"Are you sure they don't mean a nursing facility?" I asked, realized that was what he was afraid of, and rushed on. "I mean, a rehab place?" God, that was what I needed. "You scared everybody with that pneumonia and you're supposed to be relearning some things, making sure you're not exposed to germs, the like."
There was a derisive snort from the other end of the phone. "There are going to be a lot more germs in a nursing home than in your mother's sterile environment."
I decided not to ask just how he meant that. I didn't want to know.
"And as for breathing, I know how to breathe. I'm doing it now, aren't I? And I'm on my feet again. Damn nurses threw me out of bed the first day."
"Second," I said. "The first day was the day of surgery. They let you sleep."
There was a sudden pause. "You checked?" He sounded like he didn't know whether to be pleased or worried that I'd put myself in danger by making a call.
Neither, actually. By the time he was in surgery, thanks to the pneumonia postponing things, I was at Cole's. Cole had called and found out for me. I didn't ask how he got through the HIPPA stuff, because he's rich. He's powerful. And because I wasn't supposed to ask questions like that.
I'd just been grateful.
I couldn't say any of that to my father.
"I'm just glad you're all right. Dad, let's find out what it is they want you to do before you wage all out war against it. You taught me to pick my battles."
"And now I'm asking you to pick mine. Are you – safe to come visit?"
"As churches," I said.
I didn't know if I was or not. I just knew I was going.
"It's. A. Re-hab. Facility." Sarah said, loudly and carefully enunciating each word as if Dad were partially deaf and a foreigner. Sarah was the sort who spoke loudly to people who didn't speak English.
"Oh. Kay." I said in return, equally preschool.
Sarah glared. Beside her, Emily looked annoyed, as if we were keeping her from something important, like a mani-pedi, on a day when Dad was afraid they were consigning him to an old folks home. Apparently it was too much to ask if the other Knox women could take the time to explain what was going on. To Dad. Or to me.
It was Jane who leaned forward, her bee stung lips a little too full of collagen. Jane's the oldest of us, at 38, with three kids under the age of five because her first two marriages crumbled and she kept going till she got it right. She's actually the nicest of my sisters.
"You two, just stop." She put her hands out like she was physically separating me and Sarah. Jane is the same height as the rest of us, but none of us are the same weight. I'm in shape and not even the shape I wanted to be in, because of my work. Sarah at 35 is pear shaped and doughy, the result of three little girls. Emily at 30 is planning to be exactly the same. Emily and Sarah are mean, opinionated, feminine and have never wanted to understand me. They just want me to not embarrass them.
It was hard when invited to the occasional, somehow mandatory, family thing – like all of Jane's weddings – not to mention things from work. Like cuffing a vomiting perp in the back of a wagon. Or, I don't know, in the future referencing what it's like to be rage fucked by a gang leader.
"Are you listening?" Sarah asked.
"No. You're not saying anything."
Dad opened his mouth, considered which of us would annoy my sisters into explaining in the fastest way possible, and closed his mouth again.
But this time mom had stepped in. Her cheeks were flushed and hectic and she was crying again, though she seemed unaware of it.
"Ed, damn it, you almost died. You had a massive heart attack and heavy blockage. They had to wait to do surgery until you recovered from pneumonia and you still have a rattle when you breathe and don't you fucking dare tell me you don't!"
My mother swearing was enough to make anybody reconsider an argument.
She went on from there to explain that the place was a rehab hospital and to explain, almost patiently, to me that she had told my father, he just kept freaking out and wouldn't listen.
Well, sure. I got that. I reached over and took his hand. He was sitting in a wheelchair even though he was still in a hospital room, which meant Emily and Sarah were sitting on his bed. Jane had taken a chair by the window at some point and my mother was pacing.
And me, I was about to scratch my way out of my skin. Several times during the conversation I'd felt the anxiety ratchet up. That seemed to be the first step for me. If I could find some way to control the anxiety, I might find some way to control the addiction.
Or maybe PD could use the addiction. Maybe I could go even deeper cover. It was a thought. A stupid one but –
"Are you listening?" This time it was my mother asking.
And this time I said, "No. Dad, are you all right with this now?" Please be, I thought, because I'd already gotten to my feet and I just couldn't stay in this hospital room another minute.
"Yeah. Now I'm actually in the loop." He gave my sisters a dark stare but only smiled at my mother. "I know you've got things to do. Just stay safe, you hear me?"
'Yes, sir," I said, and wished I hadn't. Suddenly Cole was on my mind.
"Annie Knox, don't you dare leave this room." My mother started and Dad said, quietly, "Mae. Let it go."
Whatever mom had in mind, if dad was overriding it, I was getting out just in time. I raised an awkward hand at my sisters and made a break for it.
I heard Sarah whisper shouting in the hall the instant the door closed behind her. "Annie Knox, you wait."
Instantly there was a nurse, being far louder and shushing her, and I knew she'd be held up for just long enough.
I hit the next hall at a dead run.
"Young lady!" That was yet another shocked nurse.
I said, "Sorry!" and fled. Ahead of me there were stairs. I sprinted to the exit, grabbed the knob, and went up instead of down.
Sarah followed and I heard her cursing as she came through the metal fire door, then heard her footsteps descending.
I spent a quarter of an hour on the stairs, breathing and thinking. I couldn't talk to Sarah. She made demands and if she got nowhere with me she'd go to mom and mom had to have my number. Sarah had no clue what I did. She probably thought I was some kind of Charlie's Angels private investigator.
Sarah could get me killed.
So could the anxiety that was kicking its way up inside me again.
I didn't go home. First there was coffee, then there was a bar where I bought shots of Patron and downed them like they were antivenom. No one came near me. Obviously when I'm on the job, doing my best at being a high school student, I don't put out vibes of being a cop.
But sometimes in a place like this it's all too obvious. The uniform's still there, even if you haven't worn it in over two years.
The bar wasn't any good for thinking. The bartender wanted to take my keys. I lied and told him I’d come here by bus. No way I was getting stranded a city far away from where I lived.
More coffee after the shots sobered me up. By late afternoon I was ready to head back to Seattle with way too much time to think.
I needed to get back on the job. I was running toward the end of my month anyway and I was clean, or at least I would be by the time day 30 rolled around. Get back to work. Get Samuels to find me a new undercover because that shit was still out there on the streets. Maybe Jesse was gone, that didn't mean someone hadn't instantly moved into his role.