The Impossible Knife of Memory(83)

“But he doesn’t have a doctor,” Trish said. “He doesn’t have anyone to call in an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

The nurse repeated her line about the three-month wait. Trish told me that she’d pulled the nurse to a quiet corner for a conversation that no one else could hear, and after that, the nurse found a spot for Dad on some kind of priority list. His appointment was the second Monday in January.

“Andy wants me to move in,” Trish told me. “I told him no. A girl from work is letting me rent her spare bedroom. This way I’ll be around, but not close enough to irritate him. I think that would be better, don’t you?”

I cupped my hands over the steam rising from my mug. “I guess.”

“Are you mad that he wanted you to stay at home? Should I have taken you with me?”

“No. It was probably better for him having you help with doctors and stuff.” I blew on my tea, sending ripples across the surface. “Anyway, I didn’t stay here.”

I explained the bet with Finn, reminded her about my near-drowning, and gave a few boring details about my first swimming lesson. I’d expected a lecture about taking the pickup without permission or a license, but she surprised me.

“You didn’t fall in the pool at that party,” she said.

“Yeah, I did.”

“It was Fourth of July, at the Bigelows’. The docs had discharged Andy too early, but we didn’t know it then. He should never have been in a swimming pool by himself.”

the impossible knife of memory

She shook her head. “We were all watching Jimmy and his girlfriend dance; they were good enough to be pros. The music was really loud and everybody was feeling good.”

“Was he drunk? Did I fall in because he wasn’t paying attention?”

She put her mug down. “He wasn’t drinking at all. He was showing off for you, I think. Must have had a tiny stroke or a seizure in the deep end. You were the only one who saw what happened. You didn’t fall in, Lee-Lee. You jumped in to help your father, but you couldn’t swim. You were, what? Seven? The Bigelows’ dog went nuts and someone went see why he was barking and oh my God.” She teared up and looked out the dark window. “Ten guys must have hit the water at once. One plucked you out, laid you on the deck, and started CPR. Your lips were this awful blue, but you came around fast. It took longer with Andy. Damn good thing there were medics at the party.”

“Did Dad go back to the hospital?”

“You both did. They kept you one night for observation. He was there a couple of weeks.” She cocked her head to one side. “You sure you don’t remember this?”

“I remember falling in and I remember opening my eyes underwater and seeing Dad. He had on red swim trunks with baggy pockets. Did he have a shirt on, too?”

She nodded.

“I always thought I was looking up through the water and seeing him on the deck.”

“No, you saw him on the bottom of the pool,” she said softly. “Do you know what he remembers?”

“He never talks about things like that.”

“I know.” She looked out the window again. “The last thing he remembered before he passed out was seeing you fly through the air like a little bird. Must have been the moment you jumped in.”

“So he knew I was in the deep end and I couldn’t swim?”

“He couldn’t move. Whatever it was, seizure, stroke. I don’t know if they ever figured it out for sure. But he said it was peaceful. He said drowning is not a bad way to go.”

I drained my tea. “I’m never getting in a pool again.”

“I think you will, as long as the right lifeguard is on duty.” She finished her tea, stood up, and put her jacket on. “Helluva day, huh? The docs gave him something to sleep. I’ll call to check on him tomorrow, before and after work.”

Spock followed her to the door, tail wagging. He whined a little when she closed the door behind her and nosed aside the curtain to watch her walk to her car.

“Wait!” I ran to the door and opened it. “Wait!” The light from the house barely reached the driveway. I could see where she was standing, but I couldn’t see her face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Thanks,” I said. “Thank you for helping us.” The day after his hospital visit, Dad woke up at the same time I did. As the coffee was brewing, he lined up his new prescription bottles on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. He took his medicine with the first sip, then he went back to bed. He did the same thing the next morning and the day after that.

“Are you doing this to prove to me that you’re taking your medicine?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he admitted. “What’s-his-name is waiting in the driveway. Get going.”

I reached for my backpack. “What are you going to do today?”

“Thought I’d write some letters.”

“Letters? Like, on paper?”

“Old-school, that’s me.”

“You’re okay?”

“Get going. Stay out of detention for a change.”

Trish came to our house for Sunday dinner three weeks in a row. We ate, watched the late game, and then she’d go to work. When she got switched to the night shift, Dad switched, too, going to bed after I left in the morning and waking up in time for dinner. In those weeks, our house never smelled of greasy biker creep or weed. Daddy was down to one bottle of Jack every three days. He didn’t explode or cry. He spent his nights writing letters at the dining room table.