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He is right. I know. We have to look at the facts. Fact is, my father is going to die. And it’s more than likely going to be soon. Hence the reason for moving him to Caring Hands… which…if I’m really being honest…is just a makeshift graveyard.
“Dr. Hastings was here,” my father says, causing my pen to halt on the page. When I look up, his expression is relaxed. He seems almost normal, like his old self. This isn’t unusual after a nap. I jot that down. Just in case.
“What are you writing?”
“A grocery list.”
His expression tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say it. I ask how long he’s been awake. I’m not surprised when he can’t tell me. I start to tell him it’s okay. I start to say something, anything, when he says, “You remember Dr. Hastings don’t you? Max Hastings?”
Yeah, I remember.
“He has a beautiful wife and a perfect little daughter,” he tells me. “He showed me a picture. Reminded me a bit of your mother and I. And you.” It was wonderful, my father says, to see life work out for such a good person.
Chapter Seven
Dr. Max Hastings
AFTER
Being in here gives a person a lot of time to think. That’s the first thing that really struck me about being incarcerated— how far a day can actually span. How before, when you’re on the outside, time seems elusive. Slipping by. Carrying on. Time moves that way. There’s never enough of it. Not for all the things you want to do. Not for the things you have to do. I think about this a lot, how I was always rushing, rushing, rushing.
Until one day I wasn’t.
Perhaps I should have seen it for what it was. A bad omen. All the signs were there. Really, how could I not have known what was coming?
I can easily recall most of that drive, the vast stretch of sky, the sight of the familiar. Our tree-lined drive, Ellie waiting in the window as I rounded the corner, her little nose pressed to the glass. It reminded me of the day she was born. The day I realized that no matter how great of a physician one might be, there are some things you can’t fix.
Nina must have heard me pulling up the drive. Even if she had, she remained in the kitchen. It was Ellie who unlocked the door, flung it open, and stood waiting on the porch. I dropped my things, scooped her in my arms, and asked if she was ready for a swim. When she nodded toward the rocking chair, my gaze followed hers. There on the chair was her stuff, neatly packed, complete with a towel for me, too.
“Did Mommy do that?” I asked, although, of course, I was pretty sure of the answer.
She shook her head, and then all at once her expression changed. That’s how my daughter works. Very precisely. So, I wasn’t surprised. Not until she pressed her finger into my neck. “Ouch.”
Her eyes had grown wide. I’d forgotten about the bite marks.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said. “Daddy just cut himself shaving.”
I noticed a slight tilt of the head. “And that, my love,” I told her, “Is why we don’t play with sharp things.”
Suddenly, Nina appeared on the porch. “What’s this about you cutting yourself?”
I bent at the waist and set Ellie on her feet. “Just a little knick.”
Ellie looked up at her mother. Side by side, it was astonishing how much the two of them looked alike. Nina’s gaze flittered out toward my car. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not too tired to take her, are you?”
“Nope, I’m just going to grab a water and catch my second wind,” I replied shuffling the mess of hair on Ellie’s head.
“Good. Because I have to run out. Do you need me to pick up anything?”
I couldn’t think of anything I needed in that moment. So I shook my head.
“Okay.”
I nodded toward the car. “We’re off to swim like the fishes.”
“It’s with the fishes.”
“I’m sorry?”
