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While he finished checking my father over, I studied the bones peeking through Dad’s shirt and tried to decide if they’re more pronounced than they were this time last week. When the exam was complete, he turned to me. “I’d like to discuss your father’s care, if you have a second.”
I stood and followed him out into the hall. He looked me over rather intensely, widening his stance, filling up the hall and my consciousness. Finally, he folded his arms across his chest. “Your father has refused pain relief. He states that he wishes to remain lucid. For you.”
Of course he did. “Dr. Hastings…” I started to explain. But how can I explain my father? How can I take years of knowing someone and compress them down into a few sentences?
“Please,” he said. “Call me Max.”
I tried to speak, but my lips stuck to one another, as though they didn’t want the words I was about to say to come out either. “Max.”
He waited for me to proceed. I could see he wanted me to offer him something I can’t. Finally, there was a long and heavy sigh on my part. A concession, a waving of the white flag, even though neither of us was quite sure why it needed to be waved. “My father doesn’t know what he wants,” I told him. “He’s half out of his mind.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as he considered his plan of action. His eyes ran circles around me, burning holes in my resolve. After a brief eternity, he lowered his gaze. “We’re all half out of our minds.”
Chapter Nine
Dr. Max Hastings
AFTER
Dr. Jones leans forward, leveling with me. “After you spoke with Mrs. Dunaway about her father’s care, what happened then?”
I have her full and undivided attention today. Her mood is lighter—not explicitly happy, but there’s something about her that seems slightly more agreeable.
“I went home,” I tell her, which is the truth. I had been dog-tired after rounds. I was almost out the door when a page came through about Mr. Dunaway. The nurse was requesting something to help him sleep. It wasn’t my finest hour, to say the least. Two of my patients thought it would be a good day to die, and three others decided to give it a trial run.
Needless to say, it was well after dark by the time I made it home. I distinctly recall feeling relieved that Nina had been kind enough to leave a plate for me in the fridge. I don’t know what I’d have done if I had been forced to choke down another turkey sandwich. Likely, I wouldn’t have eaten at all.
The plate served a dual purpose as well. It meant there was hope. Perhaps the plate was a peace offering, perhaps it wasn’t. You never can tell in a marriage. Either way, that evening I found my wife in the bath, and that was a positive sign, if there ever was one.
“You’re home late,” she said, without looking up. I was neither early nor late. This was simply her way of expressing her disappointment, or seeking reassurance, or questioning my whereabouts. Or all of the above.
“I know,” I offered with a weary sigh. It was tinged with remorse. I made sure of it. “I’m sorry. Rough day.”
She stuck a toe under the running faucet. “Did you check on Ellie?”
“I did. She’s sound asleep. Covers completely on the floor, of course.”
Nina didn’t look at me. She made it painfully obvious it was on purpose. “She was a tyrant today. Even the sitter made an excuse to leave early.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, unbuttoning my shirt. “May I join you?”
She met my eye then, as I had suspected she would, her face twisted. “Don’t you think you should wash the germs off first?”
“I’d planned to.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she sort of shrugged, her usual way of icing me out. “Whatever.”
From the adjacent shower, I watched her hands as she went through the details of her day. Nina had beautiful hands. Long fingers, like a pianist. She moved them slowly and methodically, painting the air as she spoke. “Ellie refused breakfast, refused to put on a coat, refused help tying her shoes. You’d think she were a toddler, Max,” she said. “I have a job—a demanding job. You know how it’s been…”
“I—”
Nina pushed herself up to a fully seated position, her breasts causing me to lose my train of thought. She used this to her advantage. Always. “I don’t know how much more I can take. We have to do something.”
“Boarding school,” I said teasingly. We both understood I didn’t mean it.
“She needs discipline.”
“I don’t disagree.”
