The Landry Family Series: Part Two

by Adriana Locke

  “Because of you.”

  “Because of me?” he almost booms. “You’re crying because of me? I haven’t even fucking talked to you in what feels like days because you need space. Well, you know what, fuck your space.”

  I see Violet hidden in the darkness of the hallway, letting me know she’s still around if I need her. Suddenly, I wish she weren’t. I wish it was just Ford and I.

  “Ford, I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I should’ve put my foot down when you started this bullshit and gotten to the bottom of it then.” He pulls out a chair but doesn’t sit. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?”

  “Violet is here,” I say, like that explains everything. Of course it doesn’t and he gives me a look telling me just that.

  “Violet?” he calls, looking at me. “Will you leave? Please?”

  I glance around him and make eye contact with her. She indicates she’ll be outside until she hears from me and then the door closes softly.

  That’s followed by a stream of tears.

  “Tell me how to fix you,” he says quietly. “Tell me what I need to do. I hate this, Ellie. I hate it.”

  “You can’t fix this. There is no fixing this.”

  He marches in a circle, running his hands down his face. I watch his body move, the concern on his face, the palpable misery he’s in because he’s worried about me.

  “Answer a question for me,” I say. “What did Barrett want?”

  “What’s that have to do with you?”

  Everything. “Just answer me. Please.”

  “I honestly don’t know because I wanted to talk to you. But I’m guessing it has something to do with his campaign.”

  “So he’s running?”

  “I think so.”

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I say a silent prayer that someone is watching over me.

  “Ford,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to sit down.”

  He heaves a breath but does as instructed. His top button is undone on his work shirt, his tie and jacket both long gone. The blonde spikes of his hair are unruly, and I can see that he’s been running his hand through it.

  I wonder what it would look like in the middle of the night after he’s gotten no sleep because of a crying baby. What his arms would look like, so big and strong, with an infant curled up in the crook of his elbow.

  “You can tell me anything,” he says right before I start to speak. “I mean it. Anything.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath and just spill it. “I’m going to have a baby.”

  His face slowly changes as the words seep into his brain. His brows pull together, his mouth opening, then closing. His head cocking to the side as his eyes go wide inch-by-inch.

  He shakes his head. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” I whisper, “that I … we … are having a baby.”

  “This is for real, right?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I took a test earlier. I know the last time I said I thought I was having your baby I—”

  His chair flies across the room, hitting the floor with a racket. He’s in front of me, crouched down, his eyes level with mine. “Say it again.”

  “We’re having a baby.”

  The intakes of breath are quick and shaky as his eyes start to sparkle with a joy I could have only dreamed of. It’s not like before when he was staying calm for my edification. This time, all I see is an elation I couldn’t describe if I tried.

  “You’re serious?” he asks, a laugh built into the words. “We’re having a baby? You’re sure?”

  I nod, still not sure he’s processed it all.

  “Ellie,” he breathes. He lays a hand on my stomach and just stares at it. “My God.”

  “I don’t know how far along I am,” I choke out. “I just found out a little while ago.”

  A quietness descends between us as he looks at me. There are a myriad of emotions playing out on his face and the longer the silence lasts, the more unnerved I become.

  I force a swallow. “I don’t want you to think this is something you have to do. I know this is a lot and very unplanned, but you can walk away. I don’t need you.”

  “Maybe I need you.”

  As I begin to smile, beam, even, all seriousness leaves his face. It’s replaced with a look of absolute joy. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” I laugh, fighting tears.

  His hand nearly covers my entire abdominal area, his fingers thick and calloused from work. I see the little star on his hand. I move my own to cover his, my thumb pressing against the mark of ink.

  “I’ve never been happier in my life,” he says, looking away. I can see the fight of emotion in his features as he struggles to stay composed.

  He stands, bringing me to my feet and pulling me in to his chest. His arms wrap around my body, holding me close. There’s so much to discuss, so much to figure out, but right now, letting him hold me is the preferred answer.

  After a while, he leads me to the living room and sits on the sofa. He pulls me down beside him.

  “I want to marry you.”

  “Wait,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s hold up a second.”

  He just laughs.

  “Ford, what I said the other day doesn’t change.”

  “Everything’s changed, Ellie.”

  “No, it hasn’t.”

  “Oh, baby, it so has,” he grins. “That space bullshit is over. I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m going to be all over your shit like white on rice.”

  I press a finger to his lips. “We have a lot to talk about besides whatever ideas you’re cooking up.”

  “Plans, Ellie. Not ideas. Plans.”

  I know this is a losing battle. There’s no winning with him when he has that look in his eye. Still, I’m not ready to give in even if it means a fight. I’ll be heard one way or the other.

  “Just remember your plans are yours. They don’t necessarily involve me.”

  “You are ridiculously adorable,” he laughs. “So, I’ll call G and have him get some moving trucks over—”

  “Stop.”

  “This is happening.”

  I roll my eyes. “This is not happening. I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket.”

  “Clearly, I know what to do with eggs,” he winks. I slap him on the shoulder and he laughs heartily. “Seriously, though—trust me, Ellie.”

  “I have a hard time trusting anyone,” I whisper.

  “I know you do. You’re a smart girl. But you and I were brought together again, this time at a point in our lives where we can use the lessons we’ve learned and go forward. Together.”

  I look at the floor, my worry taking over the joy again. “Let’s talk about the together part.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “What about Barrett? Are you going to take off again?”

  I look in his eyes. The way his soften shows me he sees the fear in mine. “Ellie, listen, I—”

  My phone interrupts him, ringing like crazy on the coffee table in front of us. It’s my dad’s cell number. I hold up a finger and grab it.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “Is this Ellie Pagan?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Honey, this is Shirley Templesman from Savannah General Hospital. Your father had an accident this evening. You need to come down here as quickly as you can.”

  Thirty-Four

  Ellie

  Ignoring the looks from the people I whiz by, I fly around the corner to the Intensive Care Unit. My hand trembles as I press the button repeatedly to open the double doors. At an ant’s pace, they break free.

  The room numbers are on little blue panels hanging from each doorway. I try desperately not to run around the curved hallway until I find the one I’m searching for.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. Can I help you?” A nurse stands from behind a counter. “Visiting hours are over.”

&nb
sp; “My father is Bill Pagan. Room 12E. The hospital called …”

  I blink back tears, finding a small amount of relief when Ford’s hand steadies me. “Can we see him? Even if it’s just for a few minutes?” he asks.

  She nods. “12E is right down there. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears me considering I’m already halfway to the room.

  The monitors chirp steadily, the room dark and cool, as we enter. He lies on a bed, a tube sticking out of his nose. With each haggard breath he takes, machines glow and blip all around him.

  “Oh, my God,” I breathe, dropping my purse on a chair. I try to make sense of the numbers glowing from the various instruments around him, but they all sort of meld together.

  Dad’s eyes are closed.

  I step to the bed and take his hand in mine. It’s cold and limp and it takes everything in me not to fall to the floor on my knees and weep.

  “Daddy?” I say softly. “Can you hear me?”

  His breaths turn into a cough, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

  “It’s me. Ellie. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  I wait, silently pleading with him to give me some sort of indication that he can hear me. Placing my other one on top of his, I wait for some sign that he’s still here.

  The noise of a curtain being pulled sounds behind me. I don’t turn around, but hear Ford greeting a doctor. In a few seconds, she appears on the other side of the bed.

  “You’re Ellie, correct?” she asks.

  She has short, curly, red hair and bright green eyes. A stethoscope is around her neck and a chart in her hand.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Issac.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask, my voice starting to break. Ford is at my side in a second flat, but lets me do the talking for which I’m grateful. “How did this happen?”

  “According to the report, your father fell in his front yard this evening. A neighbor called for an ambulance, and he was rushed here.”

  “What were you doing?” I ask, blinking back tears as I see him looking so lifeless in the bed. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Your father had some trauma to his abdomen. A couple of broken ribs and a lacerated kidney.”

  I squeeze his hand as I look at the doctor. “How long does that take to heal? I’ll … I’ll move him in with me,” I sniffle. “I’ll make sure he does exactly what he’s supposed to.”

  The look she gives me pierces me to the core. It’s one of those smiles that tells you she’s trying to warm you up for the pain she’s about to deliver. Like the alcohol swab before the injection, she’s preparing to destroy me.

  I grab Ford’s arm.

  “Did you know your father has cancer, Ms. Pagan?”

  “He did,” I say, confidently. “He’s been in remission for a while now.”

  Dr. Issac looks at Ford, then back to me again. “It’s in his lungs and lymph nodes, and by what I read in his chart, his liver too.”

  “What?” I breathe, swaying back and forth. “That can’t be true.”

  “There’s a report from his oncologist in his file dated six months ago. Maybe you didn’t know, but your father certainly was aware.”

  “Is aware. He certainly is aware,” I correct her.

  She takes a deep breath and changes her line of sight to Ford. “His injuries are pretty severe for anyone. But adding his age and health to the mix, I’m afraid I don’t have a very good outlook on Mr. Pagan’s condition.”

  “Define that more conclusively,” Ford asks.

  She braces herself. “I don’t have a lot of hope he will make it out of Intensive Care.”

  I hear the sob that escapes my soul. It echoes off the walls of the dimly lit room, no match for the pain I’m feeling.

  Scrambling to the top of the bed, I lay my head next to his. He smells weird, not like my dad. Not the scent that has comforted me since I was a baby.

  “Daddy,” I cry, throwing an arm over his chest.

  There are so many things I want to say, so much I want him to know and be told, but I can’t find the words. They’re hung up somewhere between my brain and my lips.

  The sound of his laugh as I tangle my fishing line up in the trees trickles through my mind. The feel of his hand on my leg as he bandages a little scrape I’m sure is going to kill me after a bicycle wreck is as real as if it were happening. I can smell the scent of his famous deer jerky and see the smile that would accompany his, “Good morning, darlin’,” when he’d wake me up for school.

  The tears are relentless, dripping down my face and onto his neck. I wind my fist in his hospital gown as if it somehow will keep him here with me.

  “Please don’t leave me,” I whisper in his ear. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

  I hear Ford’s voice intermingled with the doctor’s as I cry silently. I don’t care what they’re saying or what it even means. None of it matters. I’ve heard all I need to hear.

  Ford’s hand rests on the small of my back. “Do you want me to give you a minute?”

  “Stay. Please,” I sniffle.

  “Absolutely.”

  He gives me a gentle pat and then moves to the corner into a stiff plastic chair. I swipe a tissue off the bedside table and try to clean the snot off my face, one hand still holding my father’s.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, fighting the tears. “If you knew you were sick, why didn’t you let me know?”

  He looks so peaceful, so much so, in fact, that I’m not sure he’s even here.

  “Ellie.”

  “Ellie.”

  My hand moves and I jump. “Daddy!”

  His head is turned to the side facing me. Ford is reclining in the chair in the corner. He fell asleep an hour or so ago, right before I must’ve dozed off.

  “How are you, pumpkin?” he garbles.

  “I’m fine. How are you? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you need anything?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of pain.

  He doesn’t answer me, just tries to squeeze my hand. It’s a weak attempt, especially for a man that once had the strength of Bill Pagan.

  “I saw Ford lying over there,” he says, trying to nod towards the corner.

  “He’s worried about you.”

  “He came to see me today.”

  I kind of laugh, wondering how out of it he is. “You haven’t been asleep that long.”

  “I know that,” he sighs. His head pops back on his pillow and he winces.

  I stand and help him get situated, but end up tangling myself up in his lines. He tries to laugh but can’t quite make it happen.

  “The doctor told me you have cancer,” I say. “She said you knew it.”

  “I did.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What were you going to do about it?”

  “I could’ve helped you!”

  “There is no helping me,” he whispers. “I’m ready to go, honey. I just wanted to stick around long enough to make sure you were in good hands.”

  I glance at Ford. He has a ball cap pulled down over his eyes, his feet hanging off the edge of the chair.

  “I hope I am,” I say softly.

  His oxygen gets knocked off and the alarm begins to sound. I fasten it back under his nose again, and he takes a few long, deep breaths.

  He closes his eyes, resting from the exertion of talking to me. I take his hand again and squeeze it, glad that it’s a little warmer this time.

  “Ellie,” he whispers.

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “Do you remember the time I took you camping? And that big storm rolled in out of nowhere.”

  “It about blew our tent into the trees,” I recall. “Our cooler was toast. Everything was soaked.”

  “Yes.” He takes a minute before he speaks again. “That was one of the worst storms I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t tell you that, of course, but I was pretty scared. I j
ust held on to you and figured as long as I kept you with me, we could replace everything else.”

  “And we had to,” I laugh softly. “Even my pink fishing pole was gone.”

  He reaches for my free hand. I scoop it up with mine and hold them as he struggles to talk and breathe. I want to tell him to relax, to sleep it off and we’ll resume it later, but I can see it’s important for him to continue.

  “I want you to always remember that,” he says. His eyes open and he looks at me, the greens of his irises as clear as a mountain stream. “And I want you to remember what happened when the rain stopped.”

  “The double rainbow.”

  His chest rises and falls harshly as the greens of his eyes start to dim. “There’s always a rainbow, Ellie. Wait for the rainbow.”

  His eyes flutter close and his hands go limp. I stand at his bedside, tears streaming down my face, and watch him slip away.

  “No!” I cry. “Not yet. Please, don’t leave me. I have something to tell you. Please! It’s important,” I sob.

  One eye opens just a crack. “What’s that?” His words are a rasp, barely audible through the heaviness of his breath.

  “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a grandpa,” I sniffle.

  The struggle to open his eyes is painfully visible, but he does it. His deep, dark eyes look at me. It takes them a second to focus on my face, but when they do, I see a look in them I wish I could capture for an eternity.

  “You are?” he asks. “A baby?”

  “A baby, Daddy. I’m having a baby.”

  Tears flow down my face like an overflowing river. He smiles, a small curve of his lips that I know takes an effort to make. “Little pumpkin … So happy, Ellie …”

  He gives in, his eyes fluttering closed, the alarms buzzing all around.

  I feel Ford’s hand clamp over mine as my body heaves. The buzzers now wailing, they shatter the silence of the night.

  “Daddy,” I say. “Daddy!”

  The corner of his lip turns to the heavens as he sucks in what becomes his final breath.

  “Daddy!”

  I’m shoved out of the way by the flurry of doctors and nurses swarming in. They talk to me, explain why I have to step out like I don’t already know. I let them push me into the hall as I watch through the glass as my father lies quietly on the hospital bed.