Page 54 of Slots & Sticks
For a full thirty seconds, it’s just us—our laughter echoing through the elevator, Skinbad grumbling, the doors opening on the wrong floor before we finally reach Dad’s.
By the time we step out, my cheeks hurt, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
“Ready?” Camden asks, softer now.
I nod. “Let’s do it before the fake contractions kick in again.”
We sneak down the hall, trying to muffle Skinbad’s occasional yips. Every few steps, Camden shushes him and mutters something about getting banned from the premises.
When we reach Dad’s room, the door’s cracked open. He’s sitting up, awake, watching the TV without really seeing it. His eyes brighten when he spots us. “Well, look who it is.”
“Hey, Dad.” My voice wobbles. I hurry to the bed before I can lose my nerve. “I, uh… I brought you something.”
“Something?” He eyes the tote suspiciously. “Dot, what did you—”
Before he can finish, Skinbad erupts from the bag like a gremlin from hell.
Dad flinches back, startled—and then—he starts laughing. Really laughing. The sound cracks through the rasp in his throat and fills the whole sterile room.
“Jesus, he looks like Nudie,” he says, wheezing. “Where did you find this little monster?”
I can’t stop smiling. “Humane Society in Reno. His name’s Skinbad. I thought… you might need someone waiting for you when you get home.”
Camden hangs back, watching quietly as I place the wriggling dog in Dad’s lap. When I glance over, Camden’s watching Dad with this look I can’t quite name. Like respect, maybe. Or quiet awe. Like he’s seeing my whole childhood sitting there in that hospital bed—and still choosing to stand beside it.
Skinbad whimpers once, then settles, curling into the crook of Dad’s arm like he’s known him forever.
Dad strokes his odd little head, his eyes glistening. “You got him because he looks like Nudie.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You always said Nudie found you when you needed him most. So… I figured it was our turn to return the favor.”
For a long moment, none of us speak. The monitors beep steadily, Skinbad snuggles against Dad’s chest, and I see the first hint of real color in my father’s face.
A nurse pokes her head in, frowning. “You can’t have—” She stops mid-sentence when she sees Dad smiling. “You know what? Just keep him quiet, okay?”
Camden salutes her. “We won’t stay long.”
When she’s gone, Dad looks from me to Camden. “You two are trouble.”
“Always have been,” Camden says.
“Always will be,” I add.
Skinbad yowls as if to agree, and all three of us laugh—loud, messy, alive. For the first time, it feels like coming home.
Dad finally drifts off, one hand resting on Skinbad’s weird little head. I stand there, watching the air expand his chest, feeling like the tight band around my heart has finally loosened. The sight of that ridiculous naked dog curled up on my father’s chest does more good than all the medicine in the world.
Camden slips an arm around my waist. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. In-Labor.”
I nudge him with my elbow, smiling through the tears I’ve been fighting. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
We tiptoe out of the room like teenagers sneaking home after curfew. Skinbad snuffles softly in my arms, blissfully unaware that he’s now a criminal accomplice. Camden cracks the door open for me, checks both directions of the hallway, and whispers, “Coast is clear. Go, go, go.”
We make it back to the elevators without getting caught, though we both dissolve into quiet laughter halfway down the corridor. By the time we reach the car, the adrenaline has worn off, leaving only warmth—and exhaustion.
In the passenger seat, I cradle Skinbad while Camden pulls out of the parking lot. The streetlights sweep over his face in long, soft stripes, and for a second, I can’t tell if I want to cry or laugh again.
