the guitar licks of “Livin’ on a Prayer” alerted me to an incoming call. I stared at the caller ID in surprise.
“Shelley?”
“It’s Dad,” my sister said. “He’s had a heart attack. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
5
MOUNT CARMEL EAST WAS LESS THAN FIFTEEN minutes away from Resch’s, on the east side of the city, where things are a little more spread out, including the cemetery across from the hospital that I tried to ignore as I parked. Half running into the emergency department, I found my mom sitting in the waiting room and staring at a TV hanging in the corner as if nothing was wrong, as if she were taking a break after a morning of errands. Her eyes widened when she saw me. She stood up. I walked over and put my arms around her. She held me tightly but didn’t speak. Then she pulled away. I looked closely at her. I couldn’t tell if her short hair seemed grayer and pale blue eyes more exhausted because of what had happened or how long it had been since I’d seen her.
“How is he?”
She shook her head.
“Shelley called,” I said. “What happened?”
“I didn’t ask her to call you.”
“I figured as much. She did anyway. Were you at home?”
She sat down. I took a seat beside her. “We were Christmas shopping,” she said. “At Easton.” The sprawling Columbus mall was on the far east side of town. “We’d just stopped to look at the kids lined up for Santa Claus. I heard something and looked over and he was slumped against some kid. A teenager, I mean. Then he just fell over. He never said anything.” She paused. “His face was absolutely blue.”
A splinter of memory. My father exhorting me to throw a football through a tire hanging from a tree branch. I couldn’t have been more than three or four. The same age as little Robbie, Jessica’s son.
“Had he been . . . Were there any symptoms, or anything?”
“He’d seemed tired recently. He’s been working a lot. The hardware store—well, you might not know about that. They’ve been busy, with Christmas, and they’ve been giving him a lot of hours. He’s good at it. Customers like him. I told him he didn’t have to come. He should stay home and rest. But he insisted. Wanted to drive me. He hasn’t had any of the usual signs, if that’s what you’re asking. No pain in his arms, that kind of thing.”
Yelling at me to do better. Eye on the tire, Andy! Focus! Wait for it, then throw!
“You’re sure?” It would have been just like my dad to hide it. From my mom, but also from himself.
“Yes,” she said, sharply. “He’s been taking his pills, usually without me nagging.”
“Has he been exercising? Walking?”
“Oh, Andy. What kind of question is that?”
“I’m just asking—”
“If he deserved it?”
“No.” Yes.
Focus, Andy, focus! You’re not listening to me! Swaying as he spoke, but not from excitement or emotion. In the background, the voice of my uncle, chastising my father. Telling him to ease up.
“We walk on the weekends. Sometimes. Satisfied?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Forget it. I guess it’s a good thing you were over here. Close to hospitals.”
“There’s hospitals near home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Nobody’s telling me anything. I didn’t plan for any of this.” She hugged herself as if she were cold, though in truth the room was uncomfortably warm. She was wearing brown shoes and jeans and a red sweater.
“What’s happening now?”
“I don’t know. They rushed him in. It’s been a couple of hours. I called Shelley as soon as I could.”
“And then she called me.”
“I didn’t ask her to do that.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m surprised you came.”
“Of course I’d come. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.” After a moment, she said, “If he dies—”
“He’s not going to die.”
“If he dies,” she repeated, “I may sell the house. It’s too big for us now as it is. I just want you to know that. They’ve built some apartments along the Gambier Road. I might move there. It’s a little closer to the school, anyway.”
“He’s not going to die.”
She looked at me. “Really, Andy? How do you know that? How could you, of all people, possibly know that?”
I didn’t have an answer. There was nothing for me to say. I sat back and locked eyes with a guy sitting across from us wearing a Buckeyes shirt and staring at me like he knew who I was—which was entirely possible. I held his gaze until he looked away. I spent a minute watching four disembodied heads on separate screens yak about something on CNN. I thought about Jessica Byrnes, how similar she looked in her high school picture to the students my mom taught.
“Lynne Hayes?”
My mom looked up. A doctor stood before the double doors to the left of the reception desk. He was frowning.
“Yes,” my mother said.
Focus, Andy, focus!
“I need to ask you to come with me.”
6
HOPALONG WALKED THE LAST HUNDRED yards of our third circuit around Schiller Park the next morning. I didn’t push it. He’d long ago lost that puppyish spring to his step. I could say the same. I patted him on the head and let him pull me over to the cluster of dog walkers in the center of the park. I unclipped his leash for a bout of sniffing and chasing and nipping. It was still dark, sunrise close to an hour away. The mild December air made it feel like the week before a late Easter. I chatted about the Blue Jackets with a guy I’d seen around who had a black lab-collie mix. For the record, he agreed with me about jumbotrons. After a few minutes I called for Hopalong, reattached his leash, and walked up to my house at 837 Mohawk. I opened the door, let the dog inside, and pulled the door shut. I turned around and went back to the park and did three more loops on my own, sprinting for fifteen seconds at every other telephone pole. I’m not that old.
When I returned I checked my phone for messages, drank a glass of chocolate milk, and did twenty pull-ups on the bar I’d installed within
