Page 115 of Danger

She keeps going. “If Fisher ever wants to meet me when he gets a little older, maybe you all can come to LA. I’m not meant to be a mom, and that’s something I have to live with. But at least I know he’s taken care of. I know you’re both happy.”

She steps closer to the bed, puts her hand on the railing. “I just wanted to say goodbye. To her. To you.” She swallows once. “And to thank you for raising our son.”

She leaves, closing the door behind her.

I lean over Winnie, brush my thumb over her knuckles, and say, “See, baby? Even the devil came to pay her respects.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

fisher

The bedsin hospitals aren’t comfy. The blankets are scratchy. And there’s a smell. And I live on a ranch with animals, so if I notice a smell then there’s a problem.

Winnie is in the bed, and I am supposed to talk to her. That’s what everyone says. “Talk to her, Fisher. She can hear you.”

I sit down on the bed next to her. I swing my legs back and forth and it makes the blanket crinkle.

I poke her hand, just barely.

“Hey Winnie,” I whisper. “It’s Fisher.”

I sniff. “I know I took a while to come talk to you,” I say real quiet. “I’m real sorry. I was scared. I thought if I talked to you it meant… it meant you might not wake up.”

“But I’m not scared anymore. Bluebell came with me.”

My lip shakes as I smooth my hand over Bluebell's faded blue plush before setting him beside me on the bed.

The last time Bluebell and I were both with Winnie, she was reading to me. She used funny voices for all the animals. I try to remember them, but all I can hear is Daddy.

The doctor and daddy are arguin’ outside the room. Daddy thinks I can’t hear because the door’s shut, but I can.

“She should’ve woken up by now,” the doctor says. “We need to start talking about long-term care.”

I don’t know what that means. But I know Daddy does.

Daddy says a bad word.

I look at Winnie. I try to see if her face changed. It didn’t. I squeeze her hand.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” I say. “But the animals miss you.”

That is true. About the animals. The goats are always yelling for her in the morning, and only three of the chickens ate today. And when I went out to the barn, the horses didn’t look at me, just at the empty spot where she usually stands.

“I thought maybe you could hear me if I told you about them, because that’s the thing you like best, I think.”

I look at her face and try to decide if she heard me.

“And Daddy…” My throat feels like it’s closin’, but I keep going. “Daddy’s not doin’ good. He’s doin’ the worst.” I lean closer to her ear. “He’s yellin’ at the doctor in the hall right now.”

I wait.

Nothing.

“Nana says sometimes people don’t wake up ’cause they think nobody needs ’em to. So I’m tellin’ you we do. Just in case you didn’t know.”

I swallow.

My stomach does that thing. The one that means crying is comin’.