32. Fisher
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
fisher
The beds in hospitals aren’t comfy. The blankets are scratchy. And there’s a smell. And I live on a ranch with animals, so if I notice a smell then there’s a problem.
Winnie is in the bed, and I am supposed to talk to her. That’s what everyone says. “Talk to her, Fisher. She can hear you.”
I sit down on the bed next to her. I swing my legs back and forth and it makes the blanket crinkle.
I poke her hand, just barely.
“Hey Winnie,” I whisper. “It’s Fisher.”
I sniff. “I know I took a while to come talk to you,” I say real quiet. “I’m real sorry. I was scared. I thought if I talked to you it meant… it meant you might not wake up.”
“But I’m not scared anymore. Bluebell came with me.”
My lip shakes as I smooth my hand over Bluebell's faded blue plush before setting him beside me on the bed.
The last time Bluebell and I were both with Winnie, she was reading to me. She used funny voices for all the animals. I try to remember them, but all I can hear is Daddy.
The doctor and daddy are arguin’ outside the room. Daddy thinks I can’t hear because the door’s shut, but I can.
“She should’ve woken up by now,” the doctor says. “We need to start talking about long-term care.”
I don’t know what that means. But I know Daddy does.
Daddy says a bad word.
I look at Winnie. I try to see if her face changed. It didn’t. I squeeze her hand.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” I say. “But the animals miss you.”
That is true. About the animals. The goats are always yelling for her in the morning, and only three of the chickens ate today. And when I went out to the barn, the horses didn’t look at me, just at the empty spot where she usually stands.
“I thought maybe you could hear me if I told you about them, because that’s the thing you like best, I think.”
I look at her face and try to decide if she heard me.
“And Daddy…” My throat feels like it’s closin’, but I keep going. “Daddy’s not doin’ good. He’s doin’ the worst.” I lean closer to her ear. “He’s yellin’ at the doctor in the hall right now.”
I wait.
Nothing.
“Nana says sometimes people don’t wake up ’cause they think nobody needs ’em to. So I’m tellin’ you we do. Just in case you didn’t know.”
I swallow.
My stomach does that thing. The one that means crying is comin’.
“And I gotta tell you somethin’ important… and I hope you don’t get mad.”
I look at the door to make sure Daddy ain’t there.
“I’m the one who left you the notes.”
The machine keeps beepin’.
“Nana helped me spell the words. She wrote the ones I gave daddy to make him think they were from you. Told her they were for school. She didn’t know I was puttin’ them places.” I sniff. “I tried to make ’em nice, even if they looked messy. I’m a lefty. Nana says that’s why.”
I take a shaky breath.
“I just wanted to keep you with us.”
I look at her face again, just in case.
“Daddy works all the time. Does stuff for everyone else. Even hard things. He don’t got nobody takin’ care of him. I figured you’d be the kind of person who would take good care of him. Like you do the animals.”
My nose burns. I wipe it on my sleeve.
“You’d be real good at it,” I whisper. “At bein’ ours.”
The tears come faster now.
“Daddy says Stetson boys are like bulls,” I whisper. “We’re strong. We don’t ask for stuff.”
My eyes blur from the tears.
“But I ain’t that strong yet.”
My voice gets small. Smaller than I want it to. “So I’m gonna ask anyway.” I twist my fingers together like I do when I'm in church with Nana and I don’t know the words.
“Could you wake up? For my daddy? He’s tryin’ to be big about it. But he ain’t sleepin’. He thinks I don’t see it, but I do.”
My throat hurts.
“He needs you, Winnie.”
The tears slide off my chin and onto the blanket.
“And if… if you’re stayin’ asleep ’cause of me—” My words wobble. “’Cause I lied, or I wasn’t good enough?—”
“I’ll fix it. I’ll be better. I won’t lie no more. I won’t leave notes. I’ll just… I’ll just be good.”
I press my lips together so they stop shaking.
“Just don’t leave him.”
The hallway sounds wrong. Daddy’s voice is louder. Not mad-loud. Scared-loud. I don’t like that one.
The doctor keeps saying, “Just give us a minute,” like minutes are something you can hand to somebody.
I wish they would both stop talking. I wish Daddy would come in here and sit down. But I know he can’t. Every day he sits in this room, and she doesn’t wake up.
There’s a crash. Then Daddy says a word I’m not supposed to say ever.
The doctor says, “Let’s take a breath.”
I close my eyes. For just a second, I pretend we’re home. Winnie’s in the kitchen makin’ cookies. Daddy’s pretending he doesn’t like when she laughs real loud. I’m under the table feeding scraps to Benson Bone.
Nobody’s yelling. Nobody’s leaving.
“Come back,” I whisper. “Please.”
It doesn’t sound strong. It sounds wobbly.
“I need you. Daddy needs you.”
My chest feels hot, like I swallowed soup too fast and it’s stuck there. The tears make everything shiny and far away.
“What do you mean transfer?” Daddy shouts. “Transfer her where?”
“Sir, you need to calm down?—”
“I am calm!” he roars. “You don’t wanna see me when I’m not calm.”
They sound like they’re fightin’ over her.
I squeeze her hand. “Everybody thinks I want a mama real bad. And I do. But mostly… I wanted you. For him.” My voice breaks on the last word. “If you don’t wake up, Daddy’s gonna break. And I don’t know how to fix him. I’m only six.”
That’s when I feel it.
Not big. Not dramatic. Just… tight.
Her fingers. They squeeze mine.
My heart jumps so hard it almost hurts.
I freeze.
“Winnie?” I breathe.
Her hand squeezes again. Weak. But real.
I scoot closer. “Winnie, it’s me. It’s Fisher.”
Her eyelid flutters. Once. Twice. Slow like she’s pushing through mud.
“C’mon,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
Her eyes open just a tiny crack.
They’re blurry at first. Then they find me. And I know it’s her because even tired and sleepy, her eyes do that blue-ice sparkle thing.
Her mouth moves. It takes a second. Then?—
“Hey, little cowboy,” she whispers.
I start crying so hard I can’t even say hi back. And then I do the only thing I can think of.
She’s awake.
I scream.
“Daddy!” I yell. “She came back!”
She heard me.