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“Tomorrow.”
“So tell her to call me.”
“Mom, I wanted—”
But she had already hung up. The dry clack of the handset was like a slap on the face. Jeremy closed his eyes, ready to break down when his son spoke to him.
“She wasn’t happy?”
Jeremy, haggard, unable to reply, shrugged his shoulders.
“Mom says we’re always aware of our problems, even if we’d rather ignore them.”
“Yes…to the point of forgetting them. But you, you can give me your opinion. You can tell me everything.”
Thomas hesitated a moment, then replied in a voice filled with despair. “You never go see Grandma and Grandpa. You won’t talk to them on the phone. When we go visit, you’re never there. Sometimes Grandma cries when we talk about you. Grandpa, he says he doesn’t have a son anymore. He took down all the photos of you. He doesn’t want us talking about you when he’s around. So if you want to patch things up, it’s going to be kind of hard. But it might work. Look at us. This morning I hated you, and now…now it’s better.”
Each of these words, delivered with sincerity by his son, upset Jeremy and made him start to cry. Thomas reached his small arms around his father and held him tightly. “It’s okay, Daddy, it’s okay.”
When the surgeon returned, the two of them were almost asleep. He looked like a doctor in a made-for-television movie: deliberate gaze, snappy walk, open coat, sleeves rolled back. He had the manners of a man without time to waste. A serious man, decisive with his patients, authoritative with his colleagues.
“Mr. Delègue?”
Jeremy looked up.
“Everything went fine. One of the cuts was ugly, but he’ll only have a small scar. He should stay overnight for observation. Where’s his mother? He’s asking for her.”
“She’ll be here tomorrow. But why keep him overnight?”
“For the head injury. He did lose consciousness, after all.”
Jeremy lowered his eyes to Thomas, watching him attentively. He expected a word of comfort for the child, but the surgeon said nothing.
“Can we sleep with him?” asked the boy.
“That’s not allowed.”
“Can we see him?” Thomas insisted firmly.
“Yes. But not too long. He needs rest,” the doctor said as he turned on his heels.
“What a jerk,” Thomas said as the surgeon walked away.
“Ha! You’re not supposed to say things like that,” Jeremy said to him.
“I talk like you. You say worse things sometimes.”
In the hospital room, Simon slept.
He opened his eyes, smiling. “Thomas, where are you?”
“Right next to you,” Jeremy answered. “So how are you, Son?”
“Oh, Daddy, did you see the tape on my arm?”
“It’s not tape, it’s a bandage,” Thomas quipped, smiling.
“No, it’s tape.” Simon’s voice was weak. He wanted to move around and argue more, but sleep started to win him over.
