David Bailey was hardly recognizable. He lay like a small wax doll in a hospital bed in the center of her room. All her old posters still clung to the walls. Juliana was amazed her mother hadn’t pulled them all down as she looked up into the familiar printed eyes of U2, Michael Jackson, E.T, Rob Lowe, and John Stamos.
“He insisted we leave the posters on the walls,” her mother said behind her, as though reading her thoughts. “I can’t think why.”
“Because they remind me of my daughter,” a thin voice said from the bed.
Juliana bit back tears that threatened to flood down her cheeks.
“Here’s some tea, Dad,” Margaret said, placing the mug on the bedside table in between more bottles of pills than Juliana had ever seen in her life. There was a whole pharmacy there.
“Thanks,” their father said, smiling at his eldest. His cheeks had sunken in, along with his eyes, making him look frail, like his skin was draped over delicate porcelain.
Juliana moved into the room and stood next to the bed.
“Hi Daddy,” she said.
“There’s my traveling girl,” he said, smiling broadly. He reached out a thin, pale hand.
She took it and held it, not wanting to ever let go so he could never slip away. He was her father, the one person who had never judged her but accepted her for the free-thinking, imaginative child she still was deep inside.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
He snorted. “I ache, honey. I’m not going to lie to you. But I sure am glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, Dad! How did this happen?” Juliana asked. “You were—you were fine.”
“Too many years smoking those darn cigarettes,” her mother said acidly.
“Ma!” Margaret said in a warning tone.
“What? It’s the truth. I told him to quit at least a dozen ti—”
“Stop it! Dad doesn’t need you nagging him now,” Margaret said.
“I’m not nagging. I’m just saying …”
“And we’ve all heard it before,” Margaret said, her hands on her hips. “Come on. Jules and Dad need some time, and we have dinner on the stove and only Peter watching it.” She shook her head. “The whole place could go up in smoke and he’d never notice. Anyway, we can’t stay late; the sitter’s costing us a fortune lately.”
“I don’t know why you don’t let Peter’s mother babysit a bit more …” their mother said as Margaret pushed her to the door.
Juliana had forgotten she was an aunt. “How is little Russell?” she asked.
Margaret stopped and rolled her eyes at her. “It’s Ryan, and he’s just peachy. Also, not that little; he’s five now. It’s his brother Bryce who’s three, and a little demon if you don’t watch him all the time.”
They were gone and the door closed behind them.
“I really love them,” her father said. “But sometimes I miss the silence.”
Juliana smiled and squeezed his hand as she perched on the bed next to him. “They must be driving you crazy.”
“Your mother is trying to,” he said. “Emily is, and always has been, a strong and willful soul. She doesn’t like not being able to fix me.” He chuckled. “You two are a lot alike, you know.”
“So, what does the doctor say?” Juliana asked, changing the subject. She didn’t want to talk about her and her mother and how alike they supposedly were.
“Not much.” Her father grunted and pulled himself up in bed. “Hand me the tea,” he said.
She did, and got a whiff of it as it passed in front of her. “Wow! That smells awful! Are they trying to kill you?”
He shrugged, and she could see his collarbones move under his skin where his T-shirt gaped at the neck. He was so thin, so frail.
Sipping the tea, he made a face. “It’s some herbal thing your sister got from the local witch.”
Juliana smiled. Her father wasn’t a believer in natural medicine, which Margaret was a firm believer in. It spoke to her mother’s level of desperation that she was letting Margaret try herbs to cure their father.
“So, the drugstore is still on Elm Street, is it?” Juliana asked.
“Must be, since your sister practically lives there. This is brew number three,” he said and coughed. The sound rattled in his chest. Juliana grabbed the mug and held it until he stopped coughing and his breathing eased. He took the mug back. “I hate to say it, but this muck soothes the throat.”
“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” Juliana asked.
“No point, cupcake,” he said. “I’m dying. And if I have a say in it, I’d rather die here, not in some cold hospital ward with strangers all around me.”
“Dad …”
“No, I’m done, Jules. This is it. So, I got to tell you, this thing between you and your mother, you got to put it to bed now. I mean it. She’s going to need you when I’m gone. Margaret is too soft. She’ll let your mother walk all over her. But you’ll stand up to her and get her right. I’m counting on you.”
A cough built in his chest and he began to cough and cough. Juliana sat, frozen. She didn’t know what to do. As the fit seemed set to continue forever, she found her feet, stood, and rushed to the door.
“Help!” she screamed down the stairs. “Help!”
A moment later, both Margaret and their mother rushed into the room. They took control, doing medical things. Juliana only half saw as her father doubled over, his shoulders shaking as the cough raced through him. It was too much for her. She’d never been good with illnesses, having had very few herself growing up. Juliana loved life. She loved vitality. There was so much she wanted to do. And she wanted to share it all with her daddy. But now he was dying, and she had no way to stop it.
She raced down the stairs and out into the night.
It was raining hard now, and she stopped on the porch, breathing hard as the cold air enveloped her. She was shivering before long, and not only from the cold.