Page 22

Day Three

Six hours after Dad was wheeled into surgery, a nurse squeaked toward us, masked, so I couldn’t see her expression.

She lowered her mask.

I held my breath, my arm wrapped around Mum.

“It’s gone well,” she said. “You can visit him now in the intensive care unit.”

“Oh, thank God.” I exhaled and hugged Mum, who burst out crying from happiness and relief. Declan put his arms around us both. My heart stumbled, grateful for his support.

In the ICU, Dad was groggy and weak, with a pale and puffy face, but he managed a small smile.

Maddeningly, Snow was already there—which door had he come through?

—having taken the prime position at the head of Dad’s bed.

Mum sat next to Snow. Snow gave Declan shit about his surfing while we took the other side of the bed.

Dad is okay . A cool relief washed over me like a waterfall on a sweltering day.

The wall of windows offered a view to the parking lot. We waved to a crowd of about twenty friends and neighbors holding flowers, balloons, and handmade Get Well Soon signs.

“Look at them all out there.” Dad sighed happily.

“We’ve all turned up to each other’s front doors through the decades, clutching cards, flowers from our gardens, plates of homemade food.

It’s like we’ve borne witness to the milestones of each other’s lives, happy and sad—births, deaths, weddings, retirements, and illnesses. ”

I felt a sudden sense of loss… for something I hadn’t known I’d wanted.

I hadn’t built that kind of long-term community.

Yes, my workmates had turned up to my birthday party, but the truth was, after I was fired, they’d pretty much dropped off.

Not maliciously but because they were busy, and it was hard to fit me in unless I had a story for them or could add to an article they were writing.

While we chatted, Dad grimaced with pain. Visibly upset, Snow slammed the buzzer for the nurse to up Dad’s dose of morphine.

Dad groaned. “Cancel that order. I don’t want to get addicted to painkillers.”

“You need these drugs,” Snow said, trying to read the bottles turned upside down. “And you’re strong. You won’t let yourself become addicted.”

Declan frowned and moved uncomfortably in his seat. “Addiction doesn’t work like that. It’s not a choice. Having an addiction doesn’t mean you’re weak or there’s something about you that’s wanting. It’s a physiological and mental illness.”

He said it quietly but with a cracked voice, a muscle in his cheek pulsing. In his line of work, he must have encountered many addicts. Clearly, he had compassion for them. But it also sounded more personal than that, like he was talking about someone he was close to.

Snow crossed his arms, his shoulders hunched, as though he was annoyed at Declan. He obviously thought addicts were weak. Maybe this was why he could justify trafficking heroin, because he considered addicts a lost cause.

What do I think? I was that person who ranted about ableism, but who was I, really?

With a stinging remorse, I admitted I’d thought the same as Snow, that it was something people could snap out of if they wanted.

I didn’t think I knew any drug addicts, just journalists who drank a lot.

The glint from a medical instrument flashed a side window of light into my mind.

Kingi was an addict. I hadn’t viewed him like that. I’d put him in a separate group.

I felt a surge of new respect for Declan. I’d thought he’d do or say anything to stay in with Snow, but he’d drawn a line.

Snow chewed on his lip. “You’re dead right. I’m a total wanker for saying that. Kingi would be upset if he heard me talking like that, eh?” He rolled one shoulder. “Haven’t seen him in years, but…”

A zap of surprise made me study his face closer. That was strange. I was thinking about Kingi, but none of us mentioned his name. Why did Snow bring up Kingi’s name out of the blue like that?

Declan didn’t try to make him feel better or wave away the discomfort. He sat with it, nodding.

We started making plans for Dad’s return home. Mum mentioned that she’d already put all the booze in the garage fridge for the time being so Dad wouldn’t be tempted, which made me think about my plans to get Snow to agree to a wine tour.

Would everyone being here put Snow on the spot? I hated to use Dad’s surgery, but I had to take this chance. I told Snow about the regulations that allowed four friends to visit.

Declan winced .

“Nah, not going to happen.” Snow rolled his eyes. “Knock it on the head.”

A sick thud landed in my gut. This was a brick wall. We would never get inside that winery. Unless we found evidence another way, Dad might go straight from surgery to prison.

Back at home in the bedroom, Declan sighed. “Snow’s very wary of you. Now we really have to back off and watch passively.”

Declan’s instinct as an undercover cop was to do less and fade even more into the background. Mine was to step it up and find another angle. This was what I had worried about at the beginning.

He smiled at me in a conciliatory way. “Hey. Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”