The Fives Run North-South by Dan Goodin Read Free Book Online Page B

said.
    “Oh, yeah,” he said, although his face told me that he’d thought the one back in the house had counted. He jumped over and, to his credit, gave her a warm embrace. Her hand went to the back of his head, and I saw her run her fingers through his hair, start to tighten, and loosen as he pulled away. He turned to me.
    “Well,” he said.
    “Money’s all gone,” I said.
    He smiled, though his eye flicked just briefly to the car and to the road in front of it. So I put my hands on his shoulders, squeezed for a second, and turned him around. “Get in,” I said. “You have to beat rush hour in the tunnel.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” he said. He reached up, nearly touching my hand as I pulled it away. I think we both paused, but I’m not sure. As the door shut, Alex said something and they both laughed. I didn’t catch it, but I did see the look on their faces, and recognized it. It was the look of what was ahead of them, not behind. But that’s how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?
    And now, nearly two years later I sat next to his hospital bed and looked at a face that had grown a bit stranger to me, and I found it hard to breathe. I was glad I’d avoided the excuses and made the trip from my office to his bedside. For a second, I felt like tossing it all away: my company, Kyle Thomas, the red SUV, the bits and pieces that were outside the walls of this room, and the people inside. As crappy as this room was, it had formed a bubble around us. It was just us here now: Peter, Suze, and me. Quiet and calm (Peter, with the help of medication, but hey…), the buzz of the world was alien just now, just here.
    I found myself looking at Peter’s hand. When was the last time you held it? Why not now? Then you’d always know the answer to the question. Behind me I heard Suze stir. The urge to grab my son’s hand faded in a wisp. The door opened and the night nurse came in, giving me a look of mild surprise that we were still here. She followed that up with a look of mild annoyance.
    “I have to check his vitals,” she said.
    And as I watched, she grabbed that very hand I’d been looking at just moments ago so she could lift it up and put her other hand over his wrist to check his pulse. Behind me, Suze moaned softly as she pulled herself out of sleep.
    When was the last time you held your son’s hand?
    As I saw his limp hand in the nurse’s, I comforted myself with the thought that some answers are okay if they remain a mystery. Holding hands only counts if he can hold mine back, and those days were over. He’d be all right.
    I turned to Suze. “You want to get over to the hotel?”
    She nodded. We both looked at Peter again for a second and walked out.
    “You going back to the office tomorrow?” she asked.
    I nodded.

6
    E nough of that.
    I was nearly home as the late afternoon shadows drew across the roadway ahead. I couldn’t get back fast enough. I looked forward to running the shower extra hot to try and peel away the layer of slime that always seems to stick after spending hours in a hospital. Probably more my imagination than anything, but there seemed a thick, airborne cocktail of dusty germs, cough spray, and chemicals layered on my skin, hair, and clothing.
    Peter would be all right. Suze was where she wanted to be; any excuse to stay by her son rather than with her husband. And I was going back to where I was really needed. The two - day break, while not an ideal way to spend time with family, had been a slow - paced and somewhat reflective oasis. But ultimately, we all have to give the world our attention. And I found myself wanting time to spin ahead quickly, eager to be at my desk, energized to push ahead in my fight to maintain status quo at FMP. I’d start with getting Chester back to full - froth squirm, and work my way up. As I drove, scenarios played out in my head. I even found myself speaking aloud: my side of upcoming conversations in which I’d reassert my dominance, scoring points