Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
S HANNON
Three and a half hours and four traffic-halting car accidents later, I’m pulling into a parking space at the hospital where Lincoln said I’d find Troy. My nerves are frayed like the end of an old rope from the harrowing trip here. I guess the weather forecasters weren’t wrong about a snowstorm hitting our part of the country.
Now that I’m here, I’m torn between wanting to run inside and make sure Troy is okay and wanting to hide out in my car for a bit longer because a thought occurred to me about ten minutes ago that I don’t like. What if Troy did bring the woman with him, and he didn’t tell Lincoln? Lincoln is married to my sister, after all, and maybe Troy didn’t want her to find out the details yet and risk them getting back to me.
“Stop it. This isn’t about you,” I tell myself. “This is about supporting Troy.”
It’s true. Plus, If I get in there and he’s not alone, then I can politely excuse myself and find somewhere to stay until the snow settles enough to drive home. As long as he has support, it doesn’t matter whether it’s me or not.
Yes, it does!
Four minutes later, after I trudge through at least eight inches of snow, I finally step inside the main hospital reception lobby. My toes are wet and cold, and my thighs are burning from the unanticipated workout they got dragging me from my car to the door. But I’m here.
I take a deep breath—appreciating the smell of the freshly roasted coffee coming from the small coffee kiosk nearby—let it out, then approach the reception desk.
An older woman smiles up at me, “Oh, my. Not seeing many visitors braving this weather. I’m glad you’re here safe. How may I help you?”
“I-I’m looking for what unit and room Doug Willson is on, please.”
“Sure thing, dear. Give me one moment.”
She clicks away at her computer keyboard, then stops, writes a room number on a small piece of paper labeled “visitor pass,” and hands it to me. She kindly points me in the direction of the elevators.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
I follow her directions and am about to approach the coffee kiosk—where I’m definitely stopping since there’s no line—when awareness comes over me.
“Shannon?” There’s surprise, shock almost, in the voice, and I turn toward it.
Troy is standing with his hands on the bistro-style table tucked intimately into a small alcove. His eyes are wide, questioning. There’s only one cup of coffee on the table, which relieves me. What worries me is the shredded cardboard sleeve that covers the table. Actually, it looks like the remnants of two sleeves, which tells me he’s been sitting here a while.
“Hi,” I whisper. I take a few steps toward him, and about four feet away, I stop. What if he doesn’t want me here?
“W-what are you... How are you here? How did you even know I was here?”
I bite my lower lip for a second. “Don’t be mad at him, but I bullied Lincoln into telling me where you were.”
Anger flashes over his face, his features tightening.
“I’m gonna kill him. You shouldn’t be driving in this. W-What if you got hurt?”
“You shouldn’t be here alone, Troy.” I set my bag on the table. “I’m gonna grab a coffee. Do you want another?” My voice sounds more confident and in control than I feel, as my insides are a shaky mess right now.
He nods, sits down with his elbows on the table, and drops his head into his hands for support.
When I approach the barista, she smiles at me, and tension disappears from her face. Weird. I’d guess she’s maybe college-aged.
“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know who you are to him, but he’s been looking really stressed over the last two hours. I don’t think he should be alone.” She keeps her voice low, so Troy won’t hear. “Plus, he won’t eat. I even offered him free stuff, but he wouldn’t take it. We have soup, but he wasn’t interested.”
Gratitude for this thoughtful young woman fills me. Not everyone would notice or care about a stranger’s distress.
“Thank you for letting me know. Could I please have two large coffees?”—I pause and look at the display case—“Two of the cheese scones and a soup for each of us? Oh, and oyster crackers if you have them. He loves oyster crackers.” I smile at her.
“Yes, ma’am, of course.” She takes a minute to ring me up and prepare the coffee and scones, then turns back to me. “I’ll bring the soup out to your table.”
“Thank you,” I glance down at her name tag, “Ellie. Very much.” I pay with my card, throw a ten-dollar bill in her tip jar, and watch as her eyes widen. Then I take our coffee over to add sweetener and cream to mine before I return to the table.
I set the bag of scones and our coffees on the table, sliding the black one to Troy before sitting myself.
“Please eat a scone, Troy. Ellie’s very worried about you.” I give him a slight smile.
His brow furrows and his eyes fill with confusion. “Ellie?”
I take a sip of my coffee and swallow it. “Uh-huh. The barista, Ellie.”
Troy glances up over at the kiosk, and as he does, Ellie is walking over with a tray that has our soups on it. And a shit ton of oyster crackers—eight packs, to be exact. I hold back a grin.
“Thank you, Ellie.” I smile at her.
“You’re welcome.” She’s gone in a flash.
Troy eyes the food, then picks up a pack of oyster crackers and puts them in his soup before taking his first bite. “Is it me, or does this seem like an excessive amount of oyster crackers for two cups of soup?” It’s amusing, but I also know he’s avoiding the conversation.
We eat in silence, and when we’re done, I clean up our table and return to my seat.
“You shouldn’t have driven in this weather,” Troy says. He’s gripping his coffee like it will grow legs and run away if he loosens up.
“You did,” I whisper.
“That’s different, Shan. I... I felt like I needed to. It’s my last chance.” He turns his gaze down to the tabletop, not meeting my eyes.
I take a risk and reach across the table, wrapping my hand around his wrist.
“Well, I’m here because I want to be here. The kids are safe at the indoor waterpark with our family, and I didn’t want you to be alone.”
I slide my hand down to his fingers and gently pry them off the cup, then wrap that hand in mine. When I look up, he’s staring at our joined hands and doesn’t move at first. Then, when he does, he curls his fingers around mine. Somehow, despite everything we’ve been through, this moment is more intimate than anything I’ve experienced in a very long time.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Have you gone in to see him?”
Troy shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m not sure if I should.” His gaze meets mine. “He wrote me a letter, and I read it. Well... not at first. But then I had your dad read it and my counselor, too. They thought it might help me. So, I read it.”
An ache takes residence in my chest that he didn’t come to me to talk about it. I understand, but it still hurts.
He pulls his hand away from mine, and I hate the loss of connection, but then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He slides it across the table to me.
“You can read it if you want.” His voice is rough. I watch him, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me.
“Are you sure?”
He nods, staring at the table.
I take the next couple of minutes and read the letter. Twice. Then I fold it back up and slide it over to Troy. He puts it back in his pocket and then reaches for my hand again but stops inches from touching me.
“Is this okay?” he whispers. I nod, and he wraps his strong, rough hand around my much smaller one.
“Troy, I’ll do whatever you want... whatever you need. If you want to sit here all evening, all night, I’ll sit with you. If you want to leave and drive home in the middle of this blizzard, I’ll follow you. But I kind of wonder if you drove here in a snowstorm because maybe you did want a chance to see him.” My tone is gentle. I give his hand a light squeeze. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
“Does it make me weak if I want to see him, especially if I don’t know why?” The words are practically whispered.
On instinct, I take my free hand and wrap it over our clasped ones, needing more connection in the moment.
“No, it makes you human. Look at me, please.” He hesitates but then meets my eye. “There is nothing weak about you. Not one thing. Physically, you’re strong, but in every other way as well. You’ve always been a source of strength to me and the kids. You are not weak.”
“Will you go with me?” he asks.
“If that’s what you want, then yes.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve met Annette, and she shows us to Doug’s room then gives us some privacy. Troy and I stand together by the door, and both stare at the lethargic, ill man in the bed. He’s intensely jaundiced and so gaunt—everywhere but his belly, which is distended with fluid—that it’s almost shocking.
“Why don’t you go sit in the chair by the bed, and I’ll be right over there if you need me. Okay?” I gesture to a small loveseat near where we are standing. He nods.
I watch from the loveseat over the next few minutes while Troy sits quietly at Doug’s bedside. His hand is on the bed but not touching the man who left him all those years ago.
He says nothing at first but then clears his throat.
“Hi. It looks like you’re asleep, but I wanted you to know I’m here. I-I got your letter, and I’m sorry you’re sick.” He pauses for thirty seconds or so and I can tell by the way he’s pinching at the sheets on the bed that he’s nervous. “Annette seems nice. I-I don’t know if you know, but Mom’s gone. She died a few years ago. D-don’t worry. She did a good job raising me. I’m okay. I’m a firefighter now. I have been for approaching fifteen years. And I got married... to my high school sweetheart, even. We’ve got four kids, from three and a half to twelve. I’m teaching my oldest boy things in the workshop like you did with me.”
My emotions rise up into my throat. I didn’t know that’s where Troy got his love of woodworking.
“I’ve... I’ve had a happy and great life. I want you to know that. I don’t want you to leave here worrying about me. I’m gonna be okay.”
Troy looks down at the bedding, so he doesn’t notice that Doug’s eyes have opened.
“Tr—Tr—Troy.” Doug’s weak, raspy voice causes Troy’s head to whip up to look at the man. Even the whites of his eyes are yellowed, and his poor lips are dry and cracked.
“Hi,” Troy whispers.
Doug’s frail hand touches Troy’s, and Troy doesn’t pull away.
“Happy?” Doug strains to get even the single word out, but the desperation in his expression makes it clear this matters to him, and my heart softens slightly for him.
“Yeah, I’m happy. Everything is good for me. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Doug’s breathing visibly relaxes, and his facial expression softens.
“Good,” Doug whispers. His eyes shift over to look at me, then back at Troy. “Wife?”
“She’s... it’s comp?—”
“Yes, I’m his wife, Shannon.” Before I know it, I’m kneeling next to Troy, and he’s staring at me. I turn my gaze back to Doug. “Your son is an amazing man, Doug. He’s smart, strong, and an amazing father and husband. He’s got a lot of people who love him, and we’ll take care of him. I promise.”
Doug manages a weak smile. “Thank you,” he whispers. I smile at him and nod.
I rise and squeeze Troy’s shoulder on my way back to my spot on the two-seater. It’s clear that Doug is fatigued even with the short visit, and he appears to be struggling to keep his eyes open, his voice getting weaker. It’s like he’s using all of his strength to focus on Troy.
“I-I’m s-s-sorry. Please... forg-g-ive me.” Doug’s shoulders visibly drop after he gets the words out, like he needed to use all the muscles he could to speak them.
“I forgive you. You can rest now. Don’t try to talk more.” Troy swipes at his face, “I forgive you...”
We must stay there for five minutes after Doug falls asleep. Then Troy stands and walks over to me. “I’m ready.”
I step out the doorway before him, and when his hand finds the small of my back, nothing in me desires to pull away. On the contrary, I want to melt further into him.
Just before Troy steps into the hall with me, I hear him whisper, “Bye, Dad.”