Leah
Daniel called Monday morning while I was standing at the kitchen sink, staring at the cold coffee I had forgotten to drink.
“Dad had a good night,” he said.
I closed my eyes for one second.
“That’s good.”
“It is.” His voice sounded tired. Not polished Daniel tired. Real tired. “They’re starting discharge planning. Not today, but soon. Rehab first, maybe. Private nursing at the house if he digs his heels in. Mom wants everyone there for the discussion this afternoon.”
Of course Ruth did.
Everyone, in Ruth’s world, meant the people she could arrange into the right seats.
“What time?” I asked.
“Two.”
“I’ll be there.”
Daniel hesitated.
“What?” I asked.
“Dad asked for you this morning,” he said.
A month ago, that would have hit me in a softer place. I would have turned it int
