Page 40 of The Intimacy of Finding You

Nothing except… There was an odd shuffling sound on the other side of the door. “Pops?” I yelled through it. All I got in response was more shuffling sounds.

Now I was worried. Had he fallen? “Pops! You in there?” I twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. It wouldn’t move. I needed it to open. I needed it to open right fucking now.

I pulled on it, twisting and turning for far too long before remembering he had a hidden key. “Fuck! Papa, I’m coming!” I ran to the other side of the porch, right where a very fake potted plant sat. I picked it up and turned it over, finding the small hinge. I dug my fingernail into it, trying to pry it open, but it was so small and stuck. Why was it stuck?

My stomach hurt. My head and heart were pounding. Papa needed me. I didn’t have all this fucking time to waste. I dug my fingernail in further, twisting the pot in my arms while I tried to pry it open. A piece of my thumbnail broke off at the top, crumbling away as I pulled and pressed and pulled and pressed until finally, finally, the small compartment opened.

Taking the key out as fast as I could, I ran back to the door and unlocked it. I didn’t even close the door behind me, running straight into the living room with my head on a swivel. “Papa? Papa! Where are you?”

I heard gasping. Coughing. I ran in front of the couch and peered into the kitchen. There he was. Lying on the floor. Clutching his left shoulder. His cane had fallen with him, lying next to him. I ran to him, falling to the floor hard enough to make a loud thunk sound. I didn’t pay any mind to my knees. Papa was hurt.

Papa was hurt.

Papa was hurt.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” I hovered my hands over him, too afraid that I’d hurt him if I so much as touched him.

His face was scrunched and pale. His breaths were coming out in shallow, uneven pants. When he spoke, it was quiet and raw. Pained. Hurt. “Cally, please. Call 911. Heart. My heart.”

Everything went blurry as my eyes unfocused. My hands went numb. I could taste copper at the back of my tongue and acid coming up my throat. The floor beneath me no longer felt hard and cold, but like nothing. Nothing was holding me up. I hardly even registered the fact that I’d done exactly as he said, and now a 911 operator was speaking to me. Was I speaking back?

“Sir, did you hear me? Grab an aspirin. Now. Make him chew it. If we don’t know how long he’s been like this, it may be early enough.”

I did what she said, too. But I couldn’t feel it. I didn’t even know it. Not even as I placed the aspirin between Papa’s teeth. Not even as I watched him swallow. Was the ambulance coming? Please come. Please help us. Please help Papa. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Ple-

“Cally,” Papa whispered, his voice even shakier and much quieter. “Cally, come closer.”

My phone was on speaker, lying right beside us. The operator was reassuring me the ambulance was on its way. I tuned her out. I leaned down, tilting my head so I could hear Papa better. “What is it?”

“I love you.”

“Don’t, Papa. Don’t.”

“I love you, Cally.”

I shook my head, rising enough to look at him. “No! You’re gonna make it.”

He winced and wheezed and grasped the left side of his chest. “Hug me, Cally.”

My throat got tighter. My vision got blurrier. The corner of my tear ducts burned so fucking bad. I wrapped my arms around him as much as I could and laid my head on his shoulder. He’d make it. He had to make it. There was nothing I could do until the ambulance got here, but it was close, so he’d make it.

He wasn’t dying.

We were just pretending again. Pretending like everything was okay. Pretending that life was infinite, and so were our memories, and Papa’s heart couldn’t stop working because he was infinite.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop.”

I gasped, just as he wheezed a quiet breath. “No.”

“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

“Papa, stop.” I wrapped my arms around him tighter.

His voice got weaker with each word. He was losing the melody. “When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.”

“Stop it! Stop it!” If I squeezed him hard enough, would it make it stop? It had to, right? He was saying goodbye. There were no goodbyes. We didn’t say goodbye because they didn’t exist.

“But Papa catches baby, cradle and all.”