“Right this way, Mr. Townsend. He’s been asking about you.”
I follow a middle-aged nurse in Winnie the Pooh scrubs down
a sterile hallway. At least there are no flickering lights or shit-stained
carpets. We never would’ve put him in a place like that.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Last time, he didn’t know who I
was.”
Where the fuck is Beck? Beckham should be here. I shouldn’t
be doing this alone.
“He’s had a few lucid moments today,” she says gently. “He’s
on a high dose of morphine right now.”
She raps on the door to a dark room. It feels much later
than six o’clock in here. The drapes are pulled, and the T.V. is on, but
there’s no sound. Guess it doesn’t matter how much you shell out for a nursing
facility, all the money in the world can’t get rid of that sick, depressing veil
that saturates all who dare to enter here.
“Uncle Leo.” I have a seat in the chair next to his half-elevated
bed. His brows twist when he hears my voice, and he turns his face toward me.
It takes all the strength that man has just to open his eyes halfway.
I place my hand over his, careful to avoid his I.V. lines.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask.
“Dane.” There’s a dry scratch in his voice, and my name mostly
comes out in a puff of air.
Fuck me. This is hard. I’m calling Beckham and chewing his
ass the second I leave here.
And then I realize he said my name. He remembers me. He’s
acknowledging me. It’s the first time in months.
“Yes, Uncle Leo. That’s right. I’m Dane.”
“Where ya been?” He sputters. His
eyes are wider this time. Brighter than ever. He licks
his dry, cracked lips and then curls them into a mischievous smile. I see a
little bit of a younger version of him inside there.
I know he’s teasing, and I force myself to smile. It’s much
easier to smile right now than to think about the fact that this seventy-year-old
beautiful bastard’s days are numbered.
“Where’s your brother?” His brows straighten.
“He was supposed to fly in this afternoon.” I shrug. “I bet
he’ll be here tomorrow at the latest. He wants to see you.”
“Tell him to give his cock a rest for a change.” Uncle Leo
laughs, which turns into a coughing fit. He knows damn well about Beckham’s
reputation as a ladies’ man, after all he learned from the best. “Man thinks
he’s a Goddamn sheik.”
“Well, he did change his last name to King...”
“Sorry to interrupt,” an orderly in a white outfit comes in
with a paper cup and a glass of water. “It’s time for your meds, Leo.”
It’s crazy to watch a man I once idolized lying feeble and
dying in a small ten by ten room at a hospice center.
Fuck pancreatic cancer.
The doctor called us yesterday, told us Uncle Leo doesn’t
have more than a week left.
I wait for the orderly to leave before scooting closer. I’ll
be here all damn night. I’m not leaving for anyone or anything. The light in
his eyes is flickering, and I’d give anything to hear one of his stories one
last time before he goes.
“Hey, Daney -boy, can you hit that
button for me.” His grip loosens from a button connected to his morphine drip.
“Give me some of the good stuff, will ya ?”
I press the button for him, knowing it’s only a matter of
time before he forgets who I am again.
ELEVEN
BELLAMY
I count thirty-five black cars passing until one slows down
and veers off the exit ramp toward the rest stop.
There he is, my knight in shining armor riding up on his big
black steed.
Actually, it’s more like a miniature pony, since it’s an
economy car. He just thinks it’s fancy since it has remote start and a sunroof.
But I digress.
I peel myself up off the park bench at the last possible
moment and angle my hand over my eyes, squinting into the passenger seat of his
car to see who my father sent to tag along with him for supervisory reasons.
Oh shoot.
He’s alone.
There’s no way my
father would’ve sent him
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