She smiled without quite looking up, smoothing the blanket over his legs, careful of the tubing that ran beneath his gown.
Frank’s eyes opened.
They’d stayed shut for most of the afternoon, his breath thin and uneven, but now they found me and held on. I braced for the crooked grin I’d known my whole life. Instead his eyes filled, and something in my chest dropped.
I leaned in close enough to feel his breath.
“Dad?”
His mouth moved. No sound came.
“Are you hurting?”
A small shake of his head.
The nurse glanced at the monitor, then touched my shoulder on her way out. “I’ll let you two have a minute.”
Once we were alone, I picked up the damp cloth from the nightstand and pressed it to his forehead, needing my hands to do something.
“You know,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice, “those pancakes were never actually that good. Burnt at every point, every single time.”
