“Thoughtful of you to ask,” her mother replied.
“It’s absolutely disgraceful that you’ve seen fit to completely ig—”
“Mom, please. I didn’t come here to fight.”
“I’m surprised you came at all. We haven’t heard from you in six months—we thought you’d written us off altogether.”
“Damn it, Mom. Just stop it, would you?”
The headache was already flaring. This happened every time; they’d tear at each other until there was nothing left. Almost twenty years now, and the only bind that remained constant between them was bitterness, scorn.
“I came here to see Dad, not to argue with you.”
“Fine,” her mother said. “Fine.”
Down the hall, another lane of memory.
“I suppose you’ll stick your head in, look at him, and then be off again, back to your ever important job in the city.”
Ann felt her nails dig into her palm. “I’m off all next week.”
“Oh, a week, a whole entire week. I suppose we should feel privileged here in lowly Lockwood, that the prodigal daughter has graced us with a full week of her cherished time in order to spend it with her family, one member of whom is dying.”
Ann’s teeth ground together. Her jaw clenched.
They’d set up a convalescent bed in the end spare room. The shades were drawn; pale yellow lamplight cut wedges in the room. From a corner chair, a stout man rose in a baggy suit. He was bald on top, with tufts of salt and pepper hair jutting from the sides like wings, and a bushy goatee. This was the man who’d delivered Melanie on that stormy night, and the same man who’d brought Ann into the world through her mother’s womb. Dr. Ashby Heyd.
He smiled warmly and offered his hand. “Ann. I’m so glad you could come.”
“Hello, Dr. Heyd.” But Ann’s attention was already being pricked at, dragged toward the high bed. Antiseptic scents blended with the musk of the old house. The room seemed stiflingly warm. Inverted bottles on a stand depended IV lines to the still form on the bed.
Ann looked down at her father.
It scarcely looked like him. The vision crushed her, as expected. Joshua Slavik’s face had thinned, leaving his mouth open to a slit. His eyes were closed, and one forearm had been secured to a board, needles taped into blue veins large as earthworms.
“He’s borderline comatose, I’m afraid. A massive cerebral hemorrhage.”
Ann felt desolate looking down. Her father barely seemed to be breathing; Ann had to fight back tears. Even in her worst moment, or during her mother’s worst tirades, Joshua Slavik had always had a smile for her, a simple encouragement, the slightest note of hope to help her feel better. He’d given her his love, but what had she given him in return?
“He looks so peaceful,” her mother remarked.
Ann snapped. “Jesus Christ, Mom! You’re talking like he’s already dead! He’s not
Dr. Heyd took a step back. Her mother’s face went dark.
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital,” Ann went on. “He should be in an ICU, not lying in this stuffy crypt. What kind of care can he get here?”
“Dr. Heyd is perfectly capable of—”
Ann rolled her eyes. “Dr. Heyd’s just a small town general practitioner. He delivers babies and treats sore throats, for God’s sake. We need a neurologist, we need a CAT scan and an intensive care facility. We’re taking him to a hospital right now.”
“I forbid it,” her mother said.
Dr. Heyd stepped in, “Ann, what you don’t understand is—”
“All I understand is my father’s dying and nobody’s doing shit about it!” Ann yelled at both of them. “And if you think you can forbid me from taking my own father to a proper hospital facility, then you better think again. You may run this ridiculous little backward town but you’re not the law. I’ll go straight to the state probate judge and file a petition for guardianship. The court will appoint me guardian ad litem, and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. I might even—”
“Why not sue me while you’re at it, Ann?” her mother suggested. “Sue me for mental anguish. That’s what lawyers do, isn’t it? Sue people? And you’d do it too, I know you would, Ann. You’d sue your own mother.”
Ann caught herself. Her mother and Dr. Heyd exchanged silent glances. Ann stared, more at herself than them.
Her father groaned once, lurched and twitched a few times.
“Are you happy now?” her mother asked. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve upset him. Haven’t you upset him enough in your life? You’ll even upset him on his deathbed.”
Ann wished she could melt into the wall. For that moment she’d felt completely out of control of herself.
“This is a disgrace,” her mother said, and left the room.
Dr. Heyd followed her. He quietly closed the door behind him.
Ann sat down. Her outburst left her limp, jointless. Her gaze returned to her father. She seemed to be looking at him from miles away, or through a fish eye lens.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she muttered.
He lay still. The flesh on his thin face seemed translucent, sagging into the crags of his skull. Then he moved.
Ann leaned forward, held her breath.
Very slowly, her father’s right arm lifted. His hand turned, and his index finger extended feebly.
Shakily, and only for a second, the finger pointed directly at her.
«« — »»
The house was emptying when she came back down. Visitors smiled curtly, bid subtle goodbyes, and left. A few teenage girls were picking up in the dining room, putting things away. Martin stood alone in the corner, his arms crossed.
“We could hear you yelling all the way down here,” he said.
Ann sulked.
“I know it’s not easy for you, Ann. But it’s not easy for your mother either. It’s not exactly sincere to threaten your own mother with legal action when her husband’s dying in the same room. You’re going to have to get a grip on yourself.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me.” Martin lit a cigarette and frowned at his cup of punch. “She went out back with Melanie. Dr. Heyd’s in the kitchen, I think.”
Ann nodded. She shuffled into the kitchen. Dr. Heyd was hanging up the phone.
“Dr. Heyd… I’m very sorry about the things I said to you. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean —”
“No apology necessary, Ann,” he said. “This is a difficult time for everyone; I know what you must be going through. But you must realize the facts. The symptoms are undeniable. Your father suffered a massive orbital hemorrhage. Regrettably, no medical technology in the world can help him. There’s little anyone can do except try to make him as comfortable as possible. Your mother thinks it best that he stay here, closest to the ones he loves, in familiar surroundings.”
Dr. Heyd’s politeness, and his reason, made Ann feel even worse.
