Chapter 10 - The Night Noise
We sat on the bench by the parking lot lights and didn't talk for a while. Mom had gone back inside to be with Grandma Rose because visiting hours were technically over but the night nurse liked her and said five more minutes. Dad said he'd take me out for air, but I knew he just couldn't sit in that plastic chair anymore.
It was cold for night. The lot smelled like wet asphalt and exhaust. A helicopter had landed a while ago and the air still felt chopped up. Dad had his dark blue shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and his hands clasped so tight his knuckles went white. I picked at a loose thread on my light top and listened to the vending machine humming behind the glass doors.
"You cold?" he asked.
I shook my head, even though I was. He put his arm around me anyway, light, like he was afraid I'd pull away.
"I keep thinking about your face that morning," he said. "In the bedroom. You with your head on the bed by her."
I stared at the yellow lines on the pavement. I didn't want to remember how still she'd been in her light pajamas with that burgundy trim, or how Mom stood by the glass doors with her hands up by her face.
"I heard something that night," Dad said.
I looked up at him. His stubble caught the parking light and his eyes were red around the edges.
"What?" I whispered.
He breathed out slow through his nose. "A thump. Around three. I thought Rose got up to use the bathroom and bumped the armchair or something."
My chest went tight. "Did you go check?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "I got up. The hall was dark. Her door was cracked open. I pushed it and she was in bed. The bedding was kind of twisted. Her breathing sounded... wet. Slow."
He stopped and rubbed his thumb hard across his other knuckles.
"I stood there," he said. "I told myself she was sleeping. I told myself if I turned on the light I'd scare her. I went back to bed."
I felt my throat close. "Why didn't you wake Mom?"
"Your mom was asleep. I didn't want..." He glanced away toward the highway noise. "I sat on the edge of our bed with my phone in my hand for a long time, Lil."
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His hand shook a little. He tapped and scrolled and then held it so I could see the screen under the buzzing light.
There in the call log was a 911 with a time next to it. 3:17 AM. And under it, in small gray letters, the word canceled.
"I typed it," he said. "I had my thumb over the call button. And I didn't press it."
I stared at those numbers. 3:17. My eyes burned.
"Why?" I asked, and my voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.
"Because I was scared I was overreacting," he said. "Because if the ambulance came and it was nothing, Rose would've been mad. She hated fuss. And because... if it was something..." He swallowed. "Then once I called, it was real."
A car door slammed two rows over. A man in scrubs walked past us without looking.
Dad put the phone down on the bench between us like it was heavy. "When we walked in that morning and you were already there with your head on the bed, and your mom was standing by the balcony doors... I knew. I knew I'd blown it hours ago. That's why I looked like that."
I thought about Mom in the family lounge that afternoon, crying into her beige blouse, telling me she'd promised Grandma to let the morning come natural. Mom had waited on purpose. Dad had waited because he was scared. Two different kinds of waiting, and both left Grandma alone in that bright bedroom.
"I should've called," he said. "I don't want you to think... grown-ups always know what to do."
I wanted to tell him what Mom told me. The words were right there in my mouth. But I'd promised her I wouldn't. And I could see how much Dad was already carrying without adding Mom's part on top of it.
I leaned my head against his shoulder. His shirt smelled like hospital soap and coffee.
"I'm mad at you," I said quietly.
"I know," he said.
May you like
"But I still love you," I said.
His arm tightened around me, just a little. He didn't say you're fine or it's okay or any of those fake things. He just breathed, and I breathed with him, and the draft call glowed on the bench until the screen went dark.
