him say something, heard Adam arguing with someone just inside
the door, sharp and loud, then she didn’t hear anything at all. That
was a good thing, she thought as she slipped away, back where there
were no dreams, just seamless darkness, without him, no worries or
voices to tear her apart. Her father was dead, dead since she was
very young. It was impossible that he was here, there was just no
way. Maybe she was dead, too, and had seen what she wanted to
see. Dead. It wasn’t bad, truly it wasn’t. She heard a sound, like a
wounded animal. It had come from her, she realized, but then there
was nothing at all.
When she awoke, it was dark in her room except for a small
bedside lamp that was turned to its lowest setting. The small hospital
room was filled with shadows and quiet voices. There were needles
in both of her arms connected to bags of liquid beside both
sides of her bed. There were two men sitting in chairs next to the
window, in low conversation. One was Adam. The other was her
father–oh yes, she believed him now, perhaps even understood a
bit–and he’d called her his darling girl. She blinked several times.
He didn’t fade back into her mind. He remained exactly where he
was. She saw him very clearly now, and she could do nothing but
stare, breathe him in, settle his face, his features, his expressions, into
her mind. He used his hands while he spoke to Adam, just like she
did when she was trying to make a point, to convince someone to
come around to her way of thinking. He was her father.
She cleared her throat and said, “I know I’m not dead because I
would kill for some water. And I don’t believe that if someone is
dead, she’s particularly thirsty. May I please have some water?”
Adam was on his feet in an instant. When he bent the straw into
her mouth, she closed her eyes in bliss. She drank nearly the entire
glass. She was panting when she finished. “Oh goodness, that was
delicious.”
He didn’t straighten, just placed one large hand on either side of
her face on that hard hospital pillow. He was studying her face, her
eyes. “You okay?”
“Yes. I realize I’m not dead, so you must be real. I remember
you told me that he threw me out of the car. Is there anything bad
wrong with me?”
“No, nothing bad. When he shoved you out of the car yesterday
right there at Police Plaza, you were still wearing your nightgown.
You got a lot of scrapes, a bruised elbow, but that’s it. Now it’s just
a matter of getting the drug out of your system. They pumped your
stomach. Nobody seems to know what the drug was, but it was
potent. You should be just about clear of it now.” He had to close
his eyes a moment. He’d never been so afraid in his life, never. But
she would live. She would be fine. He said, “Do the scrapes hurt?
Would you like a couple of aspirin?”
“No, I’m all right.” She licked her lips, looked over into the
shadows, clutched his hand, and whispered, “Adam, he really is my
father, isn’t he? That story he told me, it’s the truth? It happened that way?”
“Yes, all of it is true. His name is Thomas Matlock. He never
died, Becca. There is probably a whole lot more to tell you–”
“Yes,” Thomas said, “a lot more. So many stories to tell you
about your mother, Becca.”
“My mom said I had dreamy eyes. You do, too. I have your eyes.”
Thomas smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Yes, I guess maybe you
do have my eyes.”
Adam said, stroking his chin,”I’m not sure about that. The thing
is, Becca, I’ve never before looked at his eyes in quite the same way
I look at yours.”
Suddenly, all her attention was on Adam. She said, “Why not?”
“Because–“Adam stopped dead in his tracks. She was actually
coming on to him, teasing him. He loved it. He cleared his throat.
“Now’s not the time. We’ll talk about that later, you can count