Peter finally arrived, and we slipped out into the hall to discuss how best to convince Dad to be a good patient, and then a good retiree. We both agreed that it should come from Peter.
"Go home, sis," he said. Then, glancing at Mack and back at me and taking note of our clothing, he added, "Or wherever. I'll call you if there's any change."
I didn't argue. I was tired, and Dad wasn't likely to wake up again for several hours. Although she protested that she wouldn't sleep at all, Mom lay in a cot across from him and did exactly that, looking smaller and frailer than I'd ever seen her. She would be terribly upset with herself when she woke up. Mother hates wrinkled clothes and mussed hair. I told Peter to tell her I would bring her a clean dress and some toiletries in the morning.
Mack
