Willie stepped in with a mop. “Oh, hi, Frank. Didn’t know you were here. Didn’t I see you this morning?”
Frank nodded. “Needing to see her a little more these days. Will you give me a couple of minutes?”
“Sure thing. I know Miss Meredith wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Frank smiled and watched Willie exit, then looked at Meredith, then at the floor. Every single day, guilt was like the choking rope he’d found around his sister’s neck. It was always there, squeezing the life out of him. He knew Meredith would not have wanted to live endless years like this, but this was how it all turned out. If he’d come home just two minutes sooner, it might’ve turned out differently. Two minutes later and he’d have buried her. If he hadn’t changed shifts at work, he wouldn’t have come home for another four hours.
Frank folded his hands together and slumped. “I wish you could tell me how to get over Angela. She’s moved on. Like it was no big deal. And yet I can’t ever seem to get her out of my heart. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. She’s the only one I ever wanted.” He wiped his nose. “I know you’d have good advice for me.”
He sat there for a moment. Sometimes he’d imagine that they were having a conversation.
Frank unbuckled her from the five-point harness that kept her upright in her wheelchair. Sliding a gentle hand underneath her back and careful to not knock her feeding tube, he lifted her. She seemed to be weightless, just like when she was twenty. Probably barely ninety pounds.
He laid her in the bed and pulled the covers up to her chest, turning her slightly and putting a pillow against the small of her back.
Frank stared out the window for a minute, into the black, cold night, then leaned over and, like he’d done every day for two and a half decades, whispered in her ear.
From a deep sleep, Frank sat straight up, trying to catch his breath, staring wide-eyed into total blackness. He clutched his chest, gulping down air, wondering if he was having a heart attack. Slowly, like moving shadows, the dark contents of the room came into focus. But the walls closed in like a groaning, hulking beast.
He threw back damp sheets and stood for a moment, trying to get a grip. The clock read 4:02 a.m. What had he dreamed?
In the bathroom he splashed water on his face, pressed a towel to his eyes, and leaned against the sink, his head propped against the mirror.
Something stirred inside him. Some sort of warning. Something unsettling.
But he had been sleeping. Was it just a nightmare? It seemed to have already retreated to the recesses of his mind.
He finished wiping his face, throwing the towel onto the counter. He intended to go back to bed but was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He pushed his feet into his old, ratty slippers and trudged to the kitchen.
As he opened the fridge, staring at the small selection of snack foods while letting the cold air hit his face, he again tried to remember what had caused him to awaken.
Maybe it was the stress. Angela had told him once that he didn’t handle it well. He thought he handled it fine. No, he didn’t break down and cry. He didn’t talk about it with people who didn’t care. He just handled it. He moved on. What point was there to keeping it around?
But this time, there was no denying it. A lot was happening. And it was very personal, getting more personal by the day.
He poured himself a large glass of milk and mixed some strawberry Nesquik in, then went to the living room and turned on QVC. He settled in for an hour-long infomercial about exercise equipment he swore he’d buy come January.
Noticing his cell phone on the table, he decided he should send Damien a text. He’d read it in the morning, then scold Frank for not having the courtesy to pick up the phone, regardless of the hour. Frank smiled at the thought as his fat thumbs struggled with the tiny keys. He finally got it all typed out: good talk w/ hunt-man. he didn’t admit it, but i think i sent him a clear msg w/out accusing him since we don’t know 4 sure. will try again next wk.
He’d just gulped the last of his milk when he gasped, which pulled the milk down the windpipe, throwing him into a fit of coughing that took him to his knees. As he coughed and hacked, struggling for breath, everything became clear. The fuzzy thoughts he’d been trying to capture came into focus.
He remembered. He remembered what had startled him out of sleep!
Still choking through every breath, he managed to get to his feet. He hurried to the basement door, scurrying down the cold concrete steps.
He sat down at his computer and shuffled the mouse, bringing the screen to life. Frank’s fingers flew across the keyboard. He typed in the address to Listen to Yourself.
Thanks to the early morning hour and the awful exhaustion he still felt, the words blurred for several seconds. Finally he was able to read. And reread. And read again.
“Oh no…,” he breathed. “Oh no. No. No.”
He flung himself out of the chair, taking two steps up the stairs at a time. Without turning on the light, he yanked open the drawer in his bedroom and grabbed his gun.
23
Damien figured he fell asleep about 3 a.m. He’d tried not to watch the clock, but the other alternative was to continue to play the recent events over and over in his head. And somehow everything came out much worse when he did that. The scenarios took dark twists… the “almosts” became reality.
At midnight he’d even heard his neighbors arguing outside on their lawn.
Finally, though, his mind tired of it all and he was able to catch a few hours’ sleep. The blaring alarm clock reminded him it had, indeed, been just a few hours.
When the alarm suddenly shut off, Damien opened his eyes. Kay’s hand was now on his shoulder as she stood above him. “Out of bed, sleepyhead.”
He managed to keep one eye open. “You’re already dressed? How late am I?”
“Not late. I’m just early. Hurry and get ready. I’ve got breakfast cooking.”
He knew he smelled something good.
He sat up, put his feet on the floor, and tried to get motivated to stand. He noticed his cell phone light blinking. He’d missed a call? He flipped it open. Not a call but a text from Frank. Didn’t he have the decency to call?
He looked at the log. It had arrived at 4:32 a.m. Glad he had the decency not to call, Damien thought. He held the phone close to his face, trying to decipher the strange word codes that texting seemed to bring out in people.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished reading. The message about Hunter couldn’t have come at a better time. Much of his night had been consumed dwelling over the state of his two children, wondering how badly he’d screwed them both up. Frank’s message said Hunter was fine. Had a good talk.
Glancing at the time, he hurried to get dressed, then went downstairs. Everyone was already at the table, enjoying French toast.
“This is a first. Everyone beat you downstairs.” Kay took his plate and loaded it with three pieces.
Jenna handed him the syrup.
“You doing okay?” Damien asked.
“I’m fine. Seriously. You guys are going to drive me insane about this, aren’t you?”
“No more than we’d drive ourselves insane,” Damien said, winking at Kay. “Just remember, like Frank said, nobody knows you made the call, so you’re going to be fine.”
“I’m not worried,” Jenna said. “I just hope there isn’t all this big drama at school.”
“Please.” Hunter laughed. “There’s big drama about zits. This thing is going to skyrocket with drama.”
“True,” Damien said.
She rolled her eyes.
They finished eating and Jenna grabbed her backpack off the counter. “Hey, Hunter, I’ll drop you off if you want.”