We arrived in Moxie a little over an hour later. I suspected Ebony had played fast and loose with the speed limits, which, under the circumstances, was fine by me. She stayed behind in the car with the animals first while I went inside, and I promised to relieve her shortly.
The Moxie Hospital was a small, white building on the outskirts of a desert town. I entered through the main doors. Don sat in the lobby with his face buried in a book. Aside from a family with two young children, he was alone. He looked up at me, his expression quickly changing from concentration to recognition and relief.
“Margo,” he called out. He tossed his paperback onto the chair and met me by the coffee machine.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He’s awake. His heart rate has been stable for the past few hours. I told him you were on your way. I thought it was better not to have any big surprises.”
A woman in salmon scrubs walked past us and fed a bunch of coins into the vending machine next to us. She punched the button for a cinnamon Danish wrapped in plastic. The spinning coil that should have released the Danish didn’t, and her pastry dangled inside.
She turned to me. “You do not know how badly I need that Danish,” she said.
Without thinking, I whacked the machine. The Danish fell and the woman looked at me, at Don, and then back at me.
“This is Jerry’s daughter,” Don said. “She and her friend drove up from Proper. Can they go in?”
“Sign in at the front desk and I’ll give you a pass. Where’s your friend?”
“Outside with the cat and the dog.”
Don shook his head in disbelief. “You brought the animals?”
“They’re part of the family.”
“One at a time,” the woman said. “And I mean one. No animals allowed in the rooms.” She took her Danish from the machine and stared at it for a second. “If Jerry’s up for it, maybe we’ll let him take a walk outside and visit with them in the parking lot.”
I followed the woman to the desk and signed in. Don escorted me to my dad’s room, where he lay in the hospital bed, tubes connected to his nose and arm. Machines surrounded him like guard dogs. His face lit up and then grew serious.
“Margo,” he said. He held his hand out. I sat in the chair next to the bed and held it. His fingers were swollen and the skin was rough. I fought against asking questions that had no answers: Why did this happen? And how can we make it so it never happens again?
After a minute or so, he jiggled my hand. “This might be it for me,” he said.
“Don’t talk like that,” I said. I squeezed his fingers and tried to pretend the tubes that were connected to his nose and arm weren’t there, but I couldn’t. Tears spilled down my cheeks even though I’d promised myself that I’d be strong for him. I brushed the tears away and a new set took their place.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think while lying here in this bed. The doctors say I have to take it easy for a while. They won’t give me a specific time frame. As much as I hate to say it, running the store is going to be too much. I’m going to have to give it up.”
“No,” I said. “Kirby can work longer hours while you’re getting better—he wants the money for college and his dune buggy—and I can help out until I have to go back to Vegas—”
He set my hand on the bed and patted it. “Margo, I’m going to listen to what the doctors said. They know what they’re talking about. And if they’re right, if cutting back on the stress of running a business helps me get this under control, then I’m going to do it. There’s a lot I haven’t seen yet. I didn’t realize until this trip how much I want to see America. If the shop closes, life will go on. You have your life with Magic Maynard, and Candy Girls can pick up where we left off.”
I wanted to protest again, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him—the man who had sacrificed his whole life to raise me mostly by himself and then encourage me to move away from our small town so I could see a bigger world myself—that he didn’t deserve the same experience.
He patted my hand and pulled his away. “The store has been my whole life for so long. These last couple of days on the road with Don were the most fun I’ve had since—”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Sure, I wore costumes to school when other kids had clothes from the mall, but that wasn’t what counted.
“Dad, Ebony’s waiting to see you. She’s in the parking lot with Ivory and Soot. I should give her a chance to come in and visit.”
A man in blue scrubs entered the room. “How’s my favorite patient?” he asked.
“Practically brand-new,” Dad answered.