Falling Out Of Bed

Jan walks into the room, hugging a large, fuzzy, brown teddy bear. She stops in the middle of the room, glances from face to face, and her expression crumbles. She puts the teddy bear on the bed at my father’s feet and sits in the chair closest to him.

“Stanley, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

David gets up, walks into the hallway, and I follow him to give my father and Jan some time alone. My husband leans against the wall, folds his arms.

“We probably should go home tomorrow.” His tone is flat, dry.

“What?”

He stares at the floor and then looks at me. “I’ve got work waiting for me at the office. Besides, there’s not a lot we can do here.”

My heart begins to pound and my mouth feels dry. I know he has things to do at work, and this isn’t his responsibility, but it’s so nice to have my husband here while I try to help my father.

“I’d like you to stay. I know it’s not a lot of fun, but I want to be here for a few more days to make sure Dad’s okay.”

David shakes his head. “You should come home, too. Your father will be okay with Jan here.” He nods back toward the hospital room. “The doctor said he’s going to release him tomorrow.”

“Maybe I can make Dad look at his condition more positively. He seems a little depressed. I mean, I would be, too, but maybe I could help him see that his attitude is going to affect his recovery time.” I stop, look down the hall and then back to David, hoping he’s smiling, but he isn’t.

“I wish Dad would have asked the doctor some questions.” I gesture to the room.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to know the answers.” David stands straighter, uncrosses his arms. “It’s got to be tough for him.”

At least this is something we both agree on.

David and I are at our neighbor Elizabeth’s house. She and her husband Brad invited us over for dinner. We came home from Las Cruces three days ago, the day my father was released from the hospital. I never managed to cheer up my father, and I’ve been worried about him since we left.

Yesterday Elizabeth called and I gladly accepted her invitation to dinner. I want to be with friends, laugh and not worry for a few hours. Elizabeth invited another couple, Jim and Deanne Smith. The six of us have spent many evenings together, like this one, enjoying drinks, eating dinner, talking about the neighborhood. Sometimes Deanne and I talk about our children. Elizabeth and Brad don’t have children, yet she seems happy to hear about my Jenny and Deanne’s two.

Right now, our husbands are standing at Brad’s bar, a throwback from his bachelor days. They are laughing about something. David is behind the bar, and I’m happy he is having a good time.

Deanne, Elizabeth and I are sitting on stools at the kitchen counter. Stuffed manicotti bakes in the oven and everyone is drinking Sapphire gin and tonics. If someone were to look through the kitchen window right now, they would see a perfect evening.

Elizabeth touches my hand and I turn toward her.

“I’m glad you and David came over.” She takes a sip of her drink and I watch the lime slice bob between the ice cubes.

“Yeah, it’s good we can all get together,” Deanne says.

I don’t feel as close to Deanne. At times, she’s distant, almost cold, the opposite of Elizabeth. I felt an instant connection with Elizabeth when we met eight years ago at one of David’s work-related dinners. Elizabeth is a hospice nurse and Brad has worked with David for years.

“I’m glad we’re here, too. After the last few days, I need some laughs.” I glance over at David again. He’s listening intently to Jim. He looks nice in his long-sleeved white shirt and khakis. I catch his eye, lift my glass and he does the same.

“How’s your father?” Deanne asks. She studies her left hand and picks at the cuticle of her ring finger.

Elizabeth takes my hand and squeezes it for a moment. “Yeah, how’s he doing?”

“Dad’s doing great,” I say, although this isn’t true.

Deanne looks up. “What did the doctors say?”

“That Dad needs to keep a positive attitude. The cancer came from his prostate. You know, he’s never been sick a day in his life. But he’ll be okay. He’s so strong.” I force myself to smile. I feel like I’m about to cry, but I don’t want to do that here.

How can I explain that the doctor never really gave us any real information except that we need to stay positive? And since David and I came home, my father won’t come to the phone when I call?

“That’s understandable,” Elizabeth says in her calm voice. “You know, if you wanted, you could bring him here, and I could help you take care of him.”

I study her. She’s so kind, thoughtful, but I can’t imagine my father coming here or me taking care of him. We don’t have a relationship like that. He’s so independent and we’ve never really spent a lot of time together. Besides, in a few months he’ll be better.

“I don’t think he’d come here. Plus he has to take six radiation treatments.”

“When he gets worse, it’ll be difficult to bring him here,” Elizabeth says.

When he gets worse! For a moment, the words make my chest hurt and my throat burn. I swallow, breathe in. I’ve heard a lot of stories about people beating cancer, and if anyone can do it, my dad will.

“I think he’s going to get better,” I say.

“Prostate cancer can be unpredictable when it’s in the bone. I’ve dealt with a lot of patients like your father,” Elizabeth says.

“And I’ve heard of lots of people surviving. My father’s a strong man.”

“Yes, some do.”

“Dad’s that kind of person. In a year they’ll probably write about him in the Journal of the American Medical Association.” My father used to run for miles, train for marathons and still work long hours.

The guys laugh, the three of us look over at them, and I’m grateful for the diversion.

“Listen to them,” Deanne says. “They’re sure having a good time. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

“Let’s see, either sports or work, or both. Certainly not us,” Elizabeth says.

There won’t be any need for my father to come here. In a few months, he’ll be taking a trip with Jan, laughing, feeling relieved that he beat cancer.

“I’m sure my father’s going to get better.” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them.

The two women turn to me and Elizabeth’s eyes narrow a little.

“He’s always been so strong, a runner…anything he put his mind to he did.” I gesture toward where I think Las Cruces might be from Elizabeth’s kitchen.

Deanne nods. “I’m sure he will.”

“Everyone is different,” Elizabeth says.

“My goal is to cheer him up. I call him every day.” I leave out the fact that Jan has told me he won’t talk to anyone.

Over at the bar, David is looking at me. Did he hear what I just said? He lifts his gin and tonic. I raise my glass again then take a long sip. An ice cube touches my tongue, feels so cold.