Chapter 4 - The Things a Father Keeps
Andrew woke to the rhythmic beeping of a monitor and the terrifying certainty that he had overslept.
He tried to sit up.
Pain stopped him.
“Easy,” a nurse said. “You’re in the hospital.”
“Ashley.”
“She’s upstairs.”
“I have to—”
“Your officer friend is getting an update. Breathe for me.”
He stared at the ceiling until its white tiles stopped tilting.
A surgeon explained his injuries: a broken lower leg, deep tissue damage, dehydration, and complications from spending too long trapped.
Andrew heard enough to understand he would not be going back to work soon.
Then he stopped listening.
Rent.
Food.
Medicine.
Ashley.
The familiar arithmetic began rearranging itself into impossible numbers.
When Natalie entered, he asked whether she had found the folder.
She placed it on his tray.
“Marcus recovered it.”
Andrew touched the warped blue cover.
“Her mother used to keep this stuff organized.”
“What was her name?”
“Rebecca.”
He looked toward the window.
“She died two years ago. An aneurysm. One minute we were arguing about whether Ashley needed rain boots. Next minute…”
He pressed his lips together.
Natalie waited.
“I thought I could learn everything she did.”
“You kept the appointments.”
“I missed things.”
“You kept trying.”
He shook his head.
“She’d been hurting for months. Some days she’d eat, some days everything made her sick. I took her in. They said stomach bugs, stress, maybe food intolerance. Then she started losing weight.”
His fingers tightened on the folder.
“I got a referral. Six weeks away. I called every morning for a cancellation.”
Natalie remembered the note.
Urgent appointment. Call first thing Monday.
Dr. Shaw arrived with a pediatric specialist named Dr. Patel.
They pulled up chairs.
Andrew looked from one face to another.
“Tell me.”
Dr. Patel explained that Ashley’s symptoms and initial blood tests suggested celiac disease. Further testing would be needed to confirm it, including a procedure when she was strong enough.
Her body might have been reacting to gluten, damaging the intestine and interfering with nutrition.
Andrew stared.
“Bread?”
“Among other foods,” the doctor said. “This isn’t something you were expected to diagnose yourself.”
“I kept giving her toast.”
His voice disappeared.
“When she was sick. My mother always—”
“You were trying to feed your daughter,” Dr. Shaw said.
He covered his face.
No one hurried him.
When he lowered his hands, Natalie placed a tissue within reach.
“Can you help her?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Patel said. “We can investigate properly and build a treatment plan.”
Andrew nodded repeatedly, as if movement could keep him upright.
Then Rachel entered with Ashley.
The little girl rode in a wheelchair, a blanket over her knees and Buddy balanced against her chest.
She saw the bed.
“Daddy?”
Andrew made a sound Natalie would remember for the rest of her career.
Rachel guided the chair close enough for him to reach.
Ashley touched the bandage on his forehead.
“Did you fall?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Were you scared?”
He looked at her small hand.
“Very.”
“I called nine-one-one.”
“I heard.”
“Even though you said only for emergencies.”
“This was an emergency.”
Ashley studied him.
“I didn’t eat the bad soup.”
“I’m glad.”
“I tried to save you some crackers.”
He pulled her carefully against him.
“You never have to save food for me.”
Her shoulders began shaking.
“I thought maybe you forgot where we lived.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Or maybe I was too much trouble.”
“No, Ashley.”
He held her face between his palms.
“Listen to me. You were never too much trouble. Not when you were sick. Not when you were hungry. Not ever.”
She leaned against his chest, avoiding the wires with solemn care.
For several minutes, no one spoke.
Later, after Ashley returned to her room, Andrew opened the folder again.
Behind the medical papers was a photograph of Rebecca holding their daughter in a yellow kitchen.
On the back, in Rebecca’s handwriting, were five words.
You don’t have to know everything.
Andrew stared at them.
Natalie stood to leave.
He caught her attention.
“Officer?”
She turned.
“Who stayed with Ashley?”
The question settled between them.
Natalie chose her words carefully.
“We’re working through that.”
May you like
Andrew looked at the folder, then at the door through which his daughter had disappeared.
“I thought Lorraine said yes.”
