Joey and Bill say good-bye, their eyes glassy. I still think we should call Aunt Renee. I grab Dad’s phone off the nightstand. “What about names of beer?” I say.
Vance looks up. “The hell you talking about now?”
“His password. Did you try beer names?” I type in “budw” and “guin” and “mill.” Denied. “I just tried Budweiser, Guinness, and Miller.”
“Try Red Stripe.”
Red Stripe is Jamaica’s national brew. “Good one.” I click “reds” and shake my head.
“We’re never going to figure it out. Forget it.” He sounds so tired.
I can’t argue with him because I agree. We will have to wait until Dad’s gone. My hand shakes as I put the cell back down.
“Tonight’s gonna suck. I can’t keep my eyes open. How will I count his breaths?” Vance says.
I should be thinking, Good. Serves you right, jerk. Instead, I see so much of my mother in Vance that it often feels like I’m looking into her eyes. Right now, his are red and worn out. “I’ll do it. You can sleep.” There’s an unrecognizable flicker on his face. Is it gratitude?
Without looking at me, he mutters, “Thanks,” and shuffles to the sofa bed I made up.
It was gratitude.
Vance is snoring in under five minutes.
There’s a humming going on beneath my skin, making me energized. I could probably run around and around WCHS’s track across the street.
Jacque Beaufort spoke to me.
That phrase has been auto-repeating in my brain ever since she disappeared from behind the piano.
How could I not remember seeing her at Mrs. Gramble’s? I thought the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her was when she walked into sculpture. She definitely didn’t go to my elementary school—I’d remember that. But our paths have crossed before I knew she existed. That’s mildly exhilarating.
And she remembered me.
Dad releases another long and weary moan. Thoughts of Jacque Beaufort pop like a bubble. I spring from the chair. His head rolls off the pillow, and my heart pounds. Before readjusting him, I blow into my cupped hands to warm them up. His skin is cool to the touch. Oh my God. Did he just die right in front of me? I hover my hand over his mouth and feel his warm breath.
Is that relief I feel? Or disappointment? My insides are twisted.
With a careful touch I reposition his head. He sighs again. “It’s me, Dad. Do you know I’m here?” My face crumples and I blink back tears. How can this shell of a man be my father? He looks like he’s seventy years old. Another strenuous breath rattles from his mouth, more raspy this time. This is the most noise he’s made since we got here. Maybe something’s wrong.
I jog to the nurse’s station and tell Marnie. On the walk down the hall, she thanks me again for playing the piano. My head bounces and I mumble, “Sure, you’re welcome.” Just before we’re at the door, I tell her that Vance is sleeping.
She shushes herself with her pointer finger and nods.
We enter the room like ninjas and flank Dad’s bed. Marnie lays the back of her hand on his cheek and then lifts the sheet from his legs. With a flick of her head, she motions for me to follow her back into the hall. She takes a huge breath before speaking. I know what she’s about to say will be bad.
“It feels like his temp has dropped, and his feet looked a little swollen, honey.”
My stomach has sunk to my feet.
“Do you want to sit down?” she asks. “You just went pale as a marshmallow.” Marnie takes my arm and leads me to the Common Room. I drop my head into my hands as soon as I sit.
“Should I go wake your brother?”
My head snaps up. “Is Dad about to die, like, right now?”
“He could. Death doesn’t follow the rules, but I think he’s got some time. Maybe till morning?”
I drop my gaze and stare at the piano. “Then let Vance sleep. He needs it.”
“You know those sighs he was releasing when you were talking to him? Well, some unconscious patients make those noises when a loved one is close. It’s like their subconscious knows that someone they love is standing near them. So, your dad may have been letting you know that he knows you’re here with him.”
A rush of emotion floods me, and I can’t stop the sob that escapes. I cover my face to hide the guilt. How can I want him to die? What the hell is wrong with me? Did I really do everything I could to help him heal from Mom’s death, or did I allow him to self-destruct? I admit that I went deeper into my shell after we lost her. It felt like my only option.
My opportunities to work on our relationship are over. They will die with my father.
I will be completely alone in this world.
The sofa dips as Marnie sits next to me. “You gotta let this out. It’s not good to keep grief locked away.”
Without removing my hands, I choke out my guilt and fear. I could sit here and cry all night, but I have to pull myself together. No one is with Dad right now. Not that all our needs haven’t been thought of here, but the one need a hospice is really good at fulfilling is tissues. They’re everywhere. I reach forward and grab a wad. I’m a mess.
Marnie squeezes my shoulder and leaves me be.
Even though I say I like being by myself, the thought of living as an orphan inflates an enormous balloon of terror in my chest. I stand so I can catch my breath, deflate the balloon. I walk toward Dad’s room. Vance will head off to college soon and never look back. There’s no doubt about that. He is annoyed by my very being.
Where will I go?
Maybe Growler’s family will let me stay with them. It would only be for a year. At least until I graduate.
Then I’ll go to college and never look back.