There was a silence.
Then Daniel said something I had never heard him say to his mother.
“Stop.”
One word.
Quiet.
Firm.
His knuckles had gone white around the phone.
“No. I’m not leaving the hospital.”
Another pause.
“Megan told me to stay.”
Then Daniel’s face changed.
His eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Linda answered.
Daniel looked toward me.
Whatever she said, he did not repeat it.
Instead he whispered, “That is disgusting.”
Then he ended the call.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
He sat beside me.
“Claire.”
“What did she say?”
His eyes moved to the floor.
“She said…”
He swallowed.
“She said you’ve always hated being overlooked.”
My chest tightened.
He continued.
“And that this was exactly the kind of thing you would do if Megan was getting all the attention.”
For a moment I forgot the pain.
“That I would rupture my appendix?”
“She thinks you exaggerated symptoms until they admitted you.”
I stared at him.
Then I laughed.
A real laugh this time.
One that immediately turned into a cry because it hurt my abdomen.
Daniel reached for me.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked away.
“Don’t apologize for her.”
“I should have stopped this years ago.”
It was the closest he had ever come to admitting it.
Before I could answer, an orderly came to take me upstairs.
They rolled me beneath fluorescent lights while Daniel walked beside the gurney.
At the double doors to the operating area, he had to stop.
His fingers held mine until the very last possible second.
“Hey.”
I looked at him.
“You’re going to wake up.”
I smiled weakly.
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He bent and kissed my hand.
“Then wake up so you can tell me that again.”
The doors closed between us.
The operating room was colder than I expected.
Someone covered me with a warmed blanket.
A woman introduced herself as the anesthesiologist.
I remember being asked to count backward.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Then nothing.
When I surfaced again, it was evening.
My mouth felt full of dust.
My abdomen burned.
The room was dimmer, softer.
Daniel sat in a chair beside the bed.
His tie was loose.
His suit trousers were wrinkled.
He looked as though he had aged several years since morning.
“You’re here,” I whispered.
He jolted awake.
“Claire?”
“Did Megan get married?”
He stared at me in disbelief.
Then laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“She texted you.”
“My phone?”