doorjamb of a supply closet.
“What happens now?” Leo asks, as Abigail guides our little powwow into a small pocket of space by the double doors. Huston
looks into Dad’s hospital room. John has the file open and is producing document after document.
“You know… you don’t have to,” I whisper, choking on my words.
“What do you mean? You mean, we should just—” Abigail starts, her voice a building whisper.
“Yeah, we could just… walk away,” I say. A nurse in pink scrubs looks over at us. I take a deep breath.
“Well, that’s what you’re good at,” Abigail spits.
“Like father, like daughter,” I parry. Abigail’s face flushes as she zeroes in on me.
Huston seems not to notice. “This is probably a shock for her. Her reaction is normal,” he says, trying to work out the logic
behind Dad’s choice. He looks at Abigail.
“Have you spoken to him since… ?” Leo asks.
“No,” Huston quickly answers.
“Just because he gave you the power of attorney doesn’t mean you have to take it,” I press.
“Just drop it,” Abigail says.
“Am I the only one who remembers that he left? That he ran back to his rich mommy in Ojai while we survived on food stamps?
No child support, no support of any kind. I mean, I understand that marriages don’t work out, but to leave your kids like
that… and not even make sure they’re taken care of?” My voice is a rasping whisper. The nurses stare at us again as we move
out of the way of a pack of doctors headed over to another glass room.
“We all remember,” Huston finally says.
“He knew Mom had it handled,” Abigail offers.
“Did she?” I blurt, without even thinking. “She never remarried, she never…” I trail off, not knowing where I’m going.
“Moved on,” Leo finishes.
“It just seemed like we were drowning, and Dad—” I start again, looking back into the hospital room.
“Didn’t care,” Leo finishes.
We’re quiet. I feel like a volcano… about to…
“I know I walked away from you, but trying to forget you guys was like swallowing poison every morning,” I whisper, finally
trying to come clean.
Abigail smiles. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“Swallowing poison,” Leo trills, the back of his hand at his forehead as if he’s in dire need of a fainting couch. I have
to laugh at myself. We fall into silence.
“Doesn’t that give you some insight, then?” Abigail asks, her face open and vulnerable. We all want answers.
“Maybe,” I say, meaning it.
“But when you sign on to be a parent, don’t you make a pact with your children to be held to a higher standard? I mean, Grace
is our sister, not our father,” Leo says, his mind a blur of equations and theory. I nod… wanting it to be true. Abigail lets
out a weary sigh.
“Held to a higher standard,” I repeat.
“Like Mom,” we all say at almost the same time.
We’re all quiet.
“Jinx,” Leo mumbles. We all try to offer him a smile.
“Dad wanted us here,” Abigail says, trying to get back on point.
“I know, but does that mean that he just gets us?” I ask, struggling to keep the pouty preteen snark out of my voice.
“Who would it help to walk away now?” Huston asks. Why do all of Huston’s questions sound like statements? How does he
do
that? Abigail opens her mouth to say something, but… nothing. Her face reddens and her eyes dart around the ICU.
“Does he automatically get another chance after he’s already had a lifetime of them?” I ask, putting my mathematical brain
to work.
Huston, Abigail and Leo look at me. Pointedly.
I continue, “I know, consider the source. I’m sorry,” I say.
“You’re sorry for what?” Abigail leads. Leo represses the smallest smile.
“This should be good,” Huston says, crossing his arms across his chest, a smile curling across his face.
“Saying sorry—” Leo begins.
Abigail cuts him off, “Or just admitting she’s wrong.”
“Was always hard for me,” I
“What happens now?” Leo asks, as Abigail guides our little powwow into a small pocket of space by the double doors. Huston
looks into Dad’s hospital room. John has the file open and is producing document after document.
“You know… you don’t have to,” I whisper, choking on my words.
“What do you mean? You mean, we should just—” Abigail starts, her voice a building whisper.
“Yeah, we could just… walk away,” I say. A nurse in pink scrubs looks over at us. I take a deep breath.
“Well, that’s what you’re good at,” Abigail spits.
“Like father, like daughter,” I parry. Abigail’s face flushes as she zeroes in on me.
Huston seems not to notice. “This is probably a shock for her. Her reaction is normal,” he says, trying to work out the logic
behind Dad’s choice. He looks at Abigail.
“Have you spoken to him since… ?” Leo asks.
“No,” Huston quickly answers.
“Just because he gave you the power of attorney doesn’t mean you have to take it,” I press.
“Just drop it,” Abigail says.
“Am I the only one who remembers that he left? That he ran back to his rich mommy in Ojai while we survived on food stamps?
No child support, no support of any kind. I mean, I understand that marriages don’t work out, but to leave your kids like
that… and not even make sure they’re taken care of?” My voice is a rasping whisper. The nurses stare at us again as we move
out of the way of a pack of doctors headed over to another glass room.
“We all remember,” Huston finally says.
“He knew Mom had it handled,” Abigail offers.
“Did she?” I blurt, without even thinking. “She never remarried, she never…” I trail off, not knowing where I’m going.
“Moved on,” Leo finishes.
“It just seemed like we were drowning, and Dad—” I start again, looking back into the hospital room.
“Didn’t care,” Leo finishes.
We’re quiet. I feel like a volcano… about to…
“I know I walked away from you, but trying to forget you guys was like swallowing poison every morning,” I whisper, finally
trying to come clean.
Abigail smiles. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“Swallowing poison,” Leo trills, the back of his hand at his forehead as if he’s in dire need of a fainting couch. I have
to laugh at myself. We fall into silence.
“Doesn’t that give you some insight, then?” Abigail asks, her face open and vulnerable. We all want answers.
“Maybe,” I say, meaning it.
“But when you sign on to be a parent, don’t you make a pact with your children to be held to a higher standard? I mean, Grace
is our sister, not our father,” Leo says, his mind a blur of equations and theory. I nod… wanting it to be true. Abigail lets
out a weary sigh.
“Held to a higher standard,” I repeat.
“Like Mom,” we all say at almost the same time.
We’re all quiet.
“Jinx,” Leo mumbles. We all try to offer him a smile.
“Dad wanted us here,” Abigail says, trying to get back on point.
“I know, but does that mean that he just gets us?” I ask, struggling to keep the pouty preteen snark out of my voice.
“Who would it help to walk away now?” Huston asks. Why do all of Huston’s questions sound like statements? How does he
do
that? Abigail opens her mouth to say something, but… nothing. Her face reddens and her eyes dart around the ICU.
“Does he automatically get another chance after he’s already had a lifetime of them?” I ask, putting my mathematical brain
to work.
Huston, Abigail and Leo look at me. Pointedly.
I continue, “I know, consider the source. I’m sorry,” I say.
“You’re sorry for what?” Abigail leads. Leo represses the smallest smile.
“This should be good,” Huston says, crossing his arms across his chest, a smile curling across his face.
“Saying sorry—” Leo begins.
Abigail cuts him off, “Or just admitting she’s wrong.”
“Was always hard for me,” I
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