Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,14

we can’t camp out in his room, Sadie. It’s critical care.”

“Well, I’m not going,” I said. “If something . . . happens, I want to be here.”

“We have the girls,” Oliver said.

“I’m aware of that, Oliver. You guys go. The girls need you. I know that.”

“Thanks, Dr. Evans,” Jules said. “We appreciate your kindness.”

He shook our hands, his face somber, and left.

“Too bad you’re dating a yacht salesman,” Juliet said.

I ignored that. “I can sleep right here if I have to, but I want to be close by.”

“That’s fine,” Mom said. “But I’ll go home with Juliet, I think. It’s been quite a shock.”

The obligatory hugs were doled out, and they left.

My mom might be a widow soon. For all her flaws as a wife, that had to be scary. They’d been married fifty years. God. Fifty years tomorrow.

I went to the nurses’ station and asked to see my father again. He was in the same position, but then again, he’d been heavily sedated, I guessed.

He looked awful. It was hard to imagine he could survive—the bandage on his head, the tube coming out of his mouth, some stitches on his eyebrow, the bruising.

“I’m here, Daddy,” I said. “I’m right here. You and me, just like always.” I told the nurses where I’d be, and they were so nice, telling me to get some food. One of them gave me a blanket.

If my father died in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t be alone. There’d be someone who loved him to hold his hand and thank him, and I was glad it was me, because honestly, I couldn’t imagine Juliet or my mother doing it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Barb

I tried to remember when my marriage went from real good to fine to not bad to downright nonexistent, and could not pinpoint a time. No, I couldn’t.

Once, John and I loved each other. I didn’t have any doubt about that, no sir. It could be said that we didn’t know each other real well in those early days, but we were happy.

It was the infertility that started the downward slide. John didn’t try real hard to understand my pain, and being a second-generation Norwegian and daughter of a Minnesotan farmer, maybe I didn’t know how to share the full heft of it. We Minnesotans don’t like to complain.

But it didn’t take a genius to understand that I was suffering. Looking back, I think John wanted to pretend I didn’t suffer, because that would get him off the hook for a problem he couldn’t fix.

Then, when we were blessed, of course my focus was Juliet. Unfortunately, having a baby didn’t bring us a heck of a lot closer, which was partly my fault. I can see that now.

But isn’t that what good mothers do? I was a stay-at-home mom in an age (and a town) where most of us did stay home, or only worked part-time. I’d wanted more than anything to be a mother. I wasn’t about to put my little baby in someone else’s care. Absolutely not! She was my whole purpose in life, don’t you know. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But John didn’t get it. He didn’t see all that I did. It used to make me downright crazy when he would comment on her progress or abilities. “We had a lot of fun this afternoon,” he said one Sunday in August when he’d taken her to the beach, practically giving himself the father of the year award. “Do you know what a great swimmer she is?”

“Who do you think taught her?” I snapped. “And did you forget the sunscreen? She looks mighty pink to me.”

The same with reading. “Our four-year-old is reading chapter books!” he exclaimed, as if he was telling me something I didn’t know. Me, who spent every day with her, who read to her for hours, who gave her her love of books. I wanted him to see that, to credit me, to honor those hours, those years, when everything I did was for the good of our daughter. I was a wonderful mother. I told Juliet I loved her all the time, and that was something I never heard growing up, no sir. I was generous and thoughtful and affectionate. I set boundaries so she got enough sleep, ate nutritious meals, respected others and herself, was brave but not foolish. She was my life’s work.

And while John would give me a card on Mother’s Day and make me a breakfast that used every