Chapter 5: Both Sides of the Bed

My father was standing at the end of the east hall in his socks, holding a pillowcase full of his clothes.

Two aides were talking to him in the soft voices they use on people who are about to run.

"I'm going to work," Dad said. "The truck's outside. They'll dock me."

"Dad."

He turned.

His eyes were wide and wet and hunted, and I saw him go through my face and not find it.

"Who are you?" he said.

I had heard it before.

It didn't get easier, it only got familiar.

"I'm Hannah," I said. "I'm your daughter."

"I don't have a daughter. I have a boy who's late."

Eli stepped past me.

"Martin," he said. "I'm here. Look, I brought the truck around."

Dad's shoulders came down an inch.

"You're late."

"The traffic was bad. I need you to show me the loading dock before the crew gets here."

"It's this way."

"Show me."

My father walked ahead of him, down the hall, dragging the pillowcase, and Eli walked half a step behind with one hand hovering at his back.

I followed.

Eli had learned that.

Somebody had taught him how to step into a bad hour and give it a job.

It took forty minutes, and a room, and a turned-down bed, and the nurse standing in the doorway with a paper cup of pills.

Dad would not take them.

"Not from her," he said, pointing at me. "She's the one who left."

"I didn't leave, Dad."

"She left the boy."

Eli looked at the ceiling.

I couldn't tell if he was trying not to laugh.

"Martin," Eli said. "Take the pills."

"Only if you both sit."

I stared at him.

"Both of you," my father said, and for a second the blue eyes were completely sly. "One each side. I can't take pills when somebody's standing."

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