Secrets | Watty Awards Winner 2013

Chapter 8

"Dad."

I run the last few steps towards my father and grab his hand. He manages a weak smile underneath the oxygen mask.

"Where's Savannah?" His words are muffled so that it is hard to make out what he is saying. I grind my teeth, my gaze hardening.

"Not here," I say coldly. In my despair, I hadn't even realized that my step-mother hadn't made an appearance at the hospital yet. If she loved my father as much as she claimed, she should be at his bedside right now.

I can see the disappointment on my father's face and the smile fades. The heart monitor next to his bed beeps slowly and regularly. It's the only sound in the room for a long time. I'm almost glad when I hear Will walk in with the doctor. Somewhere between the hospital doors and dad's room, Will had stopped following me. Now I understand why.

"What's the prognosis?" I ask, looking at the grim-faced man. He wears a white lab-coat over a pink T-shirt and the most awful Pinocchio tie I've ever seen. He looks young for a surgeon. When he finally forces his lips into something that can barely be passed as a smile, I have to stop myself from shielding my eyes from the whiteness of his over-bleached teeth. Everything about this man makes me want to run out of the room. Trust my father to land this creep as his doctor, I think grimly.

"Maybe we should speak outside and let Mr Chambers rest," he says. I swallow and make ready to voice my opposition but dad speaks first.

"I'm old enough to hear how I'm doing, doctor," he says. "Please do not treat me like a child."

My heart swells. Somewhere, deep down, my father is still inside there.

The badge on the white lab coat catches the light and glints. Dr Hyde. How ironic...

"I won't mince my words, Mr Chambers," Dr Hyde says, clearing his throat. He levels a cool look at me then at dad. "Your condition is not good. The poison penetrated further than we had expected. We tried to get as much as we could out of you but some has entered the bloodstream. Only time will tell to see whether your body will be able to withstand the attack."

I squeeze dad's hand, my fingers trembling.

"What are my chances, doc?" dad asks. His voice is surprisingly composed but I can hear the slight tremor at the end of his sentence.

"You have a 15% survival rate over the next 36-48 hours. Every hour you stay alive after that, your chances rise exponentially," Doctor Hyde says. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. His expression softens. "I'm sorry I couldn't come in with better news. I really am." He pauses. "I'll leave you guys to talk now."

He turns around, exchanges a look with a blank-faced Will and walks out. My eyes stay on his retreating figure until my vision gets blurry. I swat my tears away fiercely.

"Don't cry, baby girl," dad says. I turn to look at him and he runs the pad of his thumb against my cheek. He looks so frail- so pathetic. I've never seen him so helpless before.

"I'll be fine. I always am," dad says. His voice is barely above a whisper. I look into his eyes and for the first time, I see them; I really see them. They are dark blue- the colour of a calm ocean. They are the same ones I used to see before I fell asleep when I was a child. They are the same ones that taught me how to play baseball and beat all the boys. They are the same ones who danced in the firelight when we went camping. They are the same ones who have been there for me my whole life. I've known that all this time but... somehow-somewhere- along the line, it got lost and I'm only seeing it again for the first time now.

"Remember when mum died?" I ask. My voice is low and husky with suppressed tears. Dad nods and I continue talking, "You swore to me that you would never leave me and Micah alone- that you would be there for us every step of the way until we grew up?"

A tear rolls out of the corner of dad's eye. He nods again.

"You knew, didn't you?" I ask and my voice chokes. "You knew that mum had been murdered."

The last sentence comes out more as a statement than the question I'd intended it to be.

Another tear rolls down the side of dad's face and stains his pillow grey. A slow shake of the head.

"You didn't know mum had been murdered," I say and my voice is so tight with pent-up emotion that it rises several octaves. I don't believe it. My father must've known... mustn't he?

"Your mother..." dad says and he gasps for breath. I squeeze his hand tightly.

"Dad, I'm not blaming you for anything. I-I just have so many questions and if you..." I can't bring myself to say it. He won't. He's strong. He'll get through this. I have to believe that.

Dad beckons me to lean in towards him. I can see his energy fading and I don't want to stress him out any further. I lean in and place my ear next to his mouth. With an effort, he removes the oxygen mask and whispers, "Your mother," a raspy cough, "is..." he wheezes, "alive."