At Your Bedside

•Ch.11•

I grab Isaac's hand and shove a spoon in his palm so he may grasp it himself. They sit down on the couch while I fall into my bean bag.

"Thanks for the ice cream," I thank, "I was wondering how you knew I needed this."

"My mom knows that doctor that I saw when I first met you. Since you texted me that you went to the hospital today I had to ask him how you took the news and if it was bad or good," Hazel explains.

"What a stalker," Isaac remarks laughing. Though blind he has a big sense of humor.

I shove a big spoonful of chocolate brownie ice cream in my mouth. My favorite.

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"What flavor do you want, Casey?"

"Chocolate with a cherry. Oh and sprinkles!" I answer. Dad orders my ice cream and pays. We sit down at a little wooden table.

"Tie your shoe, sweetie. Your gonna trip," he heeds. I bend over and tie half of my shoe and look up. My cherry is gone! I look towards Dad but he puts his hands slightly up and shakes his head. I bend back down to finish tying my shoe lace. I glance back over to my father and find that he is covering his mouth as if he was hiding something. I know he is. I can feel it. I look up at the tip of his nose, and sure enough there is a sprinkle stuck to it.

"Daddy! You ate half of my spwinkles!"

"No I didn't. What sprinkles?" he says giggling.

"You know, like the one on your nose!"

"You got me." We laugh.
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"Casey," Hazel calls. "Casey, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I reassure. "This ice cream. It's just making me sad."

"I wonder what food doesn't bring back bad memories," Hazel ponders while walking to the sink.

"Their not bad memories. They hold me together. I just don't like the part that I remember what truly happened to them."

"That's deep man," Isaac says.

"Wow! Seriously? You need to eat. There's only five plates in your dish washer and three cups!" She looks at me like I'm a freak.

"I wasn't exactly happy or joyful those past two weeks."

"Hmm," she grunts looking back at the dishes.

"What time do you have to leave?" I ask.

"Umm. I bought something else for dinner. If you don't mind, we can stay until eight.

Hours pass. It is finally seven. The doorbell rings. Hazel walks to the door and opens it. "Thank you," I hear muffled in the distance. She walks towards us with a big, thin box. "Who wants pizza?"