finish in a humiliated whisper.
They wait.
“I’m sorry,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“For what?” Huston leads.
“For freaking out and running away,” I finish.
“And who does that remind us of?” Abigail leads once again.
“Dad,” I answer, like a child getting caught for pulling someone’s pigtails.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard,” Huston says, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
We all stand in silence, looking back into the hospital room, looking at the bustling nurses, looking at our watches. Looking
everywhere but at each other. An orderly wheels an elderly man past us and out the double doors. We’re in everyone’s way.
We’re not supposed to be here. No one wants us here.
“Huston, how did you find out about all this?” I ask, trying to pull the focus away from me. Leo looks from Abigail to Huston
and back to Abigail. Huston settles into his stance.
“Dad’s lawyer called me last night. Connie called him about medical insurance and then told him what happened,” Huston says.
“Why does Dad have a lawyer?” Leo asks.
“Do you remember Nana Marina? Dad’s ‘rich mommy,’ as you so colorfully put it? She had that big, blue house—the house that
Dad—well, Dad and
Connie
—are living in now. I guess when Nana Marina died and Dad inherited the house, he hired this guy to handle her estate. He
must’ve then rehired him to handle his own estate planning, well… a year ago when he drew these up,” Huston says, holding up
the file folder.
My entire body is tight. I’m holding back every single instinct I’m having. It’s like some new version of Pilates that’s centered
on repressing all your emotions for a count of ten, while focusing on your pelvic floor.
“Didn’t we spend a summer at that house?” Abigail asks absently.
“The summer Mom and Dad went to New York,” Huston says.
“So he could make it in the jazz scene,” Leo adds, his voice dripping with sarcasm, the words
jazz scene
in giant air quotes.
“I was… what, fifteen?” Abigail asks.
“It was the summer before Dad left, so I was sixteen, you were fourteen,” Huston says, looking at Abigail. She nods. We all
nod. The summer before Dad left. We move again as the double doors swing open, letting in another worried family.
The summer before Dad left.
I look away from them and turn back to Dad’s hospital room. Connie, Dennis and the head nurse are conferring. The head nurse
is going over Dad’s chart as Connie clutches at Dad’s hand and Dennis simpers at his bedside. John is respectful of their
space, but I can see him inch closer.
“But, you could sign the power of attorney over to Connie, right?” I ask, treading lightly.
“No,” Huston answers. Clear. Concise. Definite.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Grace, enough. It’s not your name on that document,” Huston says.
“Huston—” I start.
“It must be nice to never have to make a decision.” Huston’s voice is low and downright ominous.
“Huston,” Leo eases.
Huston cuts him off. “This is my decision and, as always, you can resent me for making it, but at the same time, you’re all
looking to me for direction. Same as always.” Leo recoils. Huston’s eyes dart over to Leo with remorse.
“No one asked you to make this decision,” I argue.
“He did!!” Huston yells, pointing into Dad’s hospital room. The entire ICU turns to our little corner.
“Okay… okay… I’m sorry,” I say. Huston rests his hands on his hips, hanging his head. He regains control quickly.
“Two apologies in one day—call the
Guinness Book of World Records
,” Huston sighs, attempting a smile.
“I called them once. Thought I could get the record for—you know how you stack a bunch of quarters on your elbow and then
you flip them, flip them over and catch them?” Leo says, excitedly miming the whole business.
We are all quiet.
“It was a bananas number of quarters you had to flip, so I just stuck to collecting lost or
They wait.
“I’m sorry,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“For what?” Huston leads.
“For freaking out and running away,” I finish.
“And who does that remind us of?” Abigail leads once again.
“Dad,” I answer, like a child getting caught for pulling someone’s pigtails.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard,” Huston says, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
We all stand in silence, looking back into the hospital room, looking at the bustling nurses, looking at our watches. Looking
everywhere but at each other. An orderly wheels an elderly man past us and out the double doors. We’re in everyone’s way.
We’re not supposed to be here. No one wants us here.
“Huston, how did you find out about all this?” I ask, trying to pull the focus away from me. Leo looks from Abigail to Huston
and back to Abigail. Huston settles into his stance.
“Dad’s lawyer called me last night. Connie called him about medical insurance and then told him what happened,” Huston says.
“Why does Dad have a lawyer?” Leo asks.
“Do you remember Nana Marina? Dad’s ‘rich mommy,’ as you so colorfully put it? She had that big, blue house—the house that
Dad—well, Dad and
Connie
—are living in now. I guess when Nana Marina died and Dad inherited the house, he hired this guy to handle her estate. He
must’ve then rehired him to handle his own estate planning, well… a year ago when he drew these up,” Huston says, holding up
the file folder.
My entire body is tight. I’m holding back every single instinct I’m having. It’s like some new version of Pilates that’s centered
on repressing all your emotions for a count of ten, while focusing on your pelvic floor.
“Didn’t we spend a summer at that house?” Abigail asks absently.
“The summer Mom and Dad went to New York,” Huston says.
“So he could make it in the jazz scene,” Leo adds, his voice dripping with sarcasm, the words
jazz scene
in giant air quotes.
“I was… what, fifteen?” Abigail asks.
“It was the summer before Dad left, so I was sixteen, you were fourteen,” Huston says, looking at Abigail. She nods. We all
nod. The summer before Dad left. We move again as the double doors swing open, letting in another worried family.
The summer before Dad left.
I look away from them and turn back to Dad’s hospital room. Connie, Dennis and the head nurse are conferring. The head nurse
is going over Dad’s chart as Connie clutches at Dad’s hand and Dennis simpers at his bedside. John is respectful of their
space, but I can see him inch closer.
“But, you could sign the power of attorney over to Connie, right?” I ask, treading lightly.
“No,” Huston answers. Clear. Concise. Definite.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Grace, enough. It’s not your name on that document,” Huston says.
“Huston—” I start.
“It must be nice to never have to make a decision.” Huston’s voice is low and downright ominous.
“Huston,” Leo eases.
Huston cuts him off. “This is my decision and, as always, you can resent me for making it, but at the same time, you’re all
looking to me for direction. Same as always.” Leo recoils. Huston’s eyes dart over to Leo with remorse.
“No one asked you to make this decision,” I argue.
“He did!!” Huston yells, pointing into Dad’s hospital room. The entire ICU turns to our little corner.
“Okay… okay… I’m sorry,” I say. Huston rests his hands on his hips, hanging his head. He regains control quickly.
“Two apologies in one day—call the
Guinness Book of World Records
,” Huston sighs, attempting a smile.
“I called them once. Thought I could get the record for—you know how you stack a bunch of quarters on your elbow and then
you flip them, flip them over and catch them?” Leo says, excitedly miming the whole business.
We are all quiet.
“It was a bananas number of quarters you had to flip, so I just stuck to collecting lost or
Similar Books
