I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it without taking my eyes off the road. No words seem adequate for what I'm feeling, so I don't try to find them.
We find a parking space near the entrance of the hospital and make our way in. I've spent too much time in places like this over the years, sitting in waiting rooms while doctors explained things I didn't want to hear.
My mother is in the surgical waiting area, slumped in a plastic chair.
“You’re here,” she says, brightening up when she sees us.
She stands, and I fold her into my arms, holding her tight.
“He's out of surgery. They said it went well,” she says.
“Can I see him?”
“He's in recovery. They'll move him to a room soon.” She pulls back and pulls Natalie into a tight hug. “Thank you for coming all this way. It means so much that Ethan has someone looking out for him.”
“He's looking out for you,” Natalie says. “I'm just along for the ride.”
We wait another hour before they move my father to a private room. When we finally get to see him, he's groggy from the anesthesia and his face is pale against the white pillows. He looks older. I hate that.
“Dad.”
His eyes flutter open and focus on me with obvious effort. “Ethan. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, and I brought my physical therapist with me.” I step aside so he can see Natalie. “Dad, this is Natalie Cross.”
My father's eyes move to her, and despite the painkillers, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Well, well. You brought a pretty girl to distract me from the lecture you're about to give.”
“No lecture,” I say.
“Liar.” He looks at Natalie again. “You're the one who's been putting him back together?”
“I'm trying my best, Mr. Ward.”
“Call me Jim. And good luck. He's stubborn as a mule. Gets it from his mother.”
“I heard that,” Mom says.
“You were meant to.”
Despite everything, I smile. If he's well enough to give my mother a hard time, he's going to be okay.
We stay at the hospital until visiting hours end, then drive to my parents' house. It's a modest two-story home with a wraparound porch and a yard that needs mowing. The wheelchair ramp leads up to the front door, and as we’re walking up the steps, the front door opens.
Lucy bursts out of the front door wearing pajamas.
“Ethan!” She throws herself at me. “I can't believe you're here. How's Dad? Is he okay?”
“He's fine, Lucy. Surgery went well.”
She pulls back, and her attention shifts to Natalie. Her eyes narrow with obvious curiosity. “And who is this?”
“This is Natalie Cross. My physical therapist.”
“It's nice to meet you,” Natalie says. “Ethan's told me a lot about you.”
“Has he? All lies, I'm sure.” Lucy hooks her arm through Natalie's and starts leading her toward the house. “Come inside. You must be exhausted. I'll show you around.”
My sister is the opposite of me in every way. Where I'm quiet and brooding, she's loud and dramatic. Where I keep people at arm's length, she pulls them into her orbit whether they like it or not. She got all of our mother's warmth and sociability, while I got our father's stubborn silence.
