Page 87 of The Two of Us

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NOW

Anya’s house sits empty except for the days Ambrose goes over to fix things that were ruined in the fire. Thanks to a neighbor calling the fire department when they did, the damage isn’t as bad as it could’ve been. But even though the flames are gone, their impact is seared into us all.

When Laura asks for a week off because Anya and Matty are moving in with her, I tell her to take two. Hesitation fills her eyes, but I promise her I won’t leave my dad’s side. The fact that she believes me must mean I’m making some progress.

I spend the days in my dad’s room, administering the medications I can, playing movies out loud on my phone as I curl up next to him. He’s always been a big man and despite his state, his stature still has the ability to make me feel safe. Secure. And I’m no longer bothered by the whine of the oxygen machine. Instead, it’s become a familiar presence. I welcome it every day and the message it seems to whisper into my ears. Listen to me breathe for him. He’s still here.

Otso claims a permanent residence at the foot of my dad’s bed and I try not to let it stoke the embers of my anxiety. I read once that dogs know when someone is about to move on from this world to the next. They become more affectionate and clingier, knowing their human’s time is almost at its end.

As I let the movie play, I drag my laptop onto the bed. When I submitted my sick day request the day after the fire, Helen called me not five minutes after. I haven’t taken a sick day since I started working for the company, so when she asked if hell had frozen over, I wasn’t surprised.

We chatted for a bit and I updated her on my dad’s health. “You’ve been there for almost two months now,” she said, nervousness lacing her voice.

“Yep.”

“You’ve done the agency a great service, working as hard as you’ve had remotely, but take the next two weeks off. Spend this time with your father.”

When I told her that wasn’t necessary, she became adamant. “I wasn’t asking you, Mara. Take the next two weeks off.” And she hung up.

Has everyone and Otso been provided with a countdown I’m unaware of? I don’t know how to gauge how much time my dad has left, but my heart tells me we still have time. I don’t know how I know; I just do.

When the dog in the film starts barking, I plug my ears, expecting Otso to dive into a fit of barks like he usually does at… well everything. But when we make eye contact, he looks solemn.

I scratch his ear. “What is it, boy?”

He lets out a low whine and nuzzles his face into my dad’s leg.

My heart constricts. “Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet.”

Am I trying to convince him or myself?

***

When Laura calls and asks me to bring her medical bag by her house, I don’t hesitate. I ask Mrs. Kline down the street to watch over my dad for a few hours and she’s more than happy to lend a hand. I’ve known Mrs. Kline since I was a little girl, but she’s always kept to herself. She isn’t unfriendly, just shy. She has a banana tree in her front yard and always used to offer me one when she caught me staring. She wouldn’t even say anything, she’d just point to the tree. I eventually took it as a hint to help myself. I appreciated that she never expected too many words from me.

Laura’s house looks like something out of Lake Living. The small cottage sits on the lake in the middle of cherry blossom trees and I remember Laura saying how her parents planted them before her mom passed. They aren’t in season and the naked branches stick out in misshapen angles like characters from a Tim Burton film but this is their home. The place where Laura and Anya grew big. Loved big. And lost big.

I knock on the door and it opens almost immediately. Matty’s dressed in a pair of dinosaur pajamas, his hair an absolute disaster.

“Hey, cutie. Just wake up?”

His eyes shift to the ground. “No. All my clothes are at home. Auntie Laura says she has to buy me new ones because they got burned.”

Dammit. Why didn’t I think about that before I opened my big stupid mouth?

“Well, clothes are overrated. I’d rather be in my pajamas like you.” I ruffle his hair, but he doesn’t smile or laugh like he usually does. It should be a crime to rob this kid of his laughter.

“Are you here to see Auntie Laura?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get her.” He walks away, shoulders slumped.

Laura comes to the door moments later, pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

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