The air was thin and chilly, but I took a cleansing breath anyway, forcing myself to slow down. It was better to get back to the kids tonight, because when Rick came home, I'd need to be there for him, Sophie, and Sadie, whether I was uncomfortable or not.
You're ridiculous, Elliot.
Shame crept over me for behaving the way I did, without even saying goodbye to Wade and Lou. It was terribly rude, and as my emotions ebbed and reason took its place, I made plans to apologize to them both when I saw them again.
I checked my watch —I had plenty of time to visit Rick, and then it would be about time for dinner. I felt relief at the thought of keeping busy with the kids. And once I was alone, I'd write, try to sleep, and steel myself for the day tomorrow.
Those were all the places where I was safe. Where I knew my place and my job and my self. Where I could do what needed to be done and know without a shadow of a doubt that it was right.
At the hospital, Rick seemed lonely, afraid, but he hid it as best he could, smiling the drooping half-smile, his silvery stubble shining under the hospital lights as I unpacked more books for him, including the Emerson I'd promised. And then I read to him for a while, and he'd closed his eyes, lips smiling peacefully on that one side alone.
And then I was walking home that evening, on to my next task, leaving the notes of my day singing sadly behind me.
I'd become an expert at compartmentalizing my feelings. It was the only way I survived, by stacking up dusty boxes in my heart for every hurt, packing them away in the dark. But times like these blew the dust off the tops, opening them up to free the old pain so they could do more harm in new ways.
Some boxes weren't dusty — those were lined up neatly, opened and closed daily. There was one for Mary. One for my father. One for the kids. And the new ones — Rick, Sophie, and Sadie. Wade's had recently been unpacked and set in its place next to the others, and as I walked home, I stowed my feelings away in the dark where they belonged.
But all my careful planning proved useless when I walked in the door.
The house was louder than usual, the air charged with new energy. I paused just inside the door, listening, aware. And then I heard my father laugh from the living room.
I swallowed and closed the door, taking my time hanging up my coat and bag, trying to prepare myself. And then I took a deep breath and walked into the room to face them all.
Dad was in the middle of a story, hands gesticulating, his little Chihuahua Rodrigo trembling in his lap, his natural state. He looked the same as he always had, calculating and critical, a little bit older and a little more flamboyant. I hadn't seen him in several years; once he and Beth moved to Miami, they lived in their little bubble, because nothing could possibly exist outside of Miami. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked well for me too.
Beth sat next to him, just as much of his pet as Rodrigo was, listening like she'd never heard the story — though he'd clearly told it a thousand times — snacking on a bowl of cashews that she chewed without closing her lips. Charlie seemed more interested in his scotch than he did my dad, but Mary listened intently, laughing.
They all saw me, but no one stopped what they were doing, though Charlie nodded to me in greeting. No one wanted to interrupt Dad — we'd never hear the end of it. So, I sat on the floor where the kids were playing quietly, which was a miracle on its own.
"And then everyone turned to him and said Watch where you put that banana!"
Everyone laughed except for me and the kids, and Rodrigo barked at the burst of noise. Dad finally turned to me. "Ah, Elliot. Come here and give me a hug."
I stood and did as I was told. "Hi, Dad."
"You look well. You were too skinny last time I saw you. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you," I said, knowing full well he didn't want a real answer.
"Oh, Daddy," Mary said, touching his arm. "Rick Winters has brain cancer, can you believe it?"
He gasped, touching his chest. "You're kidding."
Mary shook her head and took a sip of wine. "Elliot's been over there for the last two days. He's coming home tomorrow, but they've only given him a couple of weeks to live."
I twined my hands behind me — they spoke about me like I wasn't there, and they spoke about Rick like he was gossip fodder, not out of sadness or respect. Tears threatened my composure, and I squeezed my fingers tighter as I moved to sit back down with the kids.
Charlie cleared his throat. "How did it go today, Elliot?"
"Oh," I breathed, turning to face him. He smiled kindly, and for that I was grateful. "They delivered his bed and some equipment, and I helped prepare the library for him."
Dad's brow was judging. "Why were you there? Surely you'd have been in the way during such a trying time for their family."
"Sophie asked me to be there." I didn't mention how important Rick was to me, a topic that Dad hated. Strangely, I think he was jealous, though he'd made no real attempts to be close to me. We didn't bond over gossiping like he did with my sisters — he thought I was boring.
"Well," Dad said, gesturing with his glass, "I hope it doesn't interfere with Mary and Charlie's schedules."
Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Charlie cut her off. "We'll be fine. The kids are in school a couple extra days a week, and we're taking care of them in the afternoon when Elliot's not here."
Dad made a face and took a sip of his drink.
"So," I started, needing to change the subject, "when did you get in?"
He lit up at that, always happy to talk about himself. "This afternoon. We had the most awful flight. Sat next to some horribly fat man who wouldn't stay in his seat. And the weather here — I don't know how you stand all this cold. Miami is beautiful this time of year … I haven't used a coat in years!"