Falling Out Of Bed

She smiled deeply, stood up and began singing “Some Enchanted Evening” along with the music playing in the living room.

I sat very still, held my breath.

“Dad, dance with her,” Lena yelled, stood and then immediately sat in her chair.

I couldn’t utter a word because I was too busy staring at how beautiful they looked together—my mother in her yellow Easter dress, my father in a crisp white shirt and dark green slacks.

“Okay, I’ll dance with your mother.” He pulled her to him and they glided around the dining table three times.

Dad coughs, brings me back to the condo kitchen.

“Dad, you need to eat something.” I stare at the back of his head, the memory of our family that happy Easter still washing through me.

“Okay, I will.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But not a lot.”

I pick up the empty plate that has been waiting patiently for my father and place a slice of chicken, two tablespoons of spinach and a small, irregular circle of mashed potatoes on the plate. I feel a little like I’m encouraging a bird. Steam curls up around my fingers from the small hill of food.

A moment later I’m standing in front of him with my offering. He takes it. The house has a church-like silence without Jan, and I breath in its blessings—my father eating, the quiet.

“Would you rather eat at the table?” I ask.

“I’m fine here. Get something for yourself, honey. There’s some wine in the cabinet.”

I want to say, Oh, I’ve found the wine, but I nod instead, hope if I eat he’ll eat more. I go back to the kitchen, plop mashed potatoes on my plate, spear some chicken. I think about the bottle of wine, but I’m afraid to have another glass because my emotions are as fragile as glass.

I go back to the living room and sit next to Dad on the couch.

“This looks really good if I say so myself.” I fork potatoes into my mouth. My father takes a bite of spinach and my heart fills with hope. Spinach is filled with vitamins, antioxidants. It has to be good for fighting cancer.

We are quiet as we eat. I wolf down my plate of food, nod as I’m eating, hope to show him how good it is.

My father eats slowly, chewing with determination.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” I put my empty plate on the coffee table, look at him, smile.

“You’ve worked hard. You should be hungry.” He forks a dab of potatoes into his mouth, swallows and sighs.

“Oh, not that hard.” I lie. “I had fun making dinner. Working in your kitchen is a real challenge.”

“You know, I’ve never been sick a day in my life…till now.”

I rack my brain trying to think of something I can say to encourage him, make him less depressed, yet I feel like I’m talking to someone I barely know.

“Remember when Lena and I were kids, you were the healthiest parent on the block? Every father wanted to be like you. Didn’t you have weights in the garage you used to lift?”

Dad nods, his lips thin. “Yeah, after dinner. I’d go out there. That seems like a long time ago.”

“I was just thinking about an Easter you and Mom danced around the dining room. She always said the back of your head looked like Cary Grant’s.”

“Your mother was quite the exaggerator.” He chuckles and my body relaxes more. Funny how, in just a few weeks, the road to happiness can change direction, be resurfaced with consumed food, a father’s joke.

“Yeah, I was always so healthy. If I ever get out of this mess…I’ll…”

“You’ll what, Dad? Do you want to travel more?”

He shakes his head.

“What do you want to do?”

“You notice they aren’t giving me chemo. Most cancer patients get chemo, not just radiation. I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Maybe you should ask the doctor.”

“Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“The doctor said every case is different.” But the tiny bit of dread in the pit of my stomach rolls over, reminds me it’s there. “I’ll ask your doctor if you want me to.”

“No.” He places his plate on the coffee table, leans back and grips his thighs as if he’s trying to gather enough strength to get up. Instead of standing, he looks at me.

“They aren’t telling us everything. And I’m too damned afraid to ask any questions.”

“I’d be afraid, too. But maybe there’s nothing to tell. Lots of people have cancer, get better, return to their normal lives.”

“Right.”

Always so healthy.

My worry bubbles to the surface and suddenly tears are filling my throat, my nose. I sniff them back. I certainly don’t want to upset my father any more than he is.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I rub my eyes with my fingers. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You should go home, honey. Jan’s here. I’ll eat more, I promise. You need to be home.”

I stare at the carpet, feel light-headed, numb. “I’m fine. Really. I want to stay and help you get better.” When I look up, he shakes his head.

“I’d feel better if you went home. There’s no need for both you and Jan to be here.”

“No, I’ll stay, help Jan.”

He stares at me for a moment, worry filling his gaze. “I’m going to try to do better, you’ll see. You gave Jan a break. That’s all she needed. You can always come back in a few weeks.”

I do want to go home, yet I feel like shit for wanting to. “No, I’ll stay.”