He flashes me a shy smile as he gives them to me. “That first day, when you longingly stared out at the ocean and wrote your initial with a heart around it on the foggy glass, I’d been a little fucked in the head about you marring my clean glass. But then…”
“I don’t even remember doing that. It used to drive Dad crazy when I’d write on the windows of his car but Mom always said they were little Baylee notes left all over, and that he should appreciate them.” My voice wobbles and I choke down the swell of emotion thinking about her causes.
“Well, I did appreciate it. For once, I didn’t want the perfection,” he says, “I wanted something better than perfection. I wanted you.”
My fingers trail up my neck and I gently touch the earrings he gave me. Tears blur the world around me, but a smile forms on my lips. His sweet gift and his child. What more could I ask for besides his warm, strong presence? It would have to do. I would have to do this. For him. For us.
“You never told me which neighbor said my dad went to San Francisco,” I mutter and cut my eyes over to him. “It wasn’t Gabe, we know that much. Was it Mrs. Stephens?”
His body stiffens and he shoots me a nervous glance. “Yeah,” he says with a grunt, “but then I also found a note inside saying the same thing when I went to get your things. I guess he left it for you in case you ever came home.”
A note. Funny how he’s just now telling me about said note. I frown as I try to imagine my father leaving me this note. It’s not his style. I also have a hard time believing he’d leave our home after recently having lost Mom to go someplace to look for me that I wasn’t even at. He had no idea where I was, so why would he search in San Francisco. Why not just go to the police?
“Hmmm.”
He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t know much more on the subject so I let it drop. I’ll definitely be involving the police to help find my father. Something isn’t adding up and I need answers.
The rest of the drive is quiet and when the piers start coming into view as we travel along the Embarcadero, he turns and flashes me a grin.
“Clam chowder for lunch?”
My stomach growls and I remember I’m eating for two. I nod and offer him an appeasing smile. “Sure.”
“HOW ARE YOU feeling?” my nurse named Cathy asks. “Do you need some more water?”
I cringe, wondering where their water comes from. Has it been properly purified? Has it been poisoned by the germs of someone coughing too close to the open water source? My mind starts to go there—to the black places that rip apart my sanity. But, before I let it eat me alive, I focus on her. Not Nurse Cathy, but her. My Baylee.
Reaching for my cup, I pull it to my lips and sip. “I have plenty. Thanks.” My voice is hoarse after having the tube in my throat but I feel much freer. Dad had to leave to meet with a client but should be back any time.
“Good,” she says and smiles at me. “This morning we’re going to do some pulmonary therapies. Doc wants you out of that bed and doing some light activity. We’ll start by taking that catheter out and going to the restroom. You’re a big, strong boy. You can do this.”
I wince when she reaches for me but am thankful she’s donning a pair of latex gloves. The obsessions running rampant in my head are maddening but something bigger, more important is at stake. My Baylee. So, with thoughts of her in mind, I accept Cathy’s assistance. Another nurse enters the room and closes the door behind her. Fucking hospitals. Anytime they do anything invasive, there has to be a witness. To make sure nurses like Nurse Cathy aren’t molesting me or anything. It just prolongs the process and, therefore, my unease. Cathy works to remove the catheter while I grimace and groan. The heaviness in my chest still feels like a grown man is sitting on top of me. Every breath I take is short and labored. She assures me this is normal and that my body will heal as long as I continue to work to help it along. And I am. I will do whatever it takes.
“Good boy,” she sings like a mother praising a toddler after I piss into the plastic container attached to the toilet seat. It burns like hell. “You did more than I hoped for.” Her hand pats me on the shoulder and I shudder reflexively at her touch.
Baylee.
Baylee.
Baylee.
I exhale the stress of her touch and focus on the therapies. We’ve spent a good twenty minutes doing simple exercises beside the bed when Dad shows back up. Stark follows in behind with her disgusting partner. Thank fuck there’s no toothpick in his mouth.
“Mr. McPherson. So glad to see you up and around this fine morning,” she chirps, a little too fucking peppy for this early in the day.
Dad shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“Looks like we’re done with therapy for a couple of hours, big guy,” Cathy says and helps me back into the bed. She scurries off and I turn toward Stark expectantly.