It was August. The days turned hot and muggy, and my father started to get worse, much faster than I’d somehow been expecting. I found myself grateful for the four nurses who passed through, changing shifts every eight hours, simply because we were now out of our depth in terms of helping my dad. He needed help getting out of the bed, help walking, help going to the bathroom. We started using the wheelchair to get him around the house, but didn’t use it much, as he was spending most of the time sleeping. He was getting medications and pain management administered by syringes, and we now had a bright-red medical waste container in the kitchen that the nurses took away, that didn’t go into the bearbox with the rest of the trash.
I’d stopped going into work. I’d talked to Fred, and he told me he understood—he’d apparently learned about the situation when he came to the Fourth of July barbecue. Elliot would send me goofy, joking text messages, and Lucy stopped by every day after work, with a fountain Diet Coke for me, ready to listen if I wanted to talk and happy to chatter on and gossip if I wanted to be distracted.
Our kitchen—and fridge—was soon filled up with casseroles and baked goods. Fred kept bringing over coolerfuls of whatever fish he’d caught that day, and whenever Davy came to walk the dog, he always had something with him in a green Borrowed Thyme bakery box—muffins, cookies, pies. The nurses had come to really love it whenever Davy appeared. Even the Gardners, who didn’t cook at all, brought by a pizza every few days.
I was still thinking about Henry much more than I wanted to, and I still wasn’t sleeping. But my grandfather also wasn’t sleeping, and so at night, we continued our star lessons. He’d whittle and tell me where to point the telescope, asking me to describe what I saw and then, later, to identify them myself. I learned how to find the constellations, so that I could see them even without the telescope. I was amazed to learn that there were things that could be seen with the naked eye, like other planets. And they’d been there all along, I just hadn’t known what was I was seeing.
All of us were staying pretty close to home, running errands or going into town only if we absolutely needed to. My dad still had a few good hours every day when he wasn’t sleeping, and none of us wanted to miss them. Which was why when Lucy came over as usual one Tuesday, I was surprised when she suggested taking a walk and my mother agreed, practically insisting that I go with her.
“It’s okay,” I said, frowning at my mother, who’d suddenly joined us on the porch. My dad had gone to sleep about four hours ago; I knew he’d be up soon and I wanted to be around for it.
“No, you should come,” Lucy said. “I need to talk to you about something private.”
I was on the verge of telling Lucy that we could just talk on the dock, or in my room, but she looked so anxious that I shrugged. “Fine,” I said. “Just a short walk.”
“Good,” my mother said quickly and I just looked at her for a moment, wondering why she was so eager to get me out of the house. But maybe she was just worried that I’d been here too much. Warren still saw Wendy, and they’d go out sometimes, and Gelsey still went next door to see Nora. Maybe since Lucy always came to me, my mom was just worried I wasn’t leaving the house enough.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing up. Lucy scrambled to her feet as well, then glanced back at my mother for a second before hurrying on ahead so that I had to rush to catch up with her.
When we reached the road, Lucy paused, shaking her head for a moment. “I can’t believe you guys still don’t have a sign,” she said, as she turned left, and I followed, shrugging.
“We’ve never found anything that fits,” I said. “I think if we were going to have found the right thing, it would have happened already.” I turned to face her. Lucy still seemed intent on walking briskly up my street, even though we were heading away from downtown, just toward other houses. “What did you want to talk to me about? Trouble with Pittsburgh?”
“What?” Lucy asked, looking startled. “Oh. Him. Um… no. It’s…”
She looked so uncomfortable for a moment, that I suddenly realized what this might be about. “Is it Elliot?” I asked. If he’d finally declared his crush, and now it was just the two of them at work, I could see how that might get awkward.
“Elliot?” Lucy repeated, sounding surprised. “No. What about him?”
I knew it was none of my business, but I decided to jump in anyway. “He has a crush on you,” I said. “He has all summer.”
Lucy stopped walking and looked at me. “Did he tell you that?”
“No,” I said, “but it’s totally obvious. I’m sure even Fred knows.” Lucy looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head and continued to walk. “Luce?” I asked, catching up with her.
“It wouldn’t work,” she said definitively.
“Why not?” I asked. He wasn’t my type, but Elliot was cute, and they got along well—and he was much more of a prospect now that he’d learned to tone down the cologne.
“Because,” Lucy said. “He’s Elliot. He’s…” She paused, apparently having trouble coming up with an adjective. She took a glance down at her phone. “Let’s turn back!” she said cheerfully, turning in the other direction.
But I wasn’t going to let myself be distracted that easily. “Seriously,” I said. “He’s a nice guy. You guys get along great. He makes you laugh. Why not?”
“Because,” Lucy repeated. But she didn’t seem as dismissive as she had earlier, and I could tell that she was thinking about it.
“I’m just saying,” I said, as we rounded the corner before my house, “the nice guys are the ones worth dating.” I thought back to Henry, and all his small kindnesses, and felt a tiny pain in my heart.
“I know I haven’t really yelled at you about this like I wanted to,” Lucy said, looking at me closely, “but I still don’t understand why you dumped Henry.”
I winced at this even though it was technically accurate. “It was just going to be too hard,” I finally said. “I could tell. And I knew we were both going to get hurt.” I realized that we were now in front of the Crosby house, and I made myself look away as Lucy and I headed into my driveway.
“You want to know something about gymnastics?” Lucy asked, falling into step next to me.
“Always,” I said, deadpan, and she smiled at me.
“The thing is that people only get hurt—really hurt—when they’re trying to play it safe. That’s when people get injured, when they pull back at the last second because they’re scared. They hurt themselves and other people.”
This was all hitting home until the last part, and I frowned. “How do they hurt other people?”
“You know,” Lucy said, clearly stalling. “If they land on a spotter or something. The point is—”
“I get the point,” I assured her. We had reached the house, and I started to head to the porch when Lucy grabbed my hand and pulled me around to the back. “Lucy, what are you—”
“SURPRISE!” I blinked at what was in front of me. There was a table set up with a cake, and balloons tied to the chairs. Gelsey was there, and my mom, and Warren and Wendy. Kim, Jeff, and Nora were there, along with Davy and Elliot and Fred. Even Leland was there, and I suddenly worried about who was working at the beach. Finally, I saw my dad, sitting in his wheelchair, my grandfather behind him, both of them smiling at me.
“Happy birthday, sweetie,” my mother said, giving me a hug. “I thought we should give you a second chance at a party,” she whispered to me, and I felt myself smile, even though I was also pretty sure I was about to cry.
“Thanks,” I whispered back. My mother ran her hand over my hair for a second, then turned to the table.
“Cake!” she called. “Come and get it!”
I looked around at the crowd, my eyes searching, even though I knew Henry wouldn’t be there. But it wasn’t until I knew he was absent that I realized how much I wanted him to be there. I took a step closer to the table and saw that the Happy Birthday, Taylor was written in his handwriting.
My mother started serving up the cake, and I realized that just to the side of it were two small containers of ice cream from Jane’s. I could tell without tasting them that they were raspberry and coconut. “Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, “where did the ice cream come from?”
“It came with the cake,” she said. “Henry insisted. He said it would bring out the flavor. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Yes,” I said, as I took the piece she gave me, which happened to have the T of my name, feeling the lump in my throat. “It really was.”
chapter thirty-five
TIME WAS RUNNING OUT. THIS WAS CLEAR NOT ONLY IN HOW EACH day got a just a little shorter but also in what was happening to my dad. He was a little more confused every day, and his stretches of wakefulness and awareness of what was going on were getting shorter and shorter. It became difficult for him to talk, and somehow this was the hardest for me to see—my dad, who I’d watched command courtrooms with his deep, booming voice. Now, he struggled to speak, and to find the words he wanted to use.
We’d started taking turns spending time with him while he had his lucid periods. My sister talked a mile a minute, like she was trying to tell him everything she was ever going to want to, all at once. My brother would sit by his bedside and they would talk about, from what I could overhear, famous law cases, swapping their favorite facts, my brother usually talking more than my dad. My grandfather would sit next to him and read the paper out loud, usually the human interest section. His voice, so like my dad’s had been, could be heard across the house, as he’d say, “Now, you’ll like this, Robin. Listen to what happened yesterday in Harrisburg.”
My mother didn’t say much when they were together. Sometimes I’d hear them talking about financial things, making arrangements, plans. But mostly, she held his hand and just looked at his face, studying it, like she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to see it soon.
When it was my turn with my dad, we played our question game that had taken us through so many breakfasts. But now he didn’t seem to want to talk about himself. Now he seemed to want to know everything about me, while he still could. “Tell me,” he’d say, his voice as scratched as one of his old records, “my Taylor. When have you been the happiest?” And I’d try my best to answer, attempting to deflect the question, but he’d always have another one lined up. What was I thinking about in terms of college majors? Where were places I wanted to visit? What did I want to do with my life? What was the best meal I’d ever had?
Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to answer; I’d break down crying, and that’s when we’d listen to his records. I knew them all by now—Jackson Browne, Charlie Rich, Led Zeppelin, the Eagles—a lot of shaggy-haired guys that my grandfather still didn’t like, if his reaction when he came into the room and heard them was any indication. And the music, and the questions, would continue on, as I’d try to tell my father who I was and who I hoped to be, while we still had time.
Throughout all of this, the dog refused to leave his spot under my dad’s bed. We finally had to move his food and water bowl under there, even though Roberto, who was the most by-the-rules of the nurses, worried about germs. Davy still came by twice a day, and the dog let himself be pulled out from under the bed and taken for a very quick walk. But aside from that, he didn’t move from his spot.
I had finally given up and claimed the trundle bed as mine, since I was barely sleeping anyway. The night nurses were used to it by now, just giving me a nod as I crept out to the porch. Sometimes my grandfather was awake, and would sit with me while I looked up at the stars, needing to see something fixed and permanent while everything else in my life seemed to be breaking apart. When he was in bed, he left the telescope out and in position for me. There was a meteor shower that was expected at the end of the month, and according to my grandfather, things tended to get very interesting, stargazing-wise, before a meteor shower, so I was keeping an eye out.
The nights when my grandfather wasn’t there were the nights I cried. I was no longer even trying to stop myself. We were all more or less trying to keep it together for my dad and one another. But at night, alone, with all the moments of the day finally hitting me, I would let myself just sob, out on the porch. And though I knew it was a stupid, pointless reaction to what was happening, I also realized it was all I could do. I cried, I tried to think of puns that might make my father laugh one more time, and I looked at the stars.
I had just come in from a night without my grandfather, a night I’d finally found Sirius on my own, when I saw Paul standing over my dad. It felt like my heart stopped for a moment before it started beating much faster, in a panic. “Is he okay?” I whispered, looking down at my dad, suddenly more scared than I’d ever been in my entire life.
“He’s okay,” Paul said quietly back to me, and I could feel my panic start to recede. “He’s just having a hard night. Poor guy.”
I looked down at the hospital bed that now seemed like it had always been part of our living room. My dad, thin to the point of being emaciated, his skin yellowed and leathery-looking, was sleeping, his mouth open, looking so small in the big expanse of white bed. His breaths were labored and rasping, and I found myself listening for each one, then waiting for the next one.
It seemed wrong, somehow, to just go back to my own room and sleep my easy sleep. So I curled on the couch that was nearest to the hospital bed, and looked at my dad sleeping in the shaft of moonlight that was coming through the windows, falling across his face. As I listened to his breathing, my heart starting to pound whenever there was a pause, a break in the rhythm, I realized that this was what he had done for me, years ago, when I was a baby.
I wished that there was something I could do to make it better. But all I could do was to lie there and listen for each labored, rasping breath, counting them. I was aware that he didn’t have that many left, and somehow, to not pay attention to each one seemed like the worst kind of indifference. And so I lay there, just listening, knowing that each breath was another moment he was still here and, simultaneously, that meant that he had just moved a little closer to being gone.
I heard a door hinge squeak, and looked up to see Gelsey standing in the hallway. She was wearing an ancient, much-washed nightshirt that had once been mine. “You weren’t in bed,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?” I nodded, and then, without knowing I was going to, motioned her closer.
I expected her to go to one of the other couches, but she came right to mine, curling up against me. And I put my arms around my sister, smoothing back her soft, curly hair, and we lay there together in the dark, not speaking, just listening to our father breathe.
I thought about Henry, of course. During one of our talks, my father had even brought him up. I had evaded the question, but I still found myself turning over our time together in my head. Usually I was pretty sure I’d made the right decision. But sometimes—like when Wendy stopped by and was sitting with Warren on the porch, and I’d watch her lean her head against his shoulder, comforting him, and my brother let himself be comforted—I wondered if I actually had done the right thing by ending it with Henry. There was a part of me that was afraid that I’d dressed it up and called it a new name, but that it was my same flaw, rearing its ugly head once again. I was still running when things got too real—I’d just learned how to do it, at last, by staying in the same place.
Even though I knew when the meteor shower was coming—that morning’s Pocono Record had even done a special feature on the best time to try and catch it—it still took me by surprise. Since it was predicted to arrive an hour before dawn—when even I had usually gone to sleep for the night—I’d set my alarm. When the alarm beeped four thirty, waking me but not Gelsey, I’d switched it off and contemplated just going back to sleep. But my grandfather had promised it would be something extraordinary, and I felt like I’d put in enough time that summer looking up at the stars—I might as well see them deliver.
I pulled on my sweatshirt and tiptoed out
of the room, even though I’d learned by now that my sister was one of the world’s deepest sleepers. I headed into the hallway and nodded at Paul, who was on duty, who gave me a small wave back. My dad was sleeping, his breath rattling in his throat. I looked at him for a long moment, and Paul met my eyes and gave me a sympathetic smile before turning back to his book. Things had gotten much worse in the last two days. We’d stopped talking about my father’s condition, how he was doing. We were mostly just trying to get through each day. And though my father was still with us, the last coherent conversation he’d been able to have was several days ago—and that had been just a moment with my mother before he got confused again.
I headed outside to the porch, looked up at the sky, and gasped.
The whole night sky above me was filled with streaks of light. I had never seen a single falling star before, and they were whizzing across the vast expanse of sky—one, then another, then two at once. The stars had never seemed quite so bright, and it was like they were surrounding me, much closer than I’d ever seen them, and a few of them were just on a joyride across the sky. And as I watched it unfolding, I knew that I didn’t want to be watching it alone.
I hurried back inside, not sure how long meteor showers lasted and not wanting him to miss any of it. “Paul,” I said quietly, and he looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“There’s a meteor shower outside,” I said. “It’s going on right now.”
“Oh, yeah,” Paul said, yawning and picking up his book again. “I think I read something about that in the paper.”
“The thing is… ,” I said, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I could practically feel my anxiety building. I felt like time was running out, right in front of me, and that I needed to get my father outside as fast as possible. “I want my dad to see it.” Paul looked up at me again, frowning. “Would that be possible?”