3

The glass doors hissed open. A nurse pushed David in a wheelchair from the Emergency Ward. Beneath a concrete canopy, in a curve of the driveway where hours earlier David had seen attendants unloading a patient from an ambulance, Sarie was waiting in her yellow Fiesta.

The nurse stopped the wheelchair, opened the Fiesta’s passenger door, and eased David inside.

His every movement remained an effort. His vision continued to swirl. Nonetheless he noticed Sarie move a small white paper bag—a pharmacist’s green bill was stapled to it—off the passenger seat so he could get in.

The nurse shut the door. “Get some rest now, Mr. Morrell.” She added to Sarie, “Make sure he takes those pills. Put him to bed as soon as he gets home.”

“Don’t worry,” Sarie said. “I guarantee my Dad’ll be a model patient.”

Sarie put the Fiesta in gear, then steered around the curved driveway, heading toward the Emergency Ward’s parking lot. The pivot of the car made David’s mind reel. He wanted to clutch his skull, but given what he planned to do, he didn’t dare alarm his daughter.

She turned right, onto a road that passed several university dormitories and a recreation building. Students thronged the sidewalks. The warm June sun was low in the sky, casting shadows. David raised his watch, squinting at its hands. Seven-thirty in the evening, and as near as he could tell, he’d entered the Emergency Ward shortly after two o’clock.

He couldn’t understand how the time had passed so quickly.

Time! He didn’t have much time!

“I’m sorry I took so long coming back,” Sarie said. “The hospital pharmacy closes at six, but I managed to get them to stay open long enough to fill the prescription. Then I wanted to go back upstairs and see Matt.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him what happened to me.” When David had collapsed, he’d been in a conference room with two doctors. In theory, Matthew didn’t know about the panic attack.

“No. Mom didn’t tell him either.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to upset him.”

“But I took Mom aside and told her what the neurologist said was wrong with you. Mom’s worried. She says you have to take care of yourself.”

David nodded, the effort painful.

“Mom says she can stay with Matthew. I’m supposed to ask a neighbor to bring up a change of clothes for her. When we get a chance, Mom and I will trade places. She’ll come home and see if you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m okay,” David said with effort. “You heard the neurologist. I’m in perfect physical shape.” He stifled the bitterness in his voice. “Except I’m terrified.”

“But Matthew’s doing fine.”

“No! He going to—!”

Stop! David thought. You can’t alarm her! You need her help!

“Matt’s going to what?” Sarie asked.

“He’s sicker than he’s ever been before.”

“But that’s because the chemotherapy this time was stronger than he’s ever received.”

David pressed her hand. “Of course. He’s bound to be sicker this time. Forgive me. I’m just a little confused.”

Fireflies.

Power chords.