“Yes.”
The fluorescent light above us flickered once.
I stood.
Wade opened his eyes.
I walked toward him slowly because if I moved quickly I might strike him, and I had spent too much of the last year having strangers monitor my blood pressure.
“You listened to my daughter ask whether her father was dying,” I said, “and you answered her with a sentence designed to mean nothing.”
His eyes were wet now. “Yes.”
“Was that Randall’s wording?”
“No.”
“Good. At least one cruelty in this mess belongs entirely to you.”
He took it without defending himself.
That made me angrier.
“Say something.”
“What would make it better?”
“Nothing. But you don’t get to stand there like a punished dog and make me feel sorry for you.”
His jaw worked. “I hated every second of it.”
“Oh, how terrible for you.”
“Meryl.”
“No. You were there. You knew where he slept. You knew what the doctors said. You got to see him.”
