His Town

by Ellie Danes

  Big mistake.

  Now all that I could think about was work and how I’d just left without warning. I hadn’t given much of an explanation when I took off, either. Just because I was the “man in charge” didn’t mean that I could do that. The Old Man would have never done that. I could hear him in my head. A business is only as good as the man who runs it. If you aren’t responsible, son, and you’re in charge, how do you think your employees will behave?

  Thankfully, I was lucky to have such a wonderful assistant. Janice would keep things running smoothly for the day. She had sat in for me and taken notes at the meetings. Really, really thorough notes at that. She’d already sent them over to me. It was the very first email I read. There was a huge run-through and briefing over every single topic that had been discussed.

  That woman deserved a raise.

  I smirked, wondering what my Vice President, Jerome, had thought about her sitting in. Especially considering I didn’t tell anyone where the hell I was going. I was sure he just loved that.

  I always wondered why my dad put such a wiener in the VP slot. It wasn’t like Jerome was any better at his job than any other higher management drone. And my dad didn’t really take a liking to ass-kissers, so I knew that wasn’t the case either. I sighed. I guessed Jerome drew the lucky straw out of the rest of the assholes in line for the job.

  I leaned to the side and glanced around the corner toward the emergency area on the far end. Kate must have still been in with Claire and the doctor. It felt like it had been forever.

  Not that I was complaining. I was there to support her, not to monopolize her time. She needed to be there for her sister. I was just there for when she needed me. But still, I was starting to feel a little antsy. I hated sitting in one spot for long.

  I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was a typical black clock with a white face, but it was a little worse for wear than a typical wall clock. It was duct taped around the edges, and the number three was missing. Hell, the worst part was that the time wasn’t even right. Not even by a long shot when I checked it against my phone’s display. A couple of minutes off, I could understand, or even five. It was off by twenty-three minutes.

  Time moved however it wanted to in hospitals, it seemed.

  When my dad was about to die, it’d felt like I was in the hospital for a year, just waiting for him to go— when in reality it had only been a few days.

  Time seemed to either speed up, or slow down until it almost stopped in a hospital.

  I sighed. It seemed like almost yesterday when I was sitting in a chair, very similar to the one I was sitting in now, waiting for my dad to die. As soon as that realization hit, I could feel myself getting antsy, touching my chair, tapping my feet, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt.

  I never really liked sitting for long periods of time. It always made me feel sort of on edge, but because this was in a hospital, it was definitely worse. I leaned forward and glanced at a small table just a couple of seats from my chair. There was a large stack of magazines scattered over it, and I wondered if any of them were even from this year. I could tell, just by scanning the covers of a few of them, that most were old as sin, though.

  Come on, when Scotty Pippen and Michael Jordan were on the cover of a Sports Illustrated together, especially rocking red Bull’s uniforms, you could definitely tell it had been a while since the magazine was printed.

  I sighed again and pulled my phone out, suddenly losing interest in reading anything at all. It looked like it was either warp myself into straight up drone status and play a game on my phone, or die of boredom.

  May as well play a game.

  “Hey, you,” I whispered to a guy sitting near me. He looked young, maybe nineteen at the oldest. His hair was long, but it was held back by a slouchy beanie cap. He’d been staring at his phone’s screen for longer than Kate had been gone.

  “Uh, yeah?” he asked, as soon as his gaze hit mine. His brow twisted, and his face scrunched up. I couldn’t tell if he was confused or if he was pissed off, but I didn’t want to harass him; I just needed to ask a question.

  “What are some good phone games?” I asked, gesturing to his phone. I had my app store open, ready to buy anything and everything that could help pass the time.

  But as soon as I asked the question, he looked even more confused.

  “Relax, man — I’m a person, you’re a person.” I laughed. “I’m just asking you about phone games.”

  He looked back down to his phone and then back at me. His mouth opened and closed as if he was at a loss for words. Did kids really not know how to communicate anymore?

  “Is Angry Birds even still a thing?” I asked, glancing down at my phone and trying to ignore the kid’s weird behavior.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he mumbled. “I don’t really play many games on my phone, though.”

  I looked over at his phone. I’d thought that was what he’d been doing all that time. But as soon as I looked at the phone, I saw words instead. It looked like a PDF to a book or something.

  “Oh,” I said. “A book?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For school?”

  “No, sir.” His voice was still quiet and timid. “I just like to read.”

  He threw a faint smile my way and glanced back down.

  “Well, hell, that's refreshing,” I said with a laugh. “But please don’t call me sir…I’m not much older than you.”

  He slumped down further in his seat and smirked. “But if you really want to play a game, I’ve heard of a couple.” His eyes darted back up, and I could see a smile begin to form.

  “By all means, download them,” I said, and I handed him my phone. I was usually a little wary giving strangers my phone, especially considering my phone was my lifeline. But this kid, even with his goofy awkwardness, seemed pretty okay.

  He smiled and took my phone, and within just a few seconds, I had it back.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now let me get back to my book.”

  His tone told me he was just kidding, but I let him get back to it anyway. Besides, I really did want to try out the games. I hit the home button on my phone and tapped one of the new icons.

  Killing zombies as a soldier was the definition of a mindless pastime. It helped. But I couldn’t get my mind off Kate. She’d been gone for a while now.

  I just hated that she had to deal with everything on her own. What kind of man would leave this kind of shit to his daughter? What kind of man wouldn’t get his ass in gear and rush to the hospital when his baby girl was hurt? Every second that passed with him on my mind made me angrier and angrier. My thumb started to scroll faster through the game, and I realized I wasn’t even playing it anymore.

  I was just thinking about Kate’s dad — and how much of a complete tool he must have been.

  I scowled and shoved my phone in my pocket before crossing my arms over my chest in a huff. I glanced around the room at all the parents and couldn’t for the fucking life of me believe that neither of Kate’s parents was there.

  They both should have been ashamed of themselves.

  My old man had been a lot of things — but he was still what a dad should have been. He had still made a fucking effort when he was alive. He was always there for me when I needed or wanted him to be. And a whole hell of a lot of times that I didn’t.

  A lot of times he was just there to be a royal pain in the ass.

  I was getting pissed off all over again just thinking about how Kate deserved more. And fuck, I didn’t even know Claire, but she deserved more, too.

  Everyone deserved more.

  Everyone deserved a parent that gave a damn.

  A loud bang pulled me from my thoughts, and I jerked my head up to see what had made the noise. It had been the double doors down the hall, slamming back shut behind a blurry figure of a man.

  As the figure grew closer, I noticed a familiar suit, cut in a familiar way. He was barrelin
g down the hall like he was ready to punch someone. There was something about him that made me crane my neck just to watch him as he pounded closer and closer to my seat.

  The suit was navy, expensive, and draped perfectly over the large and stocky body of the person wearing it. It was more than just tailored; it was made for him. His expensive monk strap shoes clicked against the white tile as he continued his journey down the long hallway.

  He was growing larger and clearer with every step. His white-gray hair illuminated him like his head was a desk lamp. It glistened and shone brightly against the fluorescent lights as he continued to pound his way down the hallway. His eyes, deep and intense, were narrowed. They were like slits, determined and set on a target.

  On what target, I couldn’t be sure, but he was definitely going somewhere.

  A large brown overcoat lay slung over his forearm, and it whipped and fluttered as he walked. Then he was close enough I could see his face, and my initial guess had been correct.

  Michael. Fucking. Murphy.

  I groaned and leaned back and down in my chair. I could only hope and pray that he wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want to deal with him — not now. Had he searched me out? To talk yet again? This was a new, and very desperate, strategy. I was so beyond sick of that fucking lawsuit that I could vomit.

  No, I decided. He couldn’t have hunted me down because no one at my company knew where I was. Short of putting some sort of tracking device on my phone, he wouldn’t have been able to find me.

  So fuck, if today hadn’t been bad enough already, that asshole was here in the hospital? Of all fucking places.

  But his steps weren’t aimed toward the waiting room. With relief, I watched him completely bypass the room I sat in and head straight to the check-in counter nearer to the emergency department. Even though I hated him, I felt bad that he was here. Nobody should have to come to the emergency room.

  It was strange to think of Michael being an actual person, to think of him actually caring about anyone but himself.

  Chapter 21

  Kate

  I could hear the words coming out of the therapist’s mouth, but I wasn’t really registering them. In my mind, it was all the same stuff I’d been hearing all day. Hell, it was the same thing I’d been hearing for years now.

  Claire was sick. She had depression. She needed support. The therapist could tell that I was a good amount of support, but that didn’t mean that Claire wouldn’t need therapy. I knew the drill. I knew it all too well.

  Her tone was quiet, just like all the other doctors before. She spoke in almost a whisper, sort of like she was trying to save me from embarrassment. Most people would have probably been grateful for that, but I wasn’t.

  It was that “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this shameful illness” tone that made me realize how incredibly happy I was that I was going into the field that I was going into. Kids like Claire — and kids with other issues, perhaps completely different from Claire’s — needed people to understand. Kids with special needs deserved someone to look at them without pity and without judgment.

  They deserved an un-hushed conversation about their issues. They deserved to feel accepted and like it wasn’t some disgusting or taboo thing to be the way that they were.

  They needed a safe environment to work through whatever ailments they had. They didn’t need this kind of talk the therapist was giving us now, a tone that said this was a shameful topic, no matter how well-meaning her intent. I could tell that she meant well. This doctor was kind. Her eyes, a deep brown, were wide with worry and her pale face — as well as her entire demeanor — was soft. She sympathized with our situation like she really cared. I just wished she didn’t act like it was something to be ashamed of.

  I wasn’t ashamed of my sister. I wasn’t embarrassed by her.

  I was hurt. I was scared. I was a whole slew of other things — but embarrassed was not one of them. I believed that the illness could be overcome. I believed that it was something that was a burden — and it sucked. It really, really sucked. But it wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

  Being ashamed only led to fear. Fear led to denial. Claire didn’t need to deny that she had an illness — no one needed to deny that. It was there. No matter who wanted to act like it wasn’t.

  “We’d like to keep Claire for observation a little longer,” she said.

  Her words shook me away from my thoughts — and my inward rant. The blond doctor looked up from her clipboard and nodded at me. It was a reassuring sort of nod, and I wasn’t sure why, but it worked. “But since you’ve already made an appointment with her primary therapist, I wouldn’t have a problem with releasing her into your care.”

  I nodded back. I didn’t want the responsibility, but it felt natural at this point. I threw a small, sideways glance just over my shoulder to a sleeping Claire. I still couldn’t believe our dad wasn’t here. And moreover, I couldn’t believe that Ian — of all people — was here instead of him.

  I just still couldn’t believe Dad was blowing us off at a time like this. It should have been him taking care of this. It shouldn’t have been me…

  But the difference was that I wanted to take care of it. I wanted to be there. I loved Claire, and to me, showing that love meant showing up.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. My voice was weak because I was exhausted from the entire day. “I really appreciate it so much.”

  “Not a problem at all,” the doctor said with a grin. “I wish your family the best.”

  She flipped her charts down so they lay flat against the clipboard and tucked it underneath her arm. I sighed in relief, knowing that meant the conversation was coming to a close.

  She walked away, clipboard still tucked beneath her arm. The therapist followed after her. I breathed out a large huff of air as soon as I watched them disappear behind the curtain.

  I turned my body so that I could look at my sister. She was still sleeping. Her head was back, mouth open. She must have been exhausted.

  For a second, I felt sorry for her — for how terrible of a day it had been. But then I shrugged it off. According to the therapist, she needed a little tough love.

  I wasn’t going to pull an act like my dad would, but I wasn’t going to baby her. I’d show her I loved her by being here for her. Sure, she needed understanding. She needed encouragement in other areas. She needed patience. But I wasn’t going to coddle her. She was going to have to do some of it herself.

  All of a sudden, another part of me wished that my dad was there. I never was good at the tough-love part.

  I was relieved that I at least still had the opportunity for tough love. That she was still here — that she was alive. All I really wanted was for her to get off of that hospital bed and onto the large brown leather couch in her therapist’s office.

  More than anything, though, I wanted to take her home. I wanted to do a movie day, just the two of us. I wanted to show her what she’d be missing out on if anything were to happen to her. What I’d be missing out on….

  I just wanted to drown her in love and show her that life was worth living.

  The four steps to her bed were in slow motion as I thought about how I would shower her with love. I couldn’t help but watch every breath she took as her chest rose and fell. A tear burned and pulled at the edge of my eyes, and I knew that I had every reason in the world to be thankful.

  She was with us, despite everything.

  I swallowed the large lump in my throat and sat on the bed next to her. I looked at her face. She looked so peaceful in that moment. I couldn’t help but feel my heart leap with joy, realizing that there were moments where she wasn’t completely miserable.

  Asleep or not — in that moment she was content.

  She even held a faint smile on her face as she slept. And even though it was a faint smile, it was just enough for me to see the vaguely familiar dimple in her cheek. I smiled and reached out to swipe away a few strands of hair that had fallen in her face.


  Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Hey,” a deep male voice said.

  My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open as I looked at the man who stepped in.

  His hefty girth of a belly held the curtain open as he looked in with tired eyes. Even though he looked a little disheveled, he still looked like a million dollars. He always did, though. His custom navy suit was gorgeous even in the fluorescent lights. It displayed him nicely for the whole world to see, which I was sure was exactly what he wanted. He was a man of power, and he’d never tried to hide it.

  I was pretty sure, though, that I looked like a sewer rat next to him. “Mr. Murphy,” I said, angry that he hadn’t been there sooner.

  “Don’t do that,” he said with a sigh. “I was busy. I’m here now.”

  His gaze was strong, but his eyes were sad — and a little vulnerable. It took me aback because I rarely saw him look vulnerable. As much as I wanted to stay mad at him, I really couldn’t — not completely, that is. He’d finally decided to show up. He was doing a lot better than usual.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked in a low rumble, almost so low that I didn’t hear him. He was purposely being quiet. I wasn’t sure if it was because he just didn’t want to hear it — to hear himself feel and worry about someone like Claire — or if it was because he really was that distraught.

  “The doctor was just letting me know that she’ll be released to us soon,” I said.

  “So they’re not going to keep her on suicide watch?” he huffed, his voice growing in strength by the word. “What kind of hospital is this?”

  He was getting angry, and his steps reflected that anger. They were powerful and aimed directly at me.

  He leaned against the hospital bed just beside me and threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Why are they not keeping her?”

  “Calm down,” I snapped. What right did he have to get upset now? “I’ve already taken care of an appointment with her therapist.” I didn’t even bother telling him her therapist’s name, how long she’d been seeing one, or any of the other million things he already should have known. It wasn’t worth it.