The Year We Disappeared by Cylin Busby

He wrote, “Thanks for the cards.” It did look like Dad’s small, angular writing. I was trying really hard to believe that this person in the bed was him, but I just couldn’t.
    “Do you want to say anything to your dad?” Mom asked us.
    “That’s not my dad,” I heard myself say quietly, before I could stop it from coming out of my mouth. Then Shawn turned and darted from the room before Uncle Joe could grab him. I heard his sneakers screech as he tore down the tiled hallway. Uncle Joe took off after him while Eric and I just stood there.
    Mom let out a weak laugh. “This is your dad, he’s just bandaged up right now. I told you that, remember?”
    Dad waved me over to show me the board. “I love you. I’m OKAY,” he had written in capital letters. Once I read it, he motioned to Mom. “I’m scaring them. Do I look that bad?” he wrote, and looked at her. I took the bag of M&M’S out of my pocket and put it on the table next to his bed without a word. Uncle Joe walked in with Shawn, who looked like he had been crying. That made me start crying. Eric just stood at the foot of the bed; his face was blank but I could tell he was chewing the inside of his mouth like he did when he was really mad.
    “I think it’s time to get these kids some lunch,” Uncle Joe announced, and I saw Mom nod. “Let’s go, you guys. Say goodbye to your dad.”
    “Bye,” I said, but I didn’t look up from the floor. I didn’t want to look at whoever that was in the bed, even if it was my dad. We walked out of the room and made our way back to the elevator.
    “Oh, aren’t you pretty. Look at that hair, would you?” I heard one nurse say to another about my long honey blond hair as we walked by them.
    “Wow, I’d love to have hair like that,” the other nurse said, trying to meet my eyes.
    I wondered if they were just being nice to me because they felt sorry for me, so I kept walking.
    “You should say thank you,” Uncle Joe reminded me, then murmured under his breath, “Aw, who gives a damn, right?” He had his pack of cigarettes out as we got into the elevator and lit one up the second we reached the parking garage.
    “Your dad isn’t like Baretta, you know,” Uncle Joe said, blowing out some cigarette smoke. “That guy gets shot up one week and he’s back the next week. That’s fake. When you get shot, it takes time to get better. Your dad is going to need some time.”
    We were silent as we walked over to the car. The three of us climbed into the backseat together, even though one of us could have sat in the front.
    When Uncle Joe started the car, Shawn turned to me. “I don’t think that was actually Dad, do you?” he asked.
    I shook my head. But part of me knew the truth: that
was
Dad. That was how Dad looked now. I couldn’t even imagine a time when he wouldn’t be lying in that bed attached to all those machines. How could he come home again, go to work again, go to the beach with us? And what was wrong with his face under all those bandages? I didn’t want to think about it, how his head looked too small.
    When we got home, Lauren and Cassie were still at school, so Uncle Joe made us some sandwiches and told us we could goswimming if we wanted to. He sat outside by the pool and drank a Tab and smoked another cigarette. We took our sandwiches into the den and put on the TV, but there wasn’t a lot on, just soap operas and some dumb science fiction movie that was in black and white.
    “Do you think Mom will remember to give him the
OMNI
?” Eric asked suddenly, eating some potato chips. I had forgotten all about our gifts. I hoped that Mom would remember it—she had been carrying the bag. It made me sad to think that we wouldn’t get to see Dad’s face when he opened the present, but then I realized that even if we had been there, it would have been hard to tell what was going on under all those bandages, so what did it matter?
    Lauren and Cassie came home from school, and then Aunt Kate came