Read Online All the Lasting Things by David Hopson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Hopson
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hospital.”
“And you know why we’re in a hospital?”
“Benjamin’s sick.”
“He is. But not with a cold.”
Cat extended her hand to the rest of the family, explaining who she was as if they already might know. Benji breathed in the scent she brought with her, that shampoo smell he’d been so sure he’d never smell again, with an exhilarating sense of confusion. Why in the world was she here? He expected visits from Jerry and stoner Bill and maybe even Kay, whose overly ornate get-well bouquet practically reeked of schadenfreude, but never Cat. Her appearance was a puzzle, one that couldn’t be solved—not by him, not now—but one he would enjoy piecing together in his happy haze of Percocet.
She gave him a beautiful used copy of To the Lighthouse wrapped in newsprint and dove with Henry, whose clarity returned to him as quickly as it departed, into an animated discussion of its merits. Benji fumbled through the opening pages while Cat spoke with his father. Henry’s reading lists, which as a teen Benji tended to find joyless and demanding, had largely turned him off serious novels, but he rallied unexpectedly to these opening pages. How bad could a book be when a young boy sits ready to stab his father through the heart with a pair of scissors? But after five minutes the day nurse wandered in with her blood pressure cuff and broke up the fun. Cat, ready, it seemed, for a hasty retreat, kissed him again—a softer, more lingering kiss—or did he imagine it? He set the book down and scrambled for his pad. Come back! he wrote.
She laughed as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “If I can.”
Wait. I won’t be here. They’re discharging me.
“That’s good news.”
I’ll be with my parents for a while. U can read to me .
“Read to you,” Claudia said, incredulous. She leaned in close to his ear, whispered, “We’re not done with the Treadwell conversation,” and, before he could protest, offered to walk out with Cat.
Benji shot her a Medusa’s stare but grabbed Cat’s hand and persevered. “Pwomise?”
“Okay,” she said with a rising blush, “I promise.”
When Cat and Claudia had left, Evelyn finished beheading the last few dying flowers before taking her spot on Benji’s bed. She placed a hand lightly on his arm and said, “Your sister loves to stir things up.”
Still savoring the delicious smoke of Cat’s promise, Benji didn’t breathe. He held his breath, as if compounding his high. He hardly noticed Henry get up from his chair, but then he felt the weight on him, extraordinary and rare. His father stood over the bed like a priest, eyes closed, head bent, one hand pressed to his son’s forehead as if to bless him. “No fever, Ev. You check.”
Evelyn shooed Henry’s hand out of the way and went through the motions of taking Benji’s temperature with supreme indulgence. “No fever,” she said, then, having ushered Henry back to his seat, turned to Benji. “What were you saying? Before your friend—” Evelyn paused at the word, turning it over like a teacup in a china shop, curious to know the price. “Before your friend came in?” She picked up his pad and turned back the page to where he’d written DIDN’T .
“You didn’t what?” She wagged a finger at him as if to say he couldn’t get away with anything, not on her watch. “See?” she said confidentially, taking his hand. “Some of us still remember around here.”
Held by his mother, watched by his father in an attitude of strange and attendant warmth, Benji took a head-clearing breath and shook his head. His fingers fluttered at his temples to show that the thought, whatever it was, had flown away, before picking up his pen. I forget.
Evelyn is afraid. It’s her first time, though no one can know it’s her first time. This is important to her. The neighbors are one thing, there’s no getting around what they’ve seen, but the doctors, the nurses: it’s none of their business, she says. She
“And you know why we’re in a hospital?”
“Benjamin’s sick.”
“He is. But not with a cold.”
Cat extended her hand to the rest of the family, explaining who she was as if they already might know. Benji breathed in the scent she brought with her, that shampoo smell he’d been so sure he’d never smell again, with an exhilarating sense of confusion. Why in the world was she here? He expected visits from Jerry and stoner Bill and maybe even Kay, whose overly ornate get-well bouquet practically reeked of schadenfreude, but never Cat. Her appearance was a puzzle, one that couldn’t be solved—not by him, not now—but one he would enjoy piecing together in his happy haze of Percocet.
She gave him a beautiful used copy of To the Lighthouse wrapped in newsprint and dove with Henry, whose clarity returned to him as quickly as it departed, into an animated discussion of its merits. Benji fumbled through the opening pages while Cat spoke with his father. Henry’s reading lists, which as a teen Benji tended to find joyless and demanding, had largely turned him off serious novels, but he rallied unexpectedly to these opening pages. How bad could a book be when a young boy sits ready to stab his father through the heart with a pair of scissors? But after five minutes the day nurse wandered in with her blood pressure cuff and broke up the fun. Cat, ready, it seemed, for a hasty retreat, kissed him again—a softer, more lingering kiss—or did he imagine it? He set the book down and scrambled for his pad. Come back! he wrote.
She laughed as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “If I can.”
Wait. I won’t be here. They’re discharging me.
“That’s good news.”
I’ll be with my parents for a while. U can read to me .
“Read to you,” Claudia said, incredulous. She leaned in close to his ear, whispered, “We’re not done with the Treadwell conversation,” and, before he could protest, offered to walk out with Cat.
Benji shot her a Medusa’s stare but grabbed Cat’s hand and persevered. “Pwomise?”
“Okay,” she said with a rising blush, “I promise.”
When Cat and Claudia had left, Evelyn finished beheading the last few dying flowers before taking her spot on Benji’s bed. She placed a hand lightly on his arm and said, “Your sister loves to stir things up.”
Still savoring the delicious smoke of Cat’s promise, Benji didn’t breathe. He held his breath, as if compounding his high. He hardly noticed Henry get up from his chair, but then he felt the weight on him, extraordinary and rare. His father stood over the bed like a priest, eyes closed, head bent, one hand pressed to his son’s forehead as if to bless him. “No fever, Ev. You check.”
Evelyn shooed Henry’s hand out of the way and went through the motions of taking Benji’s temperature with supreme indulgence. “No fever,” she said, then, having ushered Henry back to his seat, turned to Benji. “What were you saying? Before your friend—” Evelyn paused at the word, turning it over like a teacup in a china shop, curious to know the price. “Before your friend came in?” She picked up his pad and turned back the page to where he’d written DIDN’T .
“You didn’t what?” She wagged a finger at him as if to say he couldn’t get away with anything, not on her watch. “See?” she said confidentially, taking his hand. “Some of us still remember around here.”
Held by his mother, watched by his father in an attitude of strange and attendant warmth, Benji took a head-clearing breath and shook his head. His fingers fluttered at his temples to show that the thought, whatever it was, had flown away, before picking up his pen. I forget.
Evelyn is afraid. It’s her first time, though no one can know it’s her first time. This is important to her. The neighbors are one thing, there’s no getting around what they’ve seen, but the doctors, the nurses: it’s none of their business, she says. She
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