Chessie
“Can I get you anything, Dad?” I perch on the arm of his chair. When he was young, he used to have red hair, but everything about him is gray now. His hair, his skin, even his clothing. I should make him change his T-shirt to something more colorful, but I don’t think he has the energy to move.
It’s Sunday morning, and yesterday afternoon Dad was discharged from hospital. I drove there after I left Kingi and brought him and Mum home. The hospital declared he would recover better at home now he’s out of danger, but I’m worried about him. He’s on lots of medications, and they say his wound has only a minor superficial infection, but I’ve looked at it, and I’m not sure it’s getting any better. Apparently a community nurse is going to come in every day to check it and change his dressing, but I’m concerned he’s not showing more improvement. The list of things to expect after a heart bypass is as long as my arm—fatigue, appetite changes, bruising and swelling, anxiety and mood swings, confusion, depression… He’s supposed to go for short walks to prevent blood clots, but he’s so tired I have to bully him out of his chair.
“I’m fine,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Stop fussing.” My brother is sitting on the sofa with his wife, Nina. He scowls at me. “He’s an adult—he’ll soon say if he doesn’t feel well.”
“Leave her alone,” Nina snaps. “She’s just worried about him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I get up and sit on the floor with my niece, Thea. She’s eight, a super-sweet, bright young thing I adore with every ounce of my being. She’s coloring in a picture of Ariel from Disney’sThe Little Mermaid, and as I stretch out onto my front besideher, she pushes the box of pencils over to me. I smile, choose a blue one, and start coloring the sea so she can concentrate on the mermaid.
I feel so sorry for her. Her parents argue all the time, and even though they’ve said she doesn’t know anything about their financial situation, she’s smarter than they think. She knows something is awry. Now, as they continue arguing, she glances at them, at me, then back at her book, concentrating on making sure she doesn’t go outside the lines.
“Tea anyone?” Mum asks cheerfully, cutting into their argument. “How about you, love?” she asks Dad.
“Please,” he says, even though I know he’ll only have a few sips to please us.
Everyone else also says yes, so Mum goes off to the kitchen to make it. I think she’s relieved to leave the room, and I don’t blame her. It’s tough to watch your partner in pain, and having Mark and Nina picking at each other all the time isn’t pleasant either.
“So how many times have you seenThe Little Mermaidnow?” I tease Thea.
“Thirty-seven and a half,” she says. “I didn’t finish it this morning before we had to go out.”
I laugh and switch pencils to yellow so I can start coloring Flounder. “I bet you know it off by heart. Is it your favorite?”
“Yes.” She carefully colors the mermaid’s shell top in purple. “You need blue for his fins and tail,” she points out.
“Of course. So why do you like it so much?”
“Ariel’s pretty. She looks like you.”
I laugh, flattered. “That’s very sweet. I think she’s a lot prettier than I am, though!”
“When you haven’t waxed your mustache you look more like Yosemite Sam,” Mark says.
I check to make sure Thea’s looking at her pencils before I give him the finger.
“Don’t be mean,” my father says to Mark.
I glance up at him. It’s unlike him to say something like that. Normally he lets our bickering flow over him.
“I’m only teasing,” Mark says, exasperated.
“Well, you need to think more about how your comments might make other people feel. Take some responsibility for your words and actions for once.” Dad glares at him.
I return to the box of pencils and rifle through them, looking for a dark purple so I can color Ursula’s tail. Our family has been through a lot, and despite everything, as far as I know Dad hasn’t once criticized my brother for his actions. He’s always accepted the news of Mark’s failures with quiet resignation, blaming himself for a lack of guidance, even though I’ve told him many times it’s not his fault. So it’s unusual for him to openly reprimand Mark, especially in front of his wife and daughter.
Mark shifts on the sofa. “There’s no need to be like that.”
Dad brushes a hand over his face. “Sorry.”
“No,” Nina snaps, “don’t apologize. You were right.”
I frown at them. “Guys, save this for later, okay?” I glance at Thea, who’s still focused on her coloring.
They ignore me, though. “Don’t start,” Mark says irritably.