“You want some water, Dad?” Brock asked, pouring water into a plastic cup. “Have a sip.” He held the cup out for his father.
Mr. Watson took a long drink and leaned back into the pillows with a sigh. “My boy has all sorts of big dreams, Emmy Lou. One of them is you.”
She’d believed that once, too. “Dreams are good.”
“They are,” Mr. Watson agreed. “Glad you stopped by the house. Molly might have some cookies.”
“We’re at the hospital, Dad.” Brock placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “You, me, Aunt Mo, and Denise. Denise will be here soon. You like your nurse Denise.”
“Denise?” Mr. Watson smiled. “I do like Denise. She’s sassy.”
Brock chuckled then, drawing Emmy’s gaze. He looked worn out. Dark bags under his eyes and a heavy stubble along his jaw. A quick glance around the room suggested he, or Aunt Mo, was sleeping in the recliner. A blanket was folded over the back and a small suitcase was wedged between the chair and the wall.
She noticed other things, too—little things that would make a difference for someone with memory issues. A sign that said “Bathroom” had been taped to a door—presumably the bathroom. The day of the week written in big, clear letters. The name of the nurse, also oversized and easy to read.
“Emmy Lou.” David Watson leaned forward. “You remember that song you used to sing to me? The Patsy Cline song? It’s my favorite.”
“I do. ‘Sweet Dreams.’ It’s one of my favorite songs, too.” She swallowed, awash in memories of a better time and place.
“I miss you singing that.” His brow furrowed. “Been a while. Hasn’t it?”
Her heart hurt. “You want me to sing it to you?”
Mr. Watson nodded.
“Dad, Emmy—”
“Would be happy to sing to you.” She cut Brock off, focusing only to David Watson. If he wanted her to sing, she was going to sing. “But I’m warning you, I’m a little rusty.”
“Little bird,” Mr. Watson said, closing his eyes. “Sing sweet.” Brock’s father had always called her “little bird.” He remembered that. And it almost broke her.
“Yes, sir.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on his mattress. “Sweet dreams of you…” She sang, as softly as possible, and watched as Mr. Watson’s features relaxed into sleep. “Why can’t I forget the past, start loving someone new…” Her voice faded.
“You should finish,” Aunt Mo said, knitting needles clicking away. “If you don’t, I’ll try. And no one wants to hear that.”
Emmy repeated the last line, then finished. “Instead of having sweet dreams about you.” She sat back, nodding at Aunt Mo’s smile. She didn’t look at Brock—she was too close to tears. But from the corner of her eye, she saw him. Arms crossed, jaw locked, as he walked to the large window and stared outside.
“Thank you, Emmy Lou. He normally fights sleep.” Aunt Mo stopped knitting, regarding her brother with love. “Good to see him peaceful.”
Emmy stood, swallowing against the lump in her throat, and stared down at David Watson. She couldn’t imagine. Being in and out of time and place? It had to take a toll on a person. It had to be terrifying. For him and those who loved him.
“Glad I talked you into coming up.” Aunt Mo used her knitting needle to point at her. “But I’m not letting you out of here until you give me your word you’re coming to dinner sometime soon. You have my number, now, that hasn’t changed. Brock said you were rail thin.” She shook her head. “Now that I see you, though… A strong breeze could carry you away.”
“It’s windy today and I’m still standing.” She went around the bed to hug Aunt Mo. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to come to dinner.” Another hug and she was on her way to the door, a throb in her ankle forcing her to place a hand on the wall for support. “You tell me when and I’ll be there.”
While Aunt Mo rattled off dates, Brock remained statue stiff, staring out the window.
“I’ll get back to you, okay? And I’ll go get food now, Aunt Mo, promise.” She paused in the door, but Brock didn’t move. Okay then. “Take care.”
“You take care, Emmy.” Aunt Mo’s tone would brook no argument. “Have an extra piece of pie or cake, too.”
“Maybe a cupcake.” Emmy Lou walked into the brightly lit white hospital wing and took a deep breath. “Thanks.” She took the arm Sawyer offered.
“Still think it was a bad idea to come?” He set a slow pace for her.
“No. Not for Mr. Watson. Not for me. I’m glad I was able to spend time with him.”
“You sang?” He pressed the elevator button.