“Mr. Murray, this is Angela DiSantis. I’m a nurse at Presbyterian Hospital. Your father, Brian Murray, had a fall today. He’s here now, and lucid…”
I barely heard another word she said. I was already ten steps ahead, mentally ordering an Uber, running down the hallway, at my dad’s bedside. I hung up as soon as she finished speaking, glancing around the room blindly.
“My dad’s in the hospital,” I croaked, every ounce of fight fleeing my bones.
Yael jumped into action without a word, pulling me from the room, her thumb flying over her phone screen. We rode the elevator down to the ground floor, Yael’s fingers woven with mine. On the curb, my knees wobbled, and I dropped her hand to give my face a hard scrub.
“They said he’s lucid,” I said.
“That’s good. He’ll be okay, Alex. He’s in the right place.” She sounded so calm, as if her brother hadn’t whipped her with his harsh judgments, like I couldn’t see the scores on her flesh and pain in her shiny brown eyes.
I nodded, my head too heavy to keep upright anymore.
“I’m going to go on my own. My dad wouldn’t want you there.”
She kissed my shoulder, then leaned her head in the same place. “Okay. Tell me what I can do.”
“Nothing. I can’t—” Words stuck in my throat—words I was loath to say, but I said them anyway. “I’ve got to do this on my own.”
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
“It means what I said. I can’t deal with our relationship drama while I’m helping my dad. That’s got to be my focus.” My eyes remained trained on the ground. It seemed to be impossible to look at her right now.
“Relationship drama? What?” Hurt poured from her mouth like a tangible thing. I could almost see it, slithering along the sidewalk.
My Uber pulled up in front of us. “I gotta go.” I opened the door, climbing inside.
“Text me. Tell me he’s okay.”
“Yep. I will.”
The car pulled away, and I never looked at her.
Dad was propped up in a hospital bed, a bandage on his forehead, monitors hooked up to his chest and arms. He looked about as shitty as I felt.
“What’d you do to yourself this time?” I asked as I walked into the room.
He greeted me with a crooked grin. “No surprise, I lost my footing and gave my head a good beating. Seems I’ve got a concussion so maybe lower the volume of your voice.”
I pulled up a chair beside his bed, giving him a thorough exam with my eyes. He looked older. How did he look older when I just saw him a few days ago?
“What happened?”
“Eh.” He groaned. “My legs were working just fine. It was my vision that took me out this time. I didn’t see the ottoman and down I went.”
My fingers curled around the edge of his bed. “How long did you lie there?” Any amount of time was too much, but imagining him alone and immobile for hours had my mind spiraling into a dark place I didn’t want to be.
“Don’t know. A while. I made it to the phone, though. Greeted the EMT guys at the door. I’m not a total fucking invalid.”
As much as I wanted to berate my dad and make demands of him, I couldn’t. Not when deep creases of pain cut across his brow and his mouth was drawn into a tight line. I had to back off and just be there for him.
“All right. I know you’re not an invalid.”
“Good.” He closed his eyes for a second, but they snapped back open. “Do you have any books on that phone of yours you’d like to read to me? Seems I’m not allowed to watch TV or read to myself, so my entertainment choices are pretty limited.”
“Yeah. I think I can do that. But I’m going to do character voices and you’re going to like it.”
He closed his eyes, his tight mouth curling into a slight smile, which was enough to ease my troubled mind for now. I was able to lose myself in a book, reading a story where all was right in the world. If I tried hard enough, I could pretend that wasmystory too.