Chapter 4: The Family Wing

The family wing was on the fourth floor, past the playroom with the mural of the whale.

Our suite had two beds, a small kitchen and a window that looked at a parking structure.

Bev opened the cupboards and counted the mugs.

"Eight," she said. "Not bad. I've stayed in worse."

"You were never a patient, Bev."

"I worked in forty of them. Same thing."

At seven there was a knock.

Dane stood in the hall in shirtsleeves with two pizza boxes and a paper bag of something that smelled like cinnamon.

He had taken off his jacket and his tie, and he looked ten years younger.

"I didn't know what he likes," he said.

"He likes pizza," I said.

"Everyone likes pizza."

"He likes pizza and not mushrooms."

"Noted."

Timmy came out of the bedroom in his dinosaur pajamas and stopped in the doorway.

"You're the loud man from the door," he said.

"I am."

"Are you rich?"

"Timmy," I said.

"It's a normal question," Timmy said.

Dane crouched so they were the same height.

"Sort of," he said.

"How much is sort of?"

"Enough to be embarrassed about."

"Can you buy a dog?"

"Timmy, no dog talk at dinner," Bev said from the stove.

"Can you?"

"I can," Dane said gravely. "But your mother has rules, and I've learned not to cross her."

Timmy considered this and nodded.

We ate on the floor, because the table only sat two.

Dane picked mushrooms off the slice Bev handed him without being asked, the way he used to do for me.

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