Chapter 10: Gavin
The hospital looms ahead. Corabelle’s father circles it, looking for the guest parking lot.
I’m glad we’re not where Finn died. That would have made this trip so much harder. Our baby was life-flighted to El Paso, where a much bigger hospital with a pediatric cardiac unit was housed.
But the Las Cruces medical center is still pretty impressive, all imposing structures and multiple levels.
“You know what room he’s in?” Mrs. Mays asks as we get out of the SUV.
“Main building,” I say. “Fifth floor.”
We wind our way through the rows of cars to the entrance. There’s a gift shop just inside, but I’m certainly not going to buy my dad a balloon.
A security guard points out the elevators.
As we rise through the levels, it hits me that I’m about to face my father for the first time since Finn’s funeral. He was a big part of why I walked out. That was literally one of the worst days of my life, and the repercussions are only just now getting resolved.
Corabelle squeezes my hand. She looks beautiful, if a little weary. It’s been a long day of desert, wind, car repair, and confessions. But she’s here. I wonder what would have happened if she wasn’t. Mom would have called. I would have refused to come. End of story.
But Corabelle changes every equation, makes my lopsided sums add up.
The elevator stops.
All hospitals smell the same, so I’m momentarily disoriented by memories. Corabelle, after her scare in the ocean. Finn, those tough days living in the NICU. Now my father.
Our somber party of four heads down the corridor. I pause at an intersection, peering at the signs directing us to clusters of rooms. Then I hear “Gavin?”
It’s my sister June.
I haven’t seen her in six years. She’s a young woman already, fourteen and spindly in red shorts and a striped top. But her face is starting to reveal the adult she will become, all dark hair and long lashes.
June rushes for me and almost knocks me backward with her hurtling hug. “Gavin! You’re here!”
When my arms go around her, I realize I was right to come here. It’s worth a thousand insults from my father to be with her.
My mom appears around the corner. “June, what in the world?” Then she sees me. “Gavin, baby!”
Soon, we’re a big clump of huggers. Corabelle gets in the fray. There’s crying and hiccups and exclamations.
Mom extricates herself first, smoothing down the front of her floral dress. She looks old fashioned in rose pink, a funny little flower pinned in her graying bun.
And old. The six years have hit her the hardest. Her eyes are deep set in a lined face. Gone are her signature mascara and pink lips.
“Your father is in a room,” she says. “They’ve had to keep him stable since the heart attack so he’d be ready for surgery.”
“He’s really grouchy,” June says. “That’s why we were sitting out here.”
“Are you staying here in Las Cruces?” Mrs. Rotheford asks. “You must be bone tired.”
“We’ve been sleeping in his room,” Mom says.
“Which sucks,” June says.
“Watch your language,” Mom says.
June rolls her eyes.
Man, my baby sister says “sucks.” For the first time since the fuel pump, I manage to crack a smile.
“Why don’t you let June come home with us?” Mrs. Mays offers. “If she wants to sleep in her own bed, Gavin can stay with her. Otherwise she is welcome to take our guest room.”
“Yes, please, Mom!” June says. “Let me stay with Gavin and Corabelle!”
Mom hesitates, but then rubs her tired eyes. “That might make things easier in the morning. Thank you.”
“We’re happy to help,” Mrs. Rotheford says. She takes Mom into another embrace. “It’s been a long time. Too long. Let’s catch up.” She leads Mom toward the waiting area.
Mr. Rotheford turns to June. “You want to show me the cafeteria? I could use a piece of pie. You think they have some?”
“They do!” she says. “Three kinds! Mom didn’t let me have any.” She steps closer. “Do we have to ask her?”
Mr. Rotheford leans in close. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” Then to me, “Let your mom know I’ve taken June with me.”
“I will, thanks.”
They take off for the elevator, and I look over at Corabelle. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“You want me to go in with you?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? You dragged me here.”
She nods. “I’ll change how it goes.”
“For the better. You always did.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “Okay, I’ll go in. But if I decide to slip out, you let me go, okay? Trust me?”
I’m not sure I’ll stay five seconds longer than she would, but I agree.
We hold hands, dropping by the cluster of chairs to tell Mom where June has gone, and head to Dad’s room.
I shouldn’t be nervous. He’s sick, probably strapped to a bed. And I’m grown, no doubt a million times stronger.
But still, there’s that seed there. That little boy who cowered for too long.
We pause outside his door. It’s open a few inches.
“Should we knock?” Corabelle asks.
I shrug.
She taps lightly on the door.
His voice booms, unexpected and loud for someone about to have a quadruple bypass. “Can’t a man get any goddamn sleep around here?”
Corabelle and I turn to each other.
“He can’t be too close to dying,” she whispers.
Figures my dad would be an ass to the end. I push open the door.
He’s half lying, half sitting on a bed that’s partially raised at the head. He holds a hospital remote in his hand, the coil all caught on his wrist and the side of the bed. He’s fighting to get the channel changed.
“No hunting shows whatsoever,” he says. “Though I did find some people tracking Bigfoot.” He mashes buttons.
It’s as if he totally expected me to show and it’s no big deal that I’ve walked in.
“Let me get it untangled,” Corabelle says, moving toward him and working on the remote. “Let me hold it.”
“Don’t hit any buttons,” he says. “It was the devil getting the volume right.”
She unravels the coil and hands the remote back to him. “There,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m all wired up and they’re going to crack my chest open tomorrow.” He lifts his arms with their tubes and cuffs and IV. “Big waste of time and money. I am fine.” His eyes meet mine. “I could walk right the hell out of here.”
“I’m sure the doctors know what they’re talking about,” Corabelle says. “You weren’t feeling so great when you collapsed in the garage.”
“Ate too much chili, that’s all,” Dad says. “Everybody’s making a big deal out of it.”
Corabelle steps back to me. I haven’t gotten much past the door.
Dad smirks at us. “You going to say something, son, or just stand there like a damn gargoyle?”
I can’t think of a thing to say. Corabelle has already asked how he feels. He’s already denounced his need for surgery. I think we’re done here.
My weight shifts to step back, but Corabelle holds fast to my arm.
“He came to see you, that’s enough,” Corabelle says.
“Not sure why if he’s not even going to say a blessed ‘Hi, how are you.’”
My teeth clench, but I manage to get out, “Hi, Dad, how are you?”
“You got my genes, bud, so you better live clean or you’ll end up just like your old man,” he says.
“I doubt that,” I say.
“Now we’re talking,” he fires back. “You came to get a couple more potshots at the old geezer before he pops off?”
Corabelle takes that moment to let go of my arm and back up. What is she doing, leaving me already? I’m tempted to follow her, but I say, “Sounds like you could use them.”
Dad laughs. “You definitely have a mouth on you now, boy. Get over here so I can see you. They took my damn glasses.”
I spot them on a table on the other side of the room and head for it. When I turn around to hand them to Dad, Corabelle is gone.
Great.
“Here,” I say, passing them to him.
He takes them and shoves them on his face. “About time. Now I can actually see the crappy-ass shows.” He squints even with them on, peering at the screen. “Damn thing is no bigger than the sixteen-inch I bought your mother when we got married.”
“Hospital has all the wrong priorities,” I say.
This gets another laugh. “You got funnier too,” he says. He watches the show for a moment, then it goes to commercial. “Bah,” he says and flips it off. “Sucked anyway.”
He tosses the remote on the bed. “I heard you married that girl.”
“I did.”
“Must really have a number on her, if she took you back after what you did.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “Meant to be, I guess.” I don’t really want to talk about Corabelle. That’s the fast track to my fist in the jaw of a heart patient.
“She’s a good kid.”
Huh. I’ve never heard those words or anything like them come out of his mouth before.
“June seems like she’s doing all right,” I say.
“Oh, she’s a mess. All girly hormones and drama and crying half the time. But she ain’t into boys yet. Good thing. I’ll geld the sons of bitches if they lay a hand on her.”
I have nothing to say to that. My feet are planted near the bed, my hands clasped behind my back. It’s awkward, the whole thing.
But I’m doing it.
“You ready for this surgery tomorrow?” I ask. It strikes me that I don’t know if my dad gets scared. Maybe all the smoke he’s blowing is to cover it.
“Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” he says. But he’s already started to slide down on the bed a little, his shoulder drooping. Maybe his big show of strength when we walked in was just that. For show.
“People come through stuff like this just fine,” I say. “It’s a pretty common thing.”
“I wouldn’t give two shits if it wasn’t for your mother,” he says. “But she’s weak and couldn’t make it on her own.”
“She’s put up with you for thirty years,” I say. “She can’t be that weak.”
This gets another laugh, lighter this time. “Well, there is that.”
He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Damn nuisance, all this rigmarole.”
“You should get some rest,” I say. This wasn’t too hard. I’m glad Corabelle made me do it. Nobody can say I was a bad son. I showed up when it mattered.
I head for the door.
“Gavin,” Dad says.
My body stills. This is it. Will he apologize for all he did? The blows, the welts, the insults, the way he pushed me down until I got too grown, too strong, to let him anymore?
“Yeah?” I turn around. He seems smaller in the bed than when I walked in.
“Why’d you come here?”
I shrug. “Mom asked.”
“You don’t really give a shit about me, do you?” His eyes bore into me from behind the glasses. I regret giving them to him.
“You’re my dad. That makes a certain level of concern automatic.”
“Bullshit. You think you’re owed something. You came here to see if I was still the same ol’ asshole I always was.”
“Are you?”
“You think I cuffed you because I was some screwed-up old man. That I wanted to beat kids.”
Images roll through my head, his hand coming at me, his belt, a hard shove, a swift kick. Too many times to count.
“You were weak, Gavin. A sniveling little boy. You hung around that girl and were turning into a bona fide pansy. Somebody had to make you tough.”
Seriously? He’s blaming Corabelle. He’s fucking blaming my wife for his BS.
“Shut up,” I say. “Don’t you bring Corabelle into this or by god I’ll rip your heart out by myself.”
Now his laugh is back to full power. “See? That’s the son I was always looking for you to be.” He picks up the remote and turns the TV back on. “I did good,” he says. “I did good.”
There is no point being here one more minute. I whip around and am out the door before he can say another word.