LITMIR.BIZ

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now we can get to know each other a little better.

      “How are Bob and Verna?” she asks halfway to the hospital.

      “Fine. They brought Dad to El Paso the other day.” Three years ago, when Dad retired, he planned to move to Seattle. He and Jan were going to try to live together again, but they had a major blowup, over what I don’t know. Then, suddenly, Dad moved to Las Cruces where his friends the Skillys live.

      I park in the hospital parking lot and we go inside. David is sitting in the same chair where I left him, reading a Time magazine, and Dad is staring out the window.

      “Hey, look who’s here.” I smile, make an effort to sound and look happy.

      Dad turns, sees Jan and his expression softens.

      “Hey, honey, how are you?” Dad’s voice is not as tense as it was before I left for the airport.

      Jan starts to cross the space between them, but in the middle of the room she stops, begins to sob and covers her face with her hands.

      “Oh, Stanley! I can’t believe this is happening.” Jan manages to go to my father and hug him.

      I look at David. This is just the kind of behavior that makes him uncomfortable. He rolls his eyes.

      A moment later a nurse walks in with a tray. “Mr. Howard, here’s your dinner.”

      Jan, now sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, straightens, looks at her. Her face is streaked with tears and smeared black mascara rims her eyes.

      “Hello,” she says. Her normal voice is deep and reminds me of a cartoon cat. We reshuffle, Jan in a chair by the bed, holding my father’s hand, David and I sitting across from them. After the nurse leaves, we dive into conversation about Jan’s flight as if it’s a heated swimming pool.

      My father doesn’t eat, only takes two sips of water. Jan begins eating large forkfuls of chicken and mashed potatoes. Suddenly my husband shakes his head and I know he’s going to say something I won’t like.

      “Don’t you think Stan should be eating that?” he asks Jan.

      She stares at him, still chewing, spoon midair. “Well, I—I’m hungry.”

      “There’s a cafeteria downstairs.”

      I laugh nervously, give everyone my let’s play nice smile. My father’s ex-wife is here to take care of him. And I want to think about other things besides illness and making an ex-stepmother happy.

      David and I are standing by Dad’s hospital bed, listening to Dr. Garces talk about my father’s condition. The doctor is younger than I imagined he would be. Jan isn’t here. When she heard we were meeting with Dad’s doctor, she decided to go to the gift shop to buy her grandson a present.

      “Your father’s cancer has metastasized from his prostate and settled in his spine,” Dr. Garces says in a quiet voice. “I’m going to refer him to an oncologist in Las Cruces.”

      David and I nod and Dad stares straight ahead, doesn’t move. I have questions that have been roaming around my mind for days—like how long it will be before my father gets better—but I can’t make the questions come out of my mouth. I guess I’m afraid if I ask a question and there’s a negative answer, the desperate look on my father’s face will deepen.

      “What’s really important is we keep a positive attitude,” Dr. Garces says.

      “I think so, too. I read somewhere that a positive outlook can really help any illness,” I say, then smile.

      “No one can predict how the cancer will progress. If a patient and his family are positive, it has a better effect on everyone.”

      I focus on my father. He looks as if someone has just turned a garden hose on him. I’m on the verge of crying, but I shake the feeling away. My tears won’t help him and that’s all I want to do.

      “I think that’s right,” I say instead.

      “If you have any questions, call me, anytime.” Dr. Garces shakes my father’s hand, then ours and walks out of the room.

      David and I sit in our chairs. I expected the doctor to tell us my father’s cancer is very curable and he should have no problems recovering, that in a few months his life will be back to almost normal. But all he really told us was that Dad would be seeing another doctor and to keep a positive attitude.

      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

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