Nineteen
Winter
Today, it’s easier to navigate the hallways. The hospital is a lot busier than it was last night, but I trail closely behind Saint, weaving our way through the people we pass.
We arrive in front of my dad’s room just as a nurse leaves. The man in black scrubs gives us a sedate smile as he passes, which I return with a nod. He must be the daytime nurse. I hope my dad will have Florence again tonight. She had a very kind disposition.
Entering the room, relief floods me to find him awake, sitting up in his bed. My mother is sitting on a plastic chair that had been pulled close enough for her to be next to my dad. She holds his hand in her lap between both of her own. Their quiet conversation comes to a halt at our arrival.
Mom’s haggard appearance hasn’t changed since the accident, but my dad smiles.
“My Winnie girl is here to see me.” He cheers with another beaming smile.
“Hey, Dad.” I walk closer to give him a gentle hug.
The hug is warm, but the scratchy material of the hospital gown and the smell of antiseptic remind me this isn’t a usual hug from my dad.
It takes all the fight I have in me not to tear up while holding him and even more effort to release him rather than smother him.
Remembering the bag I brought, I hold it out to my mom.
“Saint suggested we bring you some clean clothes and stuff since you were here overnight.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. Thank you,” she says as she accepts the bag and immediately heads off to the bathroom after squeezing my dad’s hand affectionately.
While Mom’s getting cleaned up, Dad entertains us with gossip he’s heard from the hospital staff talking at the nurses’ station.
“Apparently, there was quite the drama recently. There was a nurse assistant who put in a time-off request. The person who does the schedule said they might not be able to get the days approved, and the girl was worked up because her boyfriend is taking her on a getaway to his cabin.” He brushes his hand through the air.
“Anyways, apparently, the person was able to work it out, so they went to tell her about it, but a bunch of the other staff were around at the time. So the others heard about it. This high-profile doctor apparently requested the same days off, claiming he was going on a retreat to his cabin. Well, the ‘tea’ gets hotter, as you kids might say. One of the other nurses was the one who pointed out that the doctor was taking time off because it was her boyfriend. When everyone made the connection, the secret meetup was outed. The nurse and the nurse’s assistant got into a big argument, and the cheating doctor got dumped. ”
His face grows animated the longer he talks, and it’s almost like he’s his old self for those few minutes. Who knew he could be such a gossip?
When Mom emerges from the bathroom, she looks refreshed.
“Thanks for bringing me some stuff. I feel so much better. Now I need to get a bite to eat.” She smiles. “Saint, will you walk with me to the cafeteria?”
Never one to disappoint my mother, he agrees.
When we were younger, it was one of the traits that I used to hate the most. His mother, Joy, being a single mother and business owner, meant that he would be at our house when his mother was busy.
I used to get angry when he was nice to my mom.
I felt like maybe he was trying to steal her from me.
But now, at twenty-six years old, I can see that I was wrong.
Of course, I’ll never admit such a thing.
But I’m glad that my family has had him around all this time, especially since I was doing a crap job of being part of the family when I ran away to New York.
“Bring me back something sweet,” Dad says.
They agree and promise to bring back a little something for everyone.
Dad huffs, repositioning himself on the bed.
“I hope they have something good. The breakfast was a bit bland,” he stage-whispers like someone is going to catch him trash-talking the hospital food.
“Come sit by me,” he requests.
I quickly fill the space my mother vacated.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask him. You would think he’d be more upset, or at the very least show the pain he’s in. But no. He’s lying in his hospital bed, asking about sweets.
“Things could have been so much worse,” he states with a shrug.
It takes all the self-control I possess not to scoff at what feels like an understatement.
I could have lost my dad. The thought is sobering.
“Please, Dad, how are you really?” I emphasize that I want the truth from him, not fairy-tale bullshit, pleading with my eyes for honesty.
He blows out a deep sigh, gathering his resolve. “Scared. Hurt. Worried. But I don’t want you kids to stress.”
His face changes from the playful smile he’s been wearing since I arrived. It’s obvious he’s a mess of emotions.
The tears I locked away earlier are released, streaming warmly down my face.
“Oh, Dad,” I cry.
Moving from the plastic chair, I perch on the edge of the hospital bed close enough that I can hug him for as long as I want. As long as he needs.
I feel him swallow before he whispers, “I’m trying to be strong.
For your mom. For you kids. I don’t want anyone to get upset.
I’m grateful to be alive and to have more time as a family.
But I’m also nervous. The surgeon did his best, but what if my leg isn’t functional even after I’ve healed?
The business requires a lot of physical labor.
If I can’t do it anymore, then Mom and I lose our income. ”
While he talks, I pull away enough to see his face. It’s now that my kindhearted father truly looks distraught.
It’s not the injury he’s upset about, or the copious amounts of rehabilitation, or the possible loss of function. It’s the possibility of losing the income he and Mom rely on. The possibility of losing the farm that has been in the family for generations. Of feeling like he’s failing us.
I sit up straight. With his hand held in mine, I vow, “Everything will work out.”
I maintain eye contact until he finally nods his reluctant agreement.
“The boys and I won’t let things fall apart.”
“I don’t want to put this on any of you,” he protests through sniffles.
Shaking my head, I say, “We’re family. This is what family does. We hold things together when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”
Seeming to realize I’m not going to concede, he nods, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. It’s not tense, but I wouldn’t quite call it comfortable either.
He’s been lying quietly with his eyes closed long enough that I start to think he’s fallen asleep, until he starts speaking.
“So, you and Saint, huh?” He waggles his bushy old-man eyebrows at me.
Taken off guard, I sputter. This came entirely out of left field.
“No. No, there’s no ‘Saint and I’,” I lie through my teeth.
My dad laughs. A big, boisterous sound that’s so at odds with the somber conversation we just finished.
He raises his hands in defeat.
“Okay. There’s no Saint and Winter—yet. I guess I misread things.” He chuckles. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. But I guess at least you guys have given up trying to battle till your deaths.”
I nod absently in agreement that our fighting has reduced in comparison to the past, until— “Wait, you were hoping we were together?”
Scratching his head, he replies, “Your brother said it was called boating.”
I stare at him in confusion.
“Ah. I said that wrong. Your brother said it was called shipping. Yeah, that’s it. I ship you and Saint.”
I groan. Why? Why did one of my brothers teach him that? And why is he saying it now? This is so awkward.
“Dad, please stop trying to talk like that.”
“What? I’m just trying to keep up with the lingo.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Just don’t.”
Thankfully, before more embarrassment can take place, Saint and my mother walk back into the room.
Saved by sweet treats.