Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I chuckle. “I haven’t given you my thoughts on doing the exclusive.”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Didn’t sound like one.” My fingers tap the keyboard.
“I know a nurse at the hospital. She said she can get you in to visit her, but they’re not letting any press see her until she’s discharged, which could be in the next few days.”
“If I’m not the press and I’m not family, how is she getting me access to her?”
Robbie tsks. “Just pack a bag.”
“As tempting as it sounds, I can’t leave my dad.”
“I thought you said he’s better.”
“I said he’s no longer asking me to find his gun.”
“So he’s still suicidal?”
“No. He’s messy.”
She laughs. “I’m not following. You can’t leave your dad for a day or two because he’s messy?”
“Correct.” I lean back in my chair and run my hands through my hair. “He doesn’t flush the toilet or bathe without being told. He forgets to eat but never forgets to down a six-pack a day. And he recently discovered porn on the internet, but it only makes him cry.”
Robbie snorts. “I’m sorry.”
I can hear her failed attempts to suppress her laughter. “Jesus … no wonder your mom left him.”
“He wasn’t like this when they were together. This is the result of her leaving. You know that part of a love story where one person says to the other, ‘I’d be nothing without you’? This is my dad’s version of being nothing without my mom. Is it a little extreme in my point of view? Absolutely. Am I judging him? Only slightly.”
“I, uh … I don’t know how to respond, Eric. I need someone to cover this story. Are you still working with us? Or do I need to take your name off the list? I’m not trying to sound insensitive, but your dad’s lack of personal hygiene and interesting use of pornography is not my issue. It doesn’t sound like you're risking his life by leaving for a few days.”
She’s right. Still, I don’t relish returning to several days of simmering despair and accumulated filth.
With a deep sigh, I mumble, “I’ll go.”
After the call, I fetch my bag and search for the viral video. When it starts to play, I toss my phone onto the bed and pack a couple of days’ worth of clothes. The video isn’t high-quality, but it’s clear enough to see the woman straddling the fallen dead tree to pull the kids out of the water. The tree breaks when she tries to retrieve the dog, and she goes under.
“Dad?” I pause his porn and hand him a tissue, for his tears, of course. “I’ll be gone for a couple of days. Call me if there’s an emergency. I’m going to have the neighbors check in on you. I’ll have your dinner delivered around six each night. Answer the fucking door when the food arrives. I’m rationing your beer, so if you drink it all in one day, you’ll go without because I’m also taking away your car keys. Any questions?”
“Do you … do you think,” he stares at the paused screen, “that she’d take me back if I were open to that?” He nods at the computer. There are two men and one woman. It’s bad enough that my parents’ divorce has derailed my own life (not that I had big plans), but imagining my dad working in conjunction with another man (an old man) to do that to my mom, guarantees that I’ll need therapy for the rest of my life.
“Mom is no longer with Francis. I’ve told you that a million times. I think she’s decided to join a convent. Maybe you should start watching faith-based streaming networks, pray more, and wait for God to give you a new direction. In the meantime, shower, sober up, and don’t forget to eat. Love you.” I squeeze his shoulder and grab an Uber.
On the way to the airport, I get a text from Robbie’s assistant with my flight and hotel information. Then she sends another text with the hospital and the name of the woman who saved the kids and the dog: Anna Black. I stare at it for several seconds before rewatching the viral video. The woman has on a ball cap, so there’s nothing identifiable about her. Anna’s not an uncommon name, and neither is Black. Still, I can’t imagine it’s her.
However, it only takes a few more minutes of going down the viral rabbit hole of that video before I see posts of her picture, the staff picture from when she worked at the bouldering gym in Des Moines.
“Shit,” I say.
“Did you say something?” The Uber driver asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Hours later, I’m at the hospital looking for Robbie’s nurse friend.
“I’m Kayla.” She tucks her phone into the pocket of her scrubs. “I told Robbie I couldn’t make any promises.”