Blair. He’d called her “My Blair.” Blair was Bruce Kelly’s favorite. They all knew that and didn’t hold it against her. Blair was easy to love the most.
Ali didn’t want to accept it, though. She was there to fight for both her sisters, whether they were the middle or littlest.
“Dad, it’s Faye and Ali.”
“Yes, Faye. Sweet Faye. I’m sorry about that, too. What a lucky man I was. I had the best three daughters.”
Ali blinked back tears. An awkward squeeze of the hand when she’d walked down the aisle was the closest Bruce Kelly got to effusive affection. This was the sweetest thing he’d ever said to them.
And it was also the last thing he said. Bruce Kelly, father of three, Jeep retiree, Vietnam veteran, settled back in his bed.
He closed his eyes.
The rattle got raspier.
Just before dawn, even the rattle stopped.
Three
