Nathan’s face changed immediately.
The man held up a folder.
“Your signature.”
Nathan took the papers without introducing us.
The man glanced at my coffee, then at the crossword book between us.
For one second, something hard crossed his face.
“This is Eric,” Nathan said. “He handles my paperwork.”
Eric gave me a restrained nod.
Then Nathan dismissed him without another word.
I remember thinking Nathan treated him like an employee who had stayed too long.
One rainy evening, Nathan reached for my hand.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Pretend you are my daughter until I am gone.”
I stared at him.
Nathan looked toward the window.
My mother had raised me alone.
She never told me my father’s name. After she died, I found no photographs or documents identifying him.
She had only said he chose fear over us.
Nathan’s request should have disturbed me.
Instead, it touched the oldest wound I had.
I forced a smile.
“Well then, hello, Dad.”
Nathan laughed until he coughed.
I reached for the call button.
“You are already demanding.”
“I have lost time to make up for.”
For six weeks, we built a small, borrowed family.
I brought him coffee. He saved crossword clues for me. I pushed his wheelchair through the garden while he criticized flowers he had never planted.
The hospice approved two outings after Nathan signed medical releases.
The first was to Millie’s Diner.
The manager greeted him by name.
“Good to see you, Nate.”
Nathan shrugged when I looked at him.
“I used to work here.”
We sat in a corner booth.
A waitress brought Nathan coffee without asking what he wanted.
He ordered two slices of apple pie.
“Expecting company?” I asked.
The second outing was to the ocean.
I helped him across the sand. He removed his shoes, pressed his feet down, and closed his eyes.
“Worth it?” I asked.
