Page 18 of Poison Wood

“I thought you were right behind me?” she says.

I hold up my coffee. “Pit stop. You didn’t have to wait on me.”

“Well,” she says. “He’s in a step-down room now, so I didn’t want you to go to the wrong floor.”

I don’t bother to tell her she could have just texted this information. She seems flustered enough.

“How good are his doctors?” I ask as we step into the elevator.

Debby presses floor five. “His doctors have been amazing,” she says. “His cardiologist is the best.”

“The best of Riverbend?” I say without hiding my sarcasm. “So good that Dad had a widow-maker?”

“Well, he didn’t have a cardiologist at the time. I’m talking about the one he has now.”

“Why is it he didn’t have one? He’s sixty-eight years old. Do you know the percentage of survival from a widow-maker? Luck only lasts so long.”

Debby blanches, and the elevator doors open. My anger is a simmering cauldron. Anger at her for not taking better care of him. Anger at my fatherfor not taking better care of himself. Anger at myself for not asking more questions about his health.

I’ve been so focused on the dead, I seem to have forgotten about the living, and having to admit that pisses me off.

As I follow Debby down the hallway, another anger brews in me as well, and it’s the one I don’t want to acknowledge. A petulant, selfish anger. One that blames my father for bringing me back here, for pulling me away from Laura Sanders and the answers I need from her.

When we walk in, a nurse’s aide is attempting to get him to eat. He is shaking his head like a five-year-old, and after seeing the food on the plate, I don’t blame him.

The room is beige with engineered hardwood floors, a hospital bed with a seafoam green blanket, and a sign that readsCall Don’t Fallnext to a dry-erase board.

Debby rushes to my father’s side and starts moving his messy hair out of his face.

I focus on the dry-erase board. It lists my father’s name and date of birth, primary diagnosis—myocardial infarction—his doctor’s name, and under that, three letters that hit home even more than seeing my father last night: DNR. Do not resuscitate.

I clench my hands together and breathe. His mortality should be something I worry over, based not only on my line of work but also on the fact I lost my mother so young. But I don’t worry about him. I took the idea of him being mortal and locked it away. That’s how I protect myself from it.

I turn to face him.

I can’t protect myself from it anymore. Leaving him to go back to Miami may be a little harder than I anticipated. And, once I talk to Dom, Miami may not be an option anyway.

My father motions me over. I swallow and walk to the opposite side from Debby. His hand reaches out for mine, and I squeeze it. His eyes water for a moment, and I’m horrified to realize he may cry. I’ve only seen him cry once, and it happened so quickly I still thinkmy memories could have shaped the moment differently. It was at my mother’s funeral. A tear had escaped before he quickly wiped it away and told me to bury my tears as deep as I could because we needed to be strong for all the people coming out that day to honor her. He showed me how, and we’ve both kept those tears buried ever since. I start to speak, but he interrupts me. “Get me out of here,” he says.

I smile. There we go. There’s the Judge Mac I know.

“On it,” I say, squeezing his hand. I search his face to see if he will say anything else, but he stays quiet.

“Now, we don’t need to rush anything, Mac,” Debby says. “We’ve all had a big scare, and we need to make sure you’re healthy before you come home.”

“Hospitals will kill you, Debby,” I say.

“Well, this one saved his life,” she says, meeting my gaze.

Touché. “Yes,” I say. “But I know the statistics on hospitals enough to know once they save your life, get the hell out or they’ll find a way to kill you.”

Debby purses her lips.

Dad looks at her, then at me. “We’ll do whatever the doctor says, okay?”

Debby pats his arm, but I don’t miss the look she gives me. She won.

The door swings open, and when a nurse walks in, everything about this moment shifts and changes. A cold chill settles on my skin. Something about her is familiar, her eyes. And it hits me. I knew her from Poison Wood.