Swear (Landry Family 4)

I stand and help him get situated, but end up tangling myself up in his lines. He tries to laugh but can’t quite make it happen.

“The doctor told me you have cancer,” I say. “She said you knew it.”

“I did.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“What were you going to do about it?”

“I could’ve helped you!”

“There is no helping me,” he whispers. “I’m ready to go, honey. I just wanted to stick around long enough to make sure you were in good hands.”

I glance at Ford. He has a ball cap pulled down over his eyes, his feet hanging off the edge of the chair.

“I hope I am,” I say softly.

His oxygen gets knocked off and the alarm begins to sound. I fasten it back under his nose again, and he takes a few long, deep breaths.

He closes his eyes, resting from the exertion of talking to me. I take his hand again and squeeze it, glad that it’s a little warmer this time.

“Ellie,” he whispers.

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Do you remember the time I took you camping? And that big storm rolled in out of nowhere.”

“It about blew our tent into the trees,” I recall. “Our cooler was toast. Everything was soaked.”

“Yes.” He takes a minute before he speaks again. “That was one of the worst storms I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t tell you that, of course, but I was pretty scared. I just held on to you and figured as long as I kept you with me, we could replace everything else.”

“And we had to,” I laugh softly. “Even my pink fishing pole was gone.”

He reaches for my free hand. I scoop it up with mine and hold them as he struggles to talk and breathe. I want to tell him to relax, to sleep it off and we’ll resume it later, but I can see it’s important for him to continue.

“I want you to always remember that,” he says. His eyes open and he looks at me, the greens of his irises as clear as a mountain stream. “And I want you to remember what happened when the rain stopped.”

“The double rainbow.”

His chest rises and falls harshly as the greens of his eyes start to dim. “There’s always a rainbow, Ellie. Wait for the rainbow.”

His eyes flutter close and his hands go limp. I stand at his bedside, tears streaming down my face, and watch him slip away.

“No!” I cry. “Not yet. Please, don’t leave me. I have something to tell you. Please! It’s important,” I sob.

One eye opens just a crack. “What’s that?” His words are a rasp, barely audible through the heaviness of his breath.

“I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a grandpa,” I sniffle.

The struggle to open his eyes is painfully visible, but he does it. His deep, dark eyes look at me. It takes them a second to focus on my face, but when they do, I see a look in them I wish I could capture for an eternity.

“You are?” he asks. “A baby?”

“A baby, Daddy. I’m having a baby.”

Tears flow down my face like an overflowing river. He smiles, a small curve of his lips that I know takes an effort to make. “Little pumpkin . . . So happy, Ellie . . .”

He gives in, his eyes fluttering closed, the alarms buzzing all around.