“What was he saying?” Travis asked, now sitting on the edge of the couch.
“I couldn’t really tell. He was just getting worked up. I saw the ten o’clock replay of the news, and they don’t say Amelia’s name or anything, but they did have a picture of Caleb and a warning.”
“Yeah, I know about that.” She eyed her father, who was stirring in his chair. “So, he doesn’t know, then?”
“No, I didn’t know what to say. Just told the girls that line you said about the emergency, and then Chief . . . I just couldn’t do it, Ellie. I was hoping you would know what to say so he would understand . . .”
She should be happy with this news. She’d wanted to be the one to tell him, and a part of her whispered, Now you can wait until you know. But another part of her was disappointed because she didn’t know how to tell him so he would understand.
“That’s fine.” Ellie walked behind the back of the couch, skirting the tile of the entryway without crossing over, a habit from when she was a child and played lava with Amelia on rainy days. Chief Brown’s armchair was fully reclined and looked more comfortable than his ancient full-size mattress in the back bedroom. He shifted again in his sleep, and Ellie wondered what he was dreaming about. “I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow. Or if things are better, maybe you could bring him by the hospital.”
“Of course, hon. You keep me updated, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Chet patted his shirt pocket where he kept an outdated flip phone.
Ellie lowered her voice a fraction. “I’ll pay you for your time. I promise. Thank you for helping out. It means everything to me.”
“You will not pay me a penny. I owe your dad my life ten times over. I can help out one measly time, right, Chief?” Chet said to a sleeping Chief Brown. Ellie swore he smiled under his mustache.
Travis stood, readjusted his belt, and then put out a hand toward Chet.
“Thanks for giving your statement to Detective Conrad earlier. He said it was extremely detailed.”
Chet took Travis’s hand and gave it three strong shakes. “I’ve given enough statements in my day that I should know what I’m doing by now.” Then, with a meaningful glance at Ellie, Chet let go of Travis’s hand and gestured to Ellie’s duffel on the ground.
“Here, I’ll help you out.” Chet pushed himself off the couch slower this time like he’d used all of his energy the last time he got up. But whatever amount of exhaustion he was experiencing, he pushed through and snagged Ellie’s bag before she could protest. The sight of Chet carrying her childhood overnight bag she’d used for nearly every slumber party she’d attended was enough to make her have to hide a smile behind her hand.
“I’ve got it,” Travis said, putting out his hand for the bag and gesturing for Chet to sit down. The crusty old paramedic clenched his lips together so they disappeared under his impressive facial hair and gave a pointed look to the officer standing in her father’s living room. Something seemed to click. “Ah, yes. Thank you for your help,” Travis added as he headed out the door with Chet. “I’ll see you in the car, Brown.”
The two men exited quickly and without another word, conspiring to give Ellie a few moments alone with her father. Standing close to the arm of his chair, she ran her fingers through his thick, white hair, wishing she had his brush. As she repeated the action, she watched her father sleep. He looked like his old self, and she was glad he was asleep tonight so she could pretend that he would wake up and know what to do. She was so tired of being the only one holding their disintegrating family together.
“Daddy, M is hurt bad,” she whispered, playing along with her fantasy of his ability to hear her and understand, and to fix the brokenness all around them. “She can’t wake up, and they don’t know if she will.” She placed her hand on the side of her father’s face, his stubble scratching at her palm. “What am I supposed to do, Daddy? How did I end up the only one left? Mommy, then you, then M.” The weight of her loneliness came crashing down on her shoulders in a nearly physical way. She closed her eyes, trying to fight the drowning feeling pulling her under. “I can’t do this alone. I’m supposed to marry Collin and Mom was supposed to help me pick a dress and you walk me down the aisle and Amelia be my matron of honor, but now . . .”
Before she completed her sentence, a warm, familiar hand wrapped around hers and she opened her eyes in shock, almost wondering if she’d imagined it. But what she saw was her father, his eyes open wide and clear, his hand on hers. When they made eye contact, he smiled a little and patted her hand like he’d heard everything and was telling her everything was going to be okay.
She gasped. “Daddy!” A harsh voice in the back of her mind told her that the fantasy of a healed father would soon be broken by reality, but she couldn’t help lingering in it for a few moments longer.
As soon as she spoke, Chief Brown’s forehead wrinkled, eyebrows pulling together like he’d just remembered that he left the oven on after leaving for a week-long trip. He started to shift back and forth in his seat, his hand no longer a gentle caress but a strong vise around hers.
“Ouch!” Ellie gasped, and tried to pull her hand away, remembering what Chet had said about her father after watching the news—overexcited, active, upset. Whatever the medicine made fall away from his consciousness earlier was back, and he wanted to say something.
“What, Daddy? What?” She leaned in closer. His lips were moving, soft whispers of something important escaping but imperceptible. Now on her knees, her hand behind his shoulder with him propped up on the edge of the recliner, Ellie put her ear up to his mouth; she closed her eyes and listened intently.
“Caleb.” He said the name as clearly as anything he’d said in the past seven months. “Caleb . . . Caleb . . . Caleb,” he repeated over and over again, the volume escalating quickly and the clear quality to his speech disappearing. Ellie tried to back away, but her father held her shoulder tightly, the sound of Caleb’s name pounding against her eardrum in her father’s frantic voice.
Chet ran through the front door after hearing the commotion.
“Not again,” he muttered, and rushed forward, putting his experienced hands on Chief Brown’s frail ones. Her father held strong, her face against his, his breath on her cheek. He said one last phrase, quieter this time, so quiet she could barely make it out. Then his hands went limp, and she stumbled backward, away from her father and away from the secret he had just whispered in her ear.