Swear (Landry Family 4)

“Is aware. He certainly is aware,” I correct her.

She takes a deep breath and changes her line of sight to Ford. “His injuries are pretty severe for anyone. But adding his age and health to the mix, I’m afraid I don’t have a very good outlook on Mr. Pagan’s condition.”

“Define that more conclusively,” Ford asks.

She braces herself. “I don’t have a lot of hope he will make it out of Intensive Care.”

I hear the sob that escapes my soul. It echoes off the walls of the dimly lit room, no match for the pain I’m feeling.

Scrambling to the top of the bed, I lay my head next to his. He smells weird, not like my dad. Not the scent that has comforted me since I was a baby.

“Daddy,” I cry, throwing an arm over his chest.

There are so many things I want to say, so much I want him to know and be told, but I can’t find the words. They’re hung up somewhere between my brain and my lips.

The sound of his laugh as I tangle my fishing line up in the trees trickles through my mind. The feel of his hand on my leg as he bandages a little scrape I’m sure is going to kill me after a bicycle wreck is as real as if it were happening. I can smell the scent of his famous deer jerky and see the smile that would accompany his, “Good morning, darlin’,” when he’d wake me up for school.

The tears are relentless, dripping down my face and onto his neck. I wind my fist in his hospital gown as if it somehow will keep him here with me.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper in his ear. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

I hear Ford’s voice intermingled with the doctor’s as I cry silently. I don’t care what they’re saying or what it even means. None of it matters. I’ve heard all I need to hear.

Ford’s hand rests on the small of my back. “Do you want me to give you a minute?”

“Stay. Please,” I sniffle.

“Absolutely.”

He gives me a gentle pat and then moves to the corner into a stiff plastic chair. I swipe a tissue off the bedside table and try to clean the snot off my face, one hand still holding my father’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, fighting the tears. “If you knew you were sick, why didn’t you let me know?”

He looks so peaceful, so much so, in fact, that I’m not sure he’s even here.

“Ellie.”

“Ellie.”

My hand moves and I jump. “Daddy!”

His head is turned to the side facing me. Ford is reclining in the chair in the corner. He fell asleep an hour or so ago, right before I must’ve dozed off.

“How are you, pumpkin?” he garbles.

“I’m fine. How are you? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you need anything?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of pain.

He doesn’t answer me, just tries to squeeze my hand. It’s a weak attempt, especially for a man that once had the strength of Bill Pagan.

“I saw Ford lying over there,” he says, trying to nod towards the corner.

“He’s worried about you.”

“He came to see me today.”

I kind of laugh, wondering how out of it he is. “You haven’t been asleep that long.”

“I know that,” he sighs. His head pops back on his pillow and he winces.