Coralyn gathered her courage and made sure that her panic
didn’t show on her face before she slipped into her father’s
room. The whole thing smelled clean and fresh, like there was
new life inside, not an old man waiting to pass into the next
life. He called it that. The next life. Coralyn didn’t know what
to think about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She’d
thought about it endlessly after her mom died, and now she
was losing her dad as well.
At twenty-two, she was going to be an orphan.
“Dad?” The curtains at the window were closed, but there
was no sunlight left anyway. February in Chicago meant cold
days that turned dark before most people were even home
from their workday.
“Coralyn.” Her dad was propped up in bed with several
pillows. The TV in the corner of the room was turned off and
he had a book open on his lap that he hadn’t been reading. His
eyes were closed when she came in, but now he opened them
with difficulty, pulling himself back to the present in order to
be with her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She grabbed a chair and dragged it to her dad’s bedside. The
rails were up, caging him in. She’d become numb to all the
tubes, wires, and beeping machinery a long time ago. They
were the sounds of life. They were the sounds of dying.
Coralyn took her father’s hand, thin and bruised, the skin
sallow and the bones sticking out. She pretended not to notice.
She swallowed back the acid that climbed up her throat and
the sorrow that tugged her heart into a slow, sluggish beat that
hurt with every pulse.
“I’m glad I’m here too.”
“How was work?” Her dad struggled with each word, his