My October

My October by Claire Holden Rothman Read Free Book Online

Book: My October by Claire Holden Rothman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Claire Holden Rothman
in French. In Montreal, he’s a celebrity.”
    Hannah glanced at her father, who was still asleep.
    Connie also looked at him. “Alfred’s a celebrity too, of course. He comes from a family of celebrities. His grandfather was a renowned rabbi in Vienna. This was before the war.”
    Hannah rolled her eyes.
    â€œThere’s an old Hebrew saying,” Connie said. “Le dor va dor.” She paused, letting the foreign sounds hang in the air before giving the English translation. “From generation to generation.”
    â€œOh,” said Annie. “I like that. Can you repeat it?”
    â€œLe dor va dor.” They were among the very few Hebrew words Connie knew, not that she would admit this to an audience as appreciative as Annie.
    â€œI’ll have to remember that,” she said sweetly. “For my other Jewish patients.” She rolled Alfred’s table close to the bed and swung it in front of him.
    Alfred’s eyelids fluttered open.
    â€œWell, hello there,” Annie said.
    His lack of affect didn’t bother her. On the contrary, it provoked a stream of talk, which Annie kept up without pause as she moved energetically around the bed, plumping pillows, straightening sheets, pulling Alfred out of his slouch.
    â€œLucky man,” Annie said cheerily, “with your daughter here to visit from Montreal.” She bent over him, fussing.
    He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking at anything, really.
    â€œFeeling better without the tube?” Annie asked.
    Hannah realized why he had looked so shrunken. The long blue feeding tube was gone.
    â€œWe can see your face now,” Connie added.
    It was true. His face was more visible. But there were still no emotions to read there.
    Lunch that day was butterscotch pudding. Nurse Annie took the top off the pudding cup and spooned a dab into Alfred Stern’s mouth.
    He swallowed and immediately opened his mouth for more, like a baby bird.
    â€œGood,” said Annie in the tones of a nursery school teacher, her face amplifying each emotion. “This is great,” she said. “Some stroke patients never manage to swallow again.”
    Connie frowned. “How do they eat?”
    â€œWith tubes. Short term, down the throat, like your husband had. Long term, right through here.” She tapped Alfred’s belly.
    Alfred swiped at the pudding cup with his good hand. “You are hungry,” Annie said, laughing and gazing down on him like a favoured child.
    When at last Nurse Annie took the tray away, Hannah followed her out of the room. She felt lost, suddenly, unwilling to part with the woman’s cheery faith, the energy that made Alfred Stern eat butterscotch pudding as though it were the thing he most cherished in life.
    They stood between two large hampers overflowing with soiled laundry. “What can we expect?” she asked. “I mean, is this … is this the way it’s going to be?”
    The nurse put a hand on her arm. “It’s still early. Not even two weeks. For the moment, it’s best to take it slow. One step at a time.”
    Hannah waited, hoping for more, but Annie had to go. That was it, then. One step at a time. No compass, no map.

4
    L uc didn’t own a cell phone. Using Marie-Soleil’s phone, he checked the messages on his voice mail. There were three from Serge Vien, audibly agitated but saying little, and two calmer, equally uninformative messages from a Monsieur Ducharme, the vice-principal at the school, leaving a private number. Luc tried to dial it and found that he couldn’t. His hand was shaking. Marie-Soleil had to do it for him.
    There had been “an incident,” Ducharme told him, when finally Luc got through. His son was fine, but Luc’s presence was required. How soon could he be at the office of the school principal, Monsieur Bonnaire?
    Luc asked for details. “Just come to the school, Monsieur

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