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“I’m not leaving,” he rasps. “I’m not leaving her.”
My mother is buried in the Rose Hills Mortuary. But my dad acts like she still inhabits the house.
I say, “You need help?—“
“I need to stay right here.”
I look at Theo helplessly.
“Let’s get him calm and cleaned up,” she murmurs to me. “Then we’ll see.”
I’ve never passed a longernight. I don’t know what I would have done if Theo hadn’t been there. She obviously learned a thing or two from her mom, the nurse, because she’s steady and undeterred by the sweat, vomit, and urine we’re cleaning up all night long, not to mention the useless lumps of dread and exhaustion that Reese and I have become.
Finally, as dawn breaks, my father falls into a heavy sleep, half a banana in his stomach, bathed once more by me and Theo, who treated his naked body with dignity and respect, and sleeping on sheets freshly laundered by Reese.
Reese stays in the pool house, napping on the couch so he can keep tabs on our dad.
I feel empty, hollowed out.
Theo’s so tired, she can barely stagger back to the house. I put my arm around her waist to help her up the steps.
We pause outside her bedroom door.
I want to thank her, but there’s no words big enough.
So I sweep her into my arms and hold her like she’s the most precious, precious thing. Hoping she can feel how goddamn lucky and unworthy I feel.
“Theo,” I croak. “I…just, thank you.Thank you.”
“He’s going to be okay,” she whispers in my ear.
I turn my face against her neck. Blame it on the exhaustion, but that’s when I break down.
Theo pulls me into her room and into her bed.
I wrap my arms around her and cradle her there in the nest of blankets, her back tucked against my chest, her head under my chin.
It feels like Theo’s slipped all the way inside me to fill that empty, hollow space. Her warmth becomes my warmth. Her breath becomes my breath. Her calm becomes my peaceful oblivion.
Sooner than I would have thought possible, I’m drifting into dreamless sleep.
32
SULLY
The next day, I cancel all my appointments to stay home with my dad. Theo can’t skip work, but she drives home over her lunch hour to check on us, insisting on whipping up a pot of homemade chicken soup even though my dad’s still too sick to eat much.
He only finishes half a bowl but seems cheered by Theo’s visit. He spends the rest of the afternoon reading a biography of Winston Churchill that she borrowed from Martinique for his enjoyment.
By Thursday, he’s feeling a little better, and by Friday, he’s up and out of bed, looking pale and exhausted but more clear-eyed than I’ve seen him in years.
He threw away every drop of alcohol in the pool house, and Friday night, he attends his very first AA meeting even though he’s barely recovered enough to stand up on his own. Reese goes along with him, for physical and moral support.
Theo’s late coming home from work. When she still hasn’t pulled into the driveway by eight p.m., I’m fighting the urge to drive to her office to throttle Angus. I swear he keeps her late onweekends on purpose, punishing her when he doesn’t have any plans of his own.
But when she finally pulls in, it’s not Angus who delayed her but rather the fat, fluffy puff ball in her passenger seat.
Theo unbuckles the seatbelt restraining the most enormous Saint Bernard puppy I’ve ever seen. She can hardly lift him out of the car, fur spilling over her arms, the puppy grinning up at me with his tongue hanging out.
