He doesn’t blink. “They told me that, too.”
I keep my eyes busy by reading all the signs on the wall. A pain chart, leveling 0 to 10. Level 0 is a smiley face; 10 is a red face. There are no smiles here, so I wonder, what is Dale’s level of pain? And if it’s anything over a 5, does it make him regret drinking his life away?
Or does it even matter to someone like him? I bet it hasn’t even crossed his mind that his death is leaving his daughter alone in the world. Not that he’s been of much use ever, but now she is down to no one, and she has to deal with the repercussions of his life choices. She’s a twenty-year-old who has to bury her father.
Acknowledging me for the first time since Dakota and I walked into the hospital room, he has the nerve to ask, “Why is he here?”
“Because you’re dying and he was nice enough to come here with me from New York,” Dakota responds in a low, cold voice. I hate the way this man makes her feel small. Her voice changes, her entire stature changes when this asshole is around. Whether he’s dying or not, I’ve never hated anyone more than this man.
He looks at me condescendingly. “How nice of him.”
I dig deep for something—anything—that will make me feel bad for him.
Dakota and I both ignore his comment, and she sits down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m dying.”
Dakota smiles. It’s small, but it’s there.
He waves one scrawny arm in my direction. “I can’t talk to you in front of him. Make him go.”
“Dad.” Dakota doesn’t turn around to me.
I don’t want to be in here anyway. “It’s fine. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be reminded of the awful shit he’s done. I’ll go.” I walk closer to his bed.
He jerks to the side. Well, as much as he can. “Get out. You have some nerve coming here after you took my daughter from me. You and your mom—” He starts coughing and is struggling to breathe.
I don’t care. I push past Dakota and stand over him, feeling all-powerful. I could easily put us all out of our misery and . . .
“Landon!” Dakota pulls at my arms.
What the hell am I doing? I realize my hands are raised in fists. I’m threatening a dead man with nothing left to lose. I can’t believe the level of hatred burning inside me right now. Now I understand how it’s possible for people, even the purest people, to snap.
I breathe out and step back. “I’ll leave the car here for you.” I leave the room.
The last time I look at the monster, I take him in as a weak, frail man, and the look on his sunken face is almost enough to erase the image of his beating his son to a pulp. Almost.
I struggle for breath when I leave the hospital, and I sit on the bench outside for thirty minutes. I meet the eyes of too many sick people for one day and stand up. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t sit here anymore. What was I thinking coming here in the first place?
I roam around the parking lot and count the cars. I check my phone. I count the trucks. I check my phone. Finally, I call my aunt Reese. After she yells at me for not telling her that I was coming—that I was the reason Dakota no longer needed a ride—she meets me at the new Starbucks. Jessica has gone home for the day, which I’m more than okay with.
After an initial hug hello, my aunt sits down and immediately sees that something is wrong. “So, what’s going on, Lan?” She moves her head but her hair stays still. She has the same hairdo she’s had my whole life, and I wonder if her hair-spray company has a lifetime loyalty program?
I shrug. “Dale’s dying. Mom’s about to have a baby, and I’m going to fail my next exam. Same old, same old.”
Reese gives a wry chuckle. “Well, that sense of humor stayed intact. How are you? Do you like the city? I miss you, and your mom. How’s that husband of hers? Do you like him? How’s his