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I sigh in relief. “So he’s okay?”
The doctor’s head tilts in a way that reminds me of a curious dog. “Well, not yet. But he’s well down the road there, and I think the worst of it is past us.” To Unc, he says, “Stay the course. Keep taking your meds, rest when you need to, eat nutrient-dense food that stays down, and keep your appointments. We’ll do a full-panel blood check again in two weeks, but call me in the meantime if anything changes. If you go more than twenty-four hours without keeping food down, feel like something’s off, or have any questions or concerns, I’m only a phone call away, anytime, day or night.”
Unc chuckles. “I’ll hold you to that, Doc. You know the hours I keep.”
They laugh like that’s a long-running joke between the two of them, and Unc stands to shake the doctor’s hand. “You sure I can’t talk you into coming by for a hand or two?”
The doctor laughs even harder, shaking his head. “No way. I didn’t forget that you’re a card shark. I like my money where it belongs, in my wallet, not yours. Nice to meet you, Willow. You two can head up to the front when you’re ready.”
And with that, the doctor leaves us alone. Unc sinks back down to the chair.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters, a vacant look in his eyes.
I smile, taking his hand again. “That’s good news.” Maybe he didn’t hear that? Or it hasn’t sunk in yet?
“It’s better news than I imagined. I’ve been feeling better, a little bit, mind you, but I thought maybe it was the calm before the storm. You know how people get a surge of energy sometimes right before they die, like God knows they need to handle their shit so it’s not stacked on someone else’s shoulders? But maybe I’m just . . . feeling better.” His voice gets softer, losing the gruff edge it usually has. “I’m better.”
Tears spring forth again, and this time, they’re happy tears. Why our eyes leak for every emotion on the spectrum—happy, sad, mad, surprised—I’ll never know, but the overwhelming joy runs down my face into my smile.
“You’re better,” I parrot.
Unc looks to me, his eyes suddenly bloodshot and blinking rapidly. He’s fighting his tears, too stubborn to let them flow.
“I couldn’t have done this without you. You know that, right?” he says.
“I did what family does, Unc,” I tell him with as much emotion as I can risk right now. “I’m happy to help, just glad it made a difference.”
“Picking up from their life and moving to a town where they don’t know a soul, other than a grumpy old man, is not something people do,” Unc corrects me. “But you did. I want you to know how much I appreciate it, Willow-girl. It means a lot to me, and I’m damn glad you took it upon yourself to fix what I broke so long ago.” He pats my hand, and I know how hard it is for him to say those words.
He’s a hard man, much like his brother, but Unc is different. He’s willing to be soft when he needs to. I don’t know if he was always that way or if it’s a newfound clarity found in his looming mortality. But he’ll speak his heart when it’s needed. I can appreciate that because I do it all the time, and I know how vulnerable it makes you feel. So I give him the out he needs to back away from the dangerous territory he’s dancing around, “Well, Doc Jones should probably get some of that thanks. I wouldn’t have known you needed me if he hadn’t called Mom.”
Unc grins devilishly. “You haven’t told him that I know that, have you?”
“No?” I drawl out slowly.
“Good. Haven’t gotten my pound of flesh outta him yet,” Unc says, laughing. I’m reasonably certain he means it, though, and I wonder how much he’s taken from Doc’s coin jar. Card shark, indeed.
I swat at his shoulder, truly smiling for the first time in a couple of days. “You’re awful!”
His shrug says he won’t argue with that. “Look, Willow . . . I might be better, and I hope to get even better than this.” He gestures to his baggy jeans, white T-shirt with a Ford logo on it, and his old boots. He doesn’t mean his clothes, though. He means what’s inside him, the battle he’s still fighting on a cellular level.
“But I’m getting old—don’t tell anyone I admitted that or I’ll have your hide.” He glares for a split second before his expression softens again. “Having you here has been nice, knowing that I could leave the bar in good hands if I needed the day off or wanted to go fishing. Like, actually fishing.” He suddenly beams brightly. “I tell you I caught a ten-pound trout last week?”
