I’m going to have to bring up Kylie and why he skipped Allie’s birthday party sometime. I hate getting into this stuff, but if Marc does it, he’ll come in heavy-handed like a military dad and Ian will clam up. “So, what was up with Saturday?”
“What do you mean?” Ian glances up, dark eyes meeting mine and looking wary.
“Allie’s birthday. How come the double shift?”
Ian chews and says nothing for a long while. I almost think he might not answer and just pretend I never asked the question.
“Extra hours come with the job,” he says, studying his turkey sandwich. “You know that.”
“Yeah.” I nod, deliberately not mentioning that I know he volunteered for the shift. That would just make him defensive. “I bet someone would’ve covered for Allie’s birthday.” Everyone at the hospital knows Allie, knows about her struggles. They even all chipped in to buy her balloons on her birthday the year before.
Ian takes a sip of his cup of water, and drops into a moody silence. I don’t want to press. If Ian wants to tell me what’s on his mind, he will.
I take another bite and we munch in silence for a minute.
“Things have been hard this year, for both of us,” Ian says eventually, studying the open sandwich wrapper on the table as if it’s a picture roll of all the memories of the last year. “And sometimes… I mean… it feels like we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What do you mean?” I take a sip of my Coke and wait.
“You know there’s a twenty percent chance that cancer comes back. A one-in-five chance.”
“Yeah? So there’s aneightypercent chance it doesn’t. I’ll take those odds.”
Ian shakes his head, looking grim. “Yeah, but I just don’t know if I can do it again. Allie was it, you know that. First time I saw that kid, I was gone, hook, line, and sinker. And last year… when we almost lost her…” Ian swallows the rest of his sentence and drops his sandwich down on the wrapper.
“But you didn’t lose her.”
“Yeah, but this will hang over her for the rest of her life. And then who knows what the hell that chemo will do to her development.” Ian grits his teeth together and meets my gaze, eyes full of pain. “You know they don’t have good medicine for children. We use adult drugs on them and just hope for the best. We need more research.”
“Yeah.” Ian often went down this rabbit hole, and I get it. Frustrated the hell out of all of us about how much we ought to be doing to help find better treatments for kids with cancer. Hell, maybe even one day cure the damn thing. “So you’re worried about Allie. That’s why you’re spending more time at the hospital? I’m just trying to understand.”
“I guess. I don’t know.” He gazes out at the street as cars rush by, a few of them pulling into the parking garage of the hospital across the street. “I think part of me is just scared.”
“Man, you’re the bravest guy I know. You take care ofgunshotvictims. Remember that time you said you were elbow-deep in that guy’s chest? And don’t even get me started on the pandemic. You went in to work every day, without complaint, even though it meant you slept in an RV away from your family so Kylie and Allie wouldn’t get sick. You are brave as hell.”
But I know what he means. He means he’s scared of losing Allie, scared the cancer will come back, and scared to let his family get too close because that means the possibility of losing them all over again. We both stare out the window, watching the people bustle in and out of the hospital. Workers but patients, too. You can identify the relatives of the patients. They look worried, anxious.
“I’m not that brave.” He glances at me. “Just braver than you, and that’s not hard.”
“Hey!” I shove his shoulder.
“Just saying—didn’t you keep the closet light on to sleep until high school?”
“Middle school.”
“Same difference,” Ian says, and laughs. He stares out the window and watches a bus rumble by, a big puff of black smoke coming out of the back.
“Look, why don’t you take my sweet sister-in-law out for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll babysit,” I offer. “Try to reconnect or something? You know?”
“You’d babysit Allie.” He studies me, not quite sure the offer is real.
“Of course! She can even paint my nails like last time.” That was one helluva mess. But I can’t say no to that kid.
“Okay. Maybe. I’ll ask Kylie if she wants to go out.”
“She’ll want to go out.” I remember her strained smile at Allie’s birthday party. She wants help. Wants a lifeline. I can feel it.
I finish the last of my sandwich and wad up the empty wrapper. “What’s that quote fromShawshank Redemptionyou used to always say?”
