The Fault In Reality

Chapter Twenty-Four

True to my father's prediction, I spend the night trying to get comfortable on a lumpy cot. I must fall asleep at some point, because when I next open my bleary eyes it's mid morning and my father is wagging a brown bag in my face.

"Breakfast," he says, and drops it in my lap. I sit up and crinkle the paper bag a bit in my tired fumbling. After a moment or two my struggles are rewarded with the welcome sight of a muffin. It's rolled in oats and sugar and is still warm in my hands. I take a bite of warm bran-blueberry bliss, glad my father exaggerated in his descriptions of hospital food.

"Thanks," I mumble between bites. Crumbs spill over the muffin wrapper and fall to speckle my blankets and chest.

"Pat wants to talk to you," my father says, pacing the room. He must have gotten his hands on a razor and comb, as he looks much neater than yesterday.

"Okay."

I finish the muffin and get to my feet, wincing at a sore twinge in my neck. There's the business of pulling on my shoes and smoothing out my sleep rumpled shirt to be dealt with, before I let myself even look in the mirror. My hair is in tangles, but I don't have a comb and am too tired to convince it to lie flat with my fingers. Instead I stick it up into a bun and follow my father down the hall.

It's quieter than yesterday. Sun streams in through the windows and lies a pattern of rectangles on the floor. I catch a glimpse of a girl with a bald head, eyes pink and lips cracked. She moves past us as though treading on eggshells, silent and ghostly. Her mother clutches at her arm behind her, an expression of aching sadness on her face. The girl meets my staring gaze with a flame of defiance and cool wisdom in her eyes. A coward, I look to the safety of the ground.

Pat is the same as before: pale, tired, smiling. She motions me quietly to the side of her bed.

"Era," she says, softly. "Your father and I have discussed it, and I'd like you to be here, to stay here for these last few weeks. You're part of the family, now."

My eyes feel hot and heavy with tears. I don't want to cry again, so I keep them open and unblinking until the feeling melts away. My choked throat betrays their presence when I next speak, however.

"Do you really mean it? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"I don't believe in lying to make anyone feel better, and I'm not doing it now. I said what I said because I genuinely want you here. It's not going to be fun. Your father isn't going to be there for you kids as often, and these last few weeks of summer might be very sad and difficult. But I'd still like you to stay, if you want to."

"Of course I do!" I want to throw my arms around Pat and hug her, but there's several dozen wires and tubes between us. I settle instead on a big smile, as firm as I can make it. If she sees my bottom lip wobble, she doesn't mention it.

A nurse comes in just then, to check Pat's blood pressure. My father leads me out of the room.

"Come on, I'll drop you off at home and make a lunch for you and Chase. Then I'll come right back. I've asked Jack to drop by and help with the horses."

I nod numbly, not quite grasping the reality of his words until we're back at the ranch and I'm staring into the big friendly face of Jack, the future owner of Devany.

"Hello, Era!" he calls. He threads a hand through the air in a neat little wave, the kind a queen might give to her subjects. The primness of the action looks comical on his boisterous features.

"Hi," I say. I must look like a mess. I feel like a mess. "Here to check on Devany's progress, I presume?"

Jack laughs, even though I haven't said anything funny.