Another stroke.
It was Monday, late morning, and Sadie from Shady Oaks had called about an hour prior to let me know. I’d still been in bed when my phone had buzzed across the nightstand. I was trying to sleep through as much of my existence as I could. That was pretty much what my life had been reduced to over the past week—that and writing a term paper I wouldn’t be present to turn in anyway but which I was still going to fucking write.
The only piece of furniture I’d kept in the house was my mattress, a few sheets, and an old quilt I was pretty sure my long dead grandmother had made. Every other piece of dingy, old furniture had gone into the dumpster on Saturday morning when waste management had shown up to tow it away.
I hadn’t called Sam Clausen yet to tell him I was done with the renovations. I was dragging my feet, because in truth, the next step in my life plan scared the shit out of me, and I wasn’t ready yet. There was a truth I owed Helene before I went away. She deserved to hear it from me, and before I embarked on the next chapter, she was going to. This had, consequently, always been part of the plan too from the moment I’d found out she was in Hazleton and I’d decided I was going to see her. But I’d never imagined it would be so hard to hand over this secret. Conceptually I’d understood that baring my soul to Helene would be difficult, but I’d never realized just how difficult. I’d been in her life for a couple months now and hadn’t managed it yet if that said anything.
But now this. Another hiccup. Another speedbump. Another fucking stroke.
“Well, hey, Kane. What are you doing here?” came a voice I recognized.
I looked up to see Mark approaching me. He was wearing a suit and had a file folder in his hand. He was a care and resources coordinator for patients at Community Memorial, and in fact, he was the one who initially helped arrange my father’s transfer to Shady Oaks. He was also the one who mentioned to me those many months ago that Helene would be coming home to Hazleton to teach at Penn State Hazleton during her final year at the University of Pennsylvania while she worked on her dissertation.
“Hi.” I stood, holding my hand out to him. “My father had another stroke. They transferred him from Shady Oaks a couple of hours ago. I’m just waiting for an update.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mark sat in the chair next to mine as I sat back down.
I didn’t know why it was so hard hearing sympathy for my father’s condition from people, but I’d learned over the past seven or so months that I hated it. It left me feeling guilty because I was never nearly so sorry as they were. I also hated it because I knew I should be. And I supposed I hated it because I wanted to be normal enough to actually understand what that sympathy was supposed to mean to me.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. I contemplated saying nothing more and waiting for Mark to get the hint and move on, but I liked Mark, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit here alone any longer. “How’s Helene?” I glanced at him.
He smiled, but it was a sad one. “I tend to be a pretty honest man, Kane,” he said hesitantly.
If the way he’d answered my previous inquiry on barbeque day was any indication, he was indeed an honest man—and a blunt one too.
“I know.” I looked down at my lap.
“She’s sad, angry, hurt … really confused,” he finally added.
I looked at him for a moment, nodding even as I struggled to swallow.
“And … uh… If you happen to see Hilde around town before your upcoming departure, I would recommend running the other way.” Mark chuckled quietly. “Sorry. I’d hoped she’d warm up to you, but … I don’t imagine that will be happening any time soon. Homicide might, though…” He chuckled again, but it tapered off. “I’ve loved Hilde since we were in high school.”
I assumed he was getting ready to defend his wife’s hatred of me, but then he shocked me.
“I could never leave her. I’m just curious how you could love Helene as much as that and stand to be apart from her—voluntarily no less.”
I looked at him again, trying to mount a defense, but there was nothing to defend against. His expression wasn’t angry, not mean, not resentful in the least. He just studied me almost concernedly.
“I know you have your reasons, and they must be compelling. I’m not judging. I just can’t imagine what it is that would drive you apart from her again.”
I took a deep breath. “I—”
“Mr. Thorson?”
I looked up to see a middle aged man in a lab coat approaching me. “Yes,” I said as I stood.
Mark stood as well, excusing himself with a polite nod to the doctor.
“I’m Dr. Kimpson. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I stood there numbly, kind of listening, kind of tuning the man out. Seizures, severe brain damage, recurring stroke, loss of brain function, oxygenation, heart failure, death.
There it was. The only word that really mattered. Death.