my dad says. It’s the first thing either of us have spoken in a little while. The clock reads just after four. Anna’s dozing against my shoulder. In a room down the hall, Saxon’s pumped full of painkillers and he’ll be sleeping until morning, at least—and I can’t sit with him, because Pine Valley’s hospital is tiny and now he’s sharing space with a teenager who fell from a window while trying to sneak out of his house. The kid’s parents are sitting beneath the silenced TV mounted in the corner. The mom is sleeping and the dad looks about to nod off. Whatever happened, the kid must not have been hurt too bad. If he was, they’d have shuttled him to the hospital up in Bend. I don’t like hospitals or hate them. But I would have guessed my dad hated them. Especially now, when being here must make him think of everything that’s coming for him. Or not coming for him. Because I don’t think he’ll wait until he’s in a hospital.
