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“The heart isn’t always ruled by logic,” Sean says. “She tries so hard to take care of me, and as her parent I’m supposed to take care of her. I can’t imagine what that would feel like if the roles were reversed.”
This is the whole reason I do what I do. Each situation is unique and nuanced and terrible, and each patient and family member is deserving of support.
“Have you told her yet?” Sean asks, cracking open green eyes and pinning me in place.
Told who? I struggle to orient myself in the conversation. I don’t think I’ve mentioned Quinn, or not Quinn. I haven’t mentioned anyher. Mostly because if I mentionher, then I’ll have to think ofher, and that would mean an erection in a hospital room. Highly inappropriate. Did Sean mean my mother? Shortly after I started talking with Dr. Shire, I’d shared my feelings with my mom. The ensuing tears and apologies were almost as traumatizing as losing my leg.
“I’m sorry?” I say, hoping Sean will give me some sort of hint. Or maybe he’s just a tired man who’s sick and confused and there is no thread to follow.
“I know it’s your story, and I’m normally the first to say that no one needs to know our stories unless we want to share them, but as her dad, I need you to tell her. She’s strong and brave and has a heart the size of Jupiter. If you see this going anywhere with my baby girl, then you need to tell her about the cancer. And you need to tell her about your prognosis for the future.”
For a moment I frown, and then the gears in my brain click into place. It’s a hint alright, and I’m the one who’s been confused. The green eyes, the Arctic paraphernalia, the hospital stay. The fact that Sean seemed to know me personally. I’d bet my cat that Sean had once had a head full of copper-colored hair.
“Dad?”
I don’t need to look at the door to know who’s standing there. Her voice washes over me like sunshine and I suppress a shiver. I get to my feet, hands held out like Quinn is a cornered panther ready to strike. She didn’t expect me here and now I’m in her space, privy to personal parts of her life without her permission. She’s frowning as she stares between me and her father, her gaze softening a smidgeon when she notices the strain on her dad’s face.
“I’m fine, Quinnie,” Sean says, smiling as she steps into the room and drops her bag on his bed. She holds the back of her hand against his forehead to check his temperature and ignores my presence. “I found Erik in line for coffee and we’ve just been getting to know each other. Right Varg?”
I can only nod.
What is he doing here? In my dad’s hospital room? Sitting in his armchair, and chatting as if they’re old friends?
I thought I’d been so careful about the information I’d chosen to share. Yes, dad is in the hospital, but I hadn’t said why. Or even in which facility. Yes, I’d mentioned the hospital coffee cart, and meeting for a drink, but then we never talked about it again. I was going to text Erik from here and meet him in the lobby. Not in the Oncology Wing. I’m not ashamed of my dad. He’s probably the strongest person I know, but he deserves his privacy. It’s his diagnosis and his fight, not my trauma to exploit for sympathy or care. He deserved a warning before Erik accosted him.
“How was school today?” Dad asks.
His forehead is cool under my touch. A good sign he might get to break out sooner rather than later. Any fever during chemo treatment means an automatic hospital visit and tests. So many tests.
“It was good,” I say, automatically launching into an explanation of our latest project and the kids’ reactions. Dad chuckles at all the right times, but the sound is hollow. He’s probably nauseated. Day three is always the worst for him, even if he won’t admit it. Whether it’s the nausea or the story, it’s definitely keeping him distracted from the feelings roiling in my gut.
Erik straightened in his chair when I walked in. Now he’s alternating between staring a hole between my eyes and studying the off-white linoleum floor tiles. He’s wearing a charcoal suit and a baby blue dress shirt with no tie, and I hate that he looks edible. He also looks disturbingly like the publicity shots I’ve seen of his brother, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve never been attracted to a twin before. Would Victor Varg do it for me? Just like Erik? I don’t think so. Not that Erik does it for me. Not anymore. Not after finding him here. I don’t mind reading about stalkers, but not in real life.
“It was great to meet you Sean, but I’m going to let you two have some time together,” Erik says and he pushes off of his knees to stand.
He always does that with his hands, uses them for leverage when he gets up. And he takes an extra moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot to find his balance. I wonder if that’s because of his leg, then I look away. I don’t want to notice his tiny facets right now.
“You don’t have to go,” my dad insists, but his eyes are closed and he looks ready for a nap.
My annoyance burns hotter. Not only is Erik here, but he’s apparently chatted my dad right into a nap. Maybe I wanted to spend this time with him and now I can’t because he’s clearly exhausted. Erik rests a hand on Dad’s shoulder and squeezes gently.
“Thanks for humoring an old man,” Dad says. “And think about what I said.”
“I will, Sir.”
Erik’s eyes meet mine and I can’t read the emotion there, but it’s fathomless. He pauses on his way out of the room, opening his mouth like he wants to say something, and I don’t want to admit that I’m eager to hear what it is. I’m itching for a fight. But he snaps his mouth shut and leaves, closing the hospital room door with a quietsnick.
I fluff the pillow on my dad’s bed with heavy smacks, straighten his blanket with more force than necessary, and press a kiss to his temple that moves his entire body. I refill his water cup and hold on to the pitcher. It’s not empty, but I should refill it too. My whole body feels like I’ve been zapped with a cattle prod. It’s disconcerting and almost painful, tiny electric shocks buzzing under my skin, leaving me twitchy and full of too much energy.
“Leave it alone Quinnie.” Dad loosely grasps my wrist in his big hand.
Leave it alone, Quinnie.How many times has he said that to me since I was born? When first-grade me shook all the presents under the Christmas tree, determined to find the Barbie convertible. When tenth-grade me wanted to follow Grady B at the mall because I was pretty sure he was meeting up with Kendra K while dating Naomi P, despite not being friends with any of them.
“Leave what alone?” I lift my dad’s hand to my mouth and press a kiss to the thin skin over his knuckles. He bruises so much more easily now. Dark purple spots cover his forearms.
“I ran into him. I bullied him into coming back here to chat with me.”
That sounds exactly like Dad, not the bullying, but somehow getting everyone around him to do exactly what he wants them to do without them realizing they’ve been played. The issue isn’t that Erik succumbed to my dad’s wily ways. The problem is that Erik was in the hospital to be found in the first place.
