Page 39 of Remy

He’s a role model. My role model.

I don’t know how long I sit, failing to understand how my life has brought me here while I fall victim to the weary effects of adrenaline detox. I lay my cheek on the mattress beside his arm, dozing a little, my lids growing heavy. I close them for a moment. It feels like barely a blink. But when I open them again it’s to tender fingers stroking my hair, gently coaxing me awake.

I straighten, the room now brighter than before, the orange glow of sunrise seeping in through the window.

Dad gives me a strained smile, a wealth of unmasked sorrow staring back at me.

That’s all there is. No words. No admission. Only a pained curve of lips and a regret-filled gaze, and I become acutely aware that this is more than a bump to the head.

I swallow over the questions waging war inside me. Once I have definitive answers there’s no going back to the bliss of ignorance.

“How long have you been here?” he rasps.

I check my watch. 7:05. “A few hours, I guess.”

“The hospital called you?”

I nod. “Around three in the morning. They said that given the circumstances I could come see you straight away.”

His blank features give nothing away.

My heart twists. “The oncology ward, Dad?”

A flicker of pain dances in his eyes, making the twisting, wrenching organ beneath my ribs morph into an instrument of torture.

“I’m sorry, Liv.”

I press my lips tight. Clasp my hands together to stop them trembling.

His palm slides over my tangled fingers. “After what we endured with your mom, I thought it best to keep you as far away from this for as long as possible.”

I shake my head. I didn’t endure. I rallied. I’d wanted to be by her side while she fought breast cancer.

“So it’s been going on for a while?” I ask.

He nods, strong and sure. A valiant warrior in the face of his demons. Or maybe just a deceitful parent, giving it his all to lessen my concern.

“I guess that explains all the days off you’ve been having.” I huff a pained laugh. “And here I was thinking you might have found a woman to occupy your time.”

He crushes me with a sad smile. “Your mom was all I ever needed.”

We don’t cry.

I sit straighter, denying the memory of my mother’s voice leverage over my wayward emotions. “I want to know everything.”

“I understand.” He drags his hand away and repositions himself against the pillows until he’s seated upright. “But I’ve decided that won’t be happening.”

“What does that mean? Surely, you can’t think to continue keeping me in the dark now that I’m at your bedside.”

“No, fragolina. At least not entirely. I just…” He drags in a tired breath. “I don’t want this for you again. Not the hospital visits. Not the worry and the heartache.”

“Worry is a privilege, Dad. Heartache doesn’t exist unless you have people to love. Don’t keep me from this. I already blame myself for not noticing?—”

“Don’t,” he begs.

“How can’t I? How did you hit your head? How did you get to the hospital? Why didn’t you call me? Why couldn’t you trust that?—”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Liv, and everything to do with protection.” He reaches for a glass of water on his bedside table and takes a sip. “Neither one of us have recovered from watching your mother suffer. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that to you. At least as much as possible. And besides, I didn’t need to call you about the fall when I was already here.” He grabs the neck of his hospital gown and drags it down past his collarbone, exposing the small, implanted port in his chest. “Chemo.”

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