I woke up when the room was already dark.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was.
Then I saw the white blanket, the small table beside the bed, and my backpack resting against the wall.
The unfinished algebra worksheet was still in the front pocket.
My father sat in the chair near the window.
He had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
"Dad?"
He looked up immediately.
"I'm here."
My throat felt dry.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Not very long."
He glanced toward the clock, then back at me.
"You should keep resting."
I turned my head toward the window.
The glass reflected the room behind me.
I could see his outline in it, sitting in the same chair he had occupied before I fell asleep.
"Did you eat anything?" I asked.
He seemed surprised by the question.
"No."
"Why not?"
He rubbed his hands together.
"I wasn't hungry."
I didn't know what to say to that.
I had spent the afternoon worrying about whether he would come to the hospital.
Now he was sitting beside me, looking like he hadn't moved for hours.
That didn't make everything better.
It only made the room feel different.
"Are you going to stay all night?" I asked.
"If you want me to."
I watched his face.
"I asked if you were going to."
He swallowed.
"Yes, Emma. I'll stay."
I turned back toward the window.
I wanted to believe him.
But the last time I had needed him to stay, he had stood in our doorway and told me to leave.
I had walked into the rain without a coat.
He hadn't followed.
The memory came back so clearly that I could almost feel the wet sleeves of my shirt against my arms.
I pulled the blanket closer.
My father noticed.
"Are you cold?"
"A little."
He reached toward the blanket, then stopped before touching it.
"Do you want me to get someone?"
"No. I'm okay."
He lowered his hand.
I appreciated that he had asked instead of deciding what I needed.
It was a small thing.
After that night, small things were all I knew how to trust.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The room made quiet hospital sounds.
Something beeped down the hall.
A door opened and closed.
My father kept looking at me as if he had something to say but couldn't find a way to begin.
Finally, he asked, "Do you remember the drive here?"
I shook my head.
"I remember waking up."
"Do you remember anything from before that?"
I looked at the backpack.
"Walking."
His face tightened.
"Anything else?"
"The rain."
I paused.
"And looking for your car."
He lowered his eyes.
I hadn't planned to say that.
It had simply come out.
"I kept thinking you might come after me," I said.
He pressed his hands together.
"I'm sorry."
I waited.
He didn't add anything.
Part of me wanted him to explain himself.
Another part was tired of hearing explanations that arrived after the damage was done.
I turned toward the wall.
"I don't want to talk about it right now."
"Okay."
He said it quietly.
He didn't ask me to reconsider.
He didn't tell me I was being unfair.
For the first time since I had returned to consciousness, I let my eyes close without feeling that I needed to keep watching him.
I didn't fall asleep immediately.
I listened to him shift in the chair.
Once, I heard him stand and walk toward the door.
My eyes opened.
"Where are you going?"
He stopped.
"Just to ask whether you can have some water."
"Oh."
"I'll be right back."
I watched him leave.
The door stayed open.
I stared at the narrow opening until he returned with a cup.
He placed it on the table within my reach.
"I thought you might want some when you woke up."
"Thanks."
He nodded and sat down again.
I drank a little.
The water tasted ordinary.
That was comforting in a way I couldn't explain.
Nothing about the cup required me to decide whether my father had changed.
I could simply drink.
After a while, he asked whether I wanted the light dimmed.
I said yes.
He adjusted it and returned to his chair.
I watched the room grow softer around the edges.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"If I tell you something, will you listen?"
He leaned forward.
"Yes."
I looked directly at him.
"Even if you don't like what I say?"
His answer took longer.
"Even then."
I wanted to ask whether he would have listened before throwing me out.
I wanted to ask why he couldn't have offered me the same patience when I was standing in our house, trying to explain that I hadn't done what Lydia said.
Instead, I asked something smaller.
"Can you bring my backpack closer?"
He stood and moved it from the wall to the chair beside my bed.
I reached for the front pocket and checked that the worksheet was still there.
It was folded along the same lines.
One corner had become soft from the dampness.
I pulled it out and opened it on the blanket.
The unfinished problems looked exactly as they had before.
Three answers were still blank.
My father watched me.
"Is that your homework?"
"Algebra."
"You were working on it before?"
"At home."
I smoothed the paper with my palm.
"I didn't finish."
He nodded.
"I can see that."
I expected him to tell me that it didn't matter.
Or that I should be concentrating on getting better.
He said neither.
I found my pencil inside the bag and held it over the page.
For a few seconds, I couldn't remember what I had been doing.
The numbers seemed familiar, but my thoughts wouldn't settle.
I put the pencil down.
"Not tonight," I said.
"That's fine."
I folded the worksheet carefully.
My father looked at the backpack again.
"I should have checked that," he said.
I kept my eyes on the paper.
"Yes."
"I should have checked everything before I said what I said."
"Yes."
He took a slow breath.
"I know saying it now doesn't change anything."
I slid the worksheet into the front pocket.
"No, it doesn't."
He didn't argue.
That mattered more than another apology would have.
I put the pencil away and leaned back against the pillow.
My father stayed in the chair.
I didn't forgive him that night.
I didn't decide that I was ready to go home.
I only let myself rest while he remained where he had promised to be.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: The Questions I Had Been Too Frightened to Ask Finally Came Out, and My Father Had No Easy Answers for Them
My Father Had Already Decided I Was Guilty Before I Could Explain What Was Inside My Backpack
Part 13 of 20
