could come and I left the room.
***
I found Zach sitting outside on a stone bench overlooking a small garden, a gentle and natural reprieve from the morbidity inside. I dropped down beside him, heavy with grief, and frantically dug into my pocket for my lighter and smokes.
“Fuck,” I said to the white and red packet. My hands shook as I pulled a cigarette out and stuffed it between my lips. Four times, I tried to light the damn thing, and four times, I failed. With an aggravated huff, Zach snatched the Zippo from my hand, lit the cigarette, and then, threw the lighter into my lap.
“Hey!” I grabbed it before it could slip through my thighs and onto the sidewalk. “What the hell are you pissed at me for?”
He shook his head. “I’m not pissed at you.”
“Oh, great. Glad we cleared that up.”
I took a long drag and held the smoke in my lungs until I thought I might choke, feeling warm and heady with its venom. I exhaled slowly, closed my eyes, and imagined my world the way it was a day ago. Normal. Decent. It hadn’t been great, it hadn’t even been good, but it was mine and it had been okay. I wanted to go back there. I wished I could.
“I just can’t believe this shit!” Zach exclaimed, and startled, my eyes snapped open. “I can’t believe him! For fuckin’ years, he didn’t trust us, he didn’t believe us, and now, we find out that he’s been lying to us? That’s the pot calling the fuckin’ kettle black right there, that’s what that is.” A paper napkin skittered across the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze. It landed on the toe of his sneaker and as though that napkin was the materialization of heart disease itself, he kicked it away angrily and shouted, “Son of a bitch!”
“I know,” I said, nodding and puffing away at the cigarette. “I can’t even look at him right now.”
“He’s a fuckin’ hypocrite.”
I turned to look at him and take in the anger etched in the lines on his face. My brother had been through his share of shit but never before had I seen him so mad, so hurt and betrayed.
“I know,” I agreed.
“How’s Jen?”
“Not great,” I said, before exhaling.
“Yeah,” Zach nodded. “I figured.”
Our sister had always been in the unique position of never doing wrong. She was rarely scolded and almost never in trouble. Once upon a time, I had envied her for that, until I realized she’d never had much of a choice. She needed to be perfect, to counteract every fucked-up thing my brother and I had done. Once I’d acknowledged that, I just felt bad that she’d never really been allowed to live.
But Jenna had also gotten something that Zach and I never did. And that was an undying, close knit bond with our father. One she’d never had to work at.
It only seemed natural that she’d be more upset now and less angry.
“I gotta go home,” he muttered. “I need … I dunno, time to think or something. You know what I’m sayin’? And I can’t think with,” he gestured behind us, toward the hospital looming over our shoulders, “all this shit.”
“I feel you,” I replied honestly, while also despising him for having somewhere else to go.
“I’ll call you, okay? And if there’s any update, let me know.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Sure.”
We stood and Zach pulled me into his arms. We hugged tightly, and for a brief fraction of time, I felt about thirty years younger, wrapped in the protection of my big, strong brother. The one I looked up to, the one with all the answers. But then, he let go and walked away, and that’s when he became the one who abandoned me when I needed him most.
***
After Pops fell asleep, I sent Jenna home. She’d been sitting on the windowsill, leaning in an uncomfortable position against the glass and dozing off. I told her she needed to go home and rest, and that I would call her if anything changed. She had hesitated, but eventually, she did leave.
And then, I was alone.
Alone with my dying father.
I hated being alone.
I pulled out my phone to occupy my time and soon found myself reading about coronary artery disease. I didn’t get far into my research via Doctor Google before I spotted a word I’d heard before: Ischemic. It stuck out to me like a big, red, throbbing sore thumb, and that’s when Nurse Andrea walked