Fifteen
Voices pull me from sleep sometime later, though I don’t know how much. The hospital door doesn’t close completely, leaving just enough space for words to drift inside.
Even when her tone is hushed, I recognize my mother immediately. There’s tension threaded within her vocal cords which has always been unmistakable. I cock my head so I can see a sliver of the scene outside my room.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she says. “If she hadn’t brought that dog home…” Her words trail away before she gathers herself again. “I know you think I’m awful for saying it, but every time I close my eyes…”
No one else comments right away and the silence stretches long enough that I think the conversation is over.
“Anne.” Dave’s voice is calm, steady—and firm. “She would bring that dog home again tomorrow.”
Mom lets out a slow breath. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” Another silence settles between them before he quietly adds, “And so do you, because that’s who she is. Protect and serve. She didn’t need to take an oath because that’s her. It always has been.”
He gets me. My eyelids drift closed and I savor the knowledge but hearing him having to defend me to my mother hurts me in a place I can’t quite reach.
“You don’t get her, and she’s your daughter. She wasn’t just rescuing a dog,” he says. “She was saving a life.”
Silence settles with the gravity of the statement and then Mom’s voice cracks with a sob. “And look what it cost her.”
Another set of footsteps, slower than the others. Uneven. Familiar.
Dad.
“What’s going on and why are you two so serious?” He asks.
“If that dog hadn’t…” Mom begins again.
“No.” Dad doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. “It was an accident, Anne.”
Mom tries once more. “Richard…”
“No.” He stops her. “We’re not blaming the dog. He’s an animal operating on instinct and he loves that girl. She saved him and earned his loyalty, even in that short a timeframe. It doesn’t matter if you can see it. He was running to her to assure himself she was okay. End of discussion.”
The silence afterward feels heavier than anything either of them could have said.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father interrupt my mother before.
Not once. Growing up, if they disagreed, Dad usually let her finish, then let her have her way, softening whatever sharp edges the disagreement left behind.
I used to see it as weakness, but now I see he simply thought peace was worth more to him than being right.