Swear (Landry Family 4)

“My father is Bill Pagan. Room 12E. The hospital called . . .”

I blink back tears, finding a small amount of relief when Ford’s hand steadies me. “Can we see him? Even if it’s just for a few minutes?” he asks.

She nods. “12E is right down there. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

“Thank you,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears me considering I’m already halfway to the room.

The monitors chirp steadily, the room dark and cool, as we enter. He lies on a bed, a tube sticking out of his nose. With each haggard breath he takes, machines glow and blip all around him.

“Oh, my God,” I breathe, dropping my purse on a chair. I try to make sense of the numbers glowing from the various instruments around him, but they all sort of meld together.

Dad’s eyes are closed.

I step to the bed and take his hand in mine. It’s cold and limp and it takes everything in me not to fall to the floor on my knees and weep.

“Daddy?” I say softly. “Can you hear me?”

His breaths turn into a cough, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“It’s me. Ellie. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

I wait, silently pleading with him to give me some sort of indication that he can hear me. Placing my other one on top of his, I wait for some sign that he’s still here.

The noise of a curtain being pulled sounds behind me. I don’t turn around, but hear Ford greeting a doctor. In a few seconds, she appears on the other side of the bed.

“You’re Ellie, correct?” she asks.

She has short, curly, red hair and bright green eyes. A stethoscope is around her neck and a chart in her hand.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Issac.”

“What happened to him?” I ask, my voice starting to break. Ford is at my side in a second flat, but lets me do the talking for which I’m grateful. “How did this happen?”

“According to the report, your father fell in his front yard this evening. A neighbor called for an ambulance, and he was rushed here.”

“What were you doing?” I ask, blinking back tears as I see him looking so lifeless in the bed. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Your father had some trauma to his abdomen. A couple of broken ribs and a lacerated kidney.”

I squeeze his hand as I look at the doctor. “How long does that take to heal? I’ll . . . I’ll move him in with me,” I sniffle. “I’ll make sure he does exactly what he’s supposed to.”

The look she gives me pierces me to the core. It’s one of those smiles that tells you she’s trying to warm you up for the pain she’s about to deliver. Like the alcohol swab before the injection, she’s preparing to destroy me.

I grab Ford’s arm.

“Did you know your father has cancer, Ms. Pagan?”

“He did,” I say, confidently. “He’s been in remission for a while now.”

Dr. Issac looks at Ford, then back to me again. “I

t’s in his lungs and lymph nodes, and by what I read in his chart, his liver too.”

“What?” I breathe, swaying back and forth. “That can’t be true.”

“There’s a report from his oncologist in his file dated six months ago. Maybe you didn’t know, but your father certainly was aware.”