It seemed wrong, somehow, to just go back to my own room and sleep my easy sleep. So I curled on the couch that was nearest to the hospital bed, and looked at my dad sleeping in the shaft of moonlight that was coming through the windows, falling across his face. As I listened to his breathing, my heart starting to pound whenever there was a pause, a break in the rhythm, I realized that this was what he had done for me, years ago, when I was a baby.
I wished that there was something I could do to make it better. But all I could do was to lie there and listen for each labored, rasping breath, counting them. I was aware that he didn’t have that many left, and somehow, to not pay attention to each one seemed like the worst kind of indifference. And so I lay there, just listening, knowing that each breath was another moment he was still here and, simultaneously, that meant that he had just moved a little closer to being gone.
I heard a door hinge squeak, and looked up to see Gelsey standing in the hallway. She was wearing an ancient, much-washed nightshirt that had once been mine. “You weren’t in bed,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?” I nodded, and then, without knowing I was going to, motioned her closer.
I expected her to go to one of the other couches, but she came right to mine, curling up against me. And I put my arms around my sister, smoothing back her soft, curly hair, and we lay there together in the dark, not speaking, just listening to our father breathe.
I thought about Henry, of course. During one of our talks, my father had even brought him up. I had evaded the question, but I still found myself turning over our time together in my head. Usually I was pretty sure I’d made the right decision. But sometimes—like when Wendy stopped by and was sitting with Warren on the porch, and I’d watch her lean her head against his shoulder, comforting him, and my brother let himself be comforted—I wondered if I actually had done the right thing by ending it with Henry. There was a part of me that was afraid that I’d dressed it up and called it a new name, but that it was my same flaw, rearing its ugly head once again. I was still running when things got too real—I’d just learned how to do it, at last, by staying in the same place.
Even though I knew when the meteor shower was coming—that morning’s Pocono Record had even done a special feature on the best time to try and catch it—it still took me by surprise. Since it was predicted to arrive an hour before dawn—when even I had usually gone to sleep for the night—I’d set my alarm. When the alarm beeped four thirty, waking me but not Gelsey, I’d switched it off and contemplated just going back to sleep. But my grandfather had promised it would be something extraordinary, and I felt like I’d put in enough time that summer looking up at the stars—I might as well see them deliver.
I pulled on my sweatshirt and tiptoed out of the room, even though I’d learned by now that my sister was one of the world’s deepest sleepers. I headed into the hallway and nodded at Paul, who was on duty, who gave me a small wave back. My dad was sleeping, his breath rattling in his throat. I looked at him for a long moment, and Paul met my eyes and gave me a sympathetic smile before turning back to his book. Things had gotten much worse in the last two days. We’d stopped talking about my father’s condition, how he was doing. We were mostly just trying to get through each day. And though my father was still with us, the last coherent conversation he’d been able to have was several days ago—and that had been just a moment with my mother before he got confused again.
I headed outside to the porch, looked up at the sky, and gasped.
The whole night sky above me was filled with streaks of light. I had never seen a single falling star before, and they were whizzing across the vast expanse of sky—one, then another, then two at once. The stars had never seemed quite so bright, and it was like they were surrounding me, much closer than I’d ever seen them, and a few of them were just on a joyride across the sky. And as I watched it unfolding, I knew that I didn’t want to be watching it alone.
I hurried back inside, not sure how long meteor showers lasted and not wanting him to miss any of it. “Paul,” I said quietly, and he looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“There’s a meteor shower outside,” I said. “It’s going on right now.”
“Oh, yeah,” Paul said, yawning and picking up his book again. “I think I read something about that in the paper.”
“The thing is… ,” I said, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I could practically feel my anxiety building. I felt like time was running out, right in front of me, and that I needed to get my father outside as fast as possible. “I want my dad to see it.” Paul looked up at me again, frowning. “Would that be possible?”