Page 46 of Forever Christmas
“He’s starting to say a few words.” Uncle Ben rubs his eyes. “He understands everything we say. Sometimes he’ll do what we ask, sometimes not. He just can’t say anything back. Not sure he ever will.”
My eyes drop back to my feet. So many ways parenting canbe hard.
“You and Corabelle going to try and have another kid?” he asks.
Great. What to say to that?
“We are,” I say. That’s true either way you look at it.
Another nurse comes in and heads to the corner with the weeping women. Their faces lift, fear layered over the grief.
The woman says something in hushed tones and the two of them gather their things. Has the husband been moved to a regularroom and will recover? Or are they being taken to one of those awful grieving rooms to be told he has not made it?
I’ll never know. They will walk out and their story will remain unfinished to me.
“Tough place to be,” Uncle Ben says. “I’m going to go down for some coffee. Want any?”
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He stands up and heads for the door.
For a crazy moment I consider following thewomen, see where they go. I want to know someone else’s ending.
But Uncle Ben is only gone a moment when Mom and June return.
“You’re next,” June says. “He’s really out of it. He barely knew who I was.” She plunks back down on a chair.
“We’ll wait for you to come back, then you can take June home with you,” Mom says. “Just go past that desk and around to the first door on the right. He’s inthe fourth bed.”
“All right.” I head through the chairs. Figures I would be heading back there alone. But if he’s like June says, it won’t matter. I can say “good-bye and get better,” and my duty here is done.
The woman at the desk nods to me as I pass. Then there’s a narrow hall and a couple doors. I take the first one.
The ward is semi-dark, lights flashing from machines set at intervals.I count the beds, one, two, three, four, and I see him. He’s still flat on his back, arms stretched out on the bed. A nurse sits beside him.
She nods at me. “He’s still going in and out a bit. It will probably be tomorrow before he really comes around.”
I stand next to the bed. Dad has a million wires coming from him and an oxygen tube in his nose. Next to him, a machine lights up with his pulse.Quadruple bypass. And yet, the heart keeps on beating, like nothing’s happened at all.
I wonder if this is my future, or if his way of living got him here. Something to ask a doctor about sometime, I guess.
The nurse touches his arm. “Robert, your son is here.”
His eyes flutter at that, then open. He’s groggy, looking around like he’s trying to place himself. Then his gaze falls on me.
I can’tbe too clear, not without his glasses.
“Hey,” I say. “Just stopping by. I’m about to take June back.”
He nods at me, and I think maybe he’s glad I came, at least to be there for my mother and sister. And he’s right. Putting up with him is worth it if I can have more time like the hike I had with June.
He tries to lift an arm, realizes it’s tethered, and drops it down again. Then his mouth opens,but nothing comes out.
“It’s all right, Robert,” the nurse says. “Your throat will be a little dry for a while from the anesthesia tube.” She lifts a cup with a straw. “Take a little sip.”
He does so, and gives a weak cough. His heart monitor jumps, and I’m startled, picturing the new veins breaking away, spewing blood through his chest.
The nurse pats his shoulder. “That’s good,” she says.“Settle back.” She sets the cup down. “He seems fragile, but we’ll have him up and walking by morning, most likely.”
