Part 8
When she looked up, Molly was examining the stuffed rabbit.
“Captain has seen things,” Molly said.
“He used to have two eyes.”
“That will do it.”
The hospital called that afternoon.
Thomas wanted to leave.
A nurse explained that he was medically stable enough for discharge if he had transportation and someone to monitor him overnight. He had refused to list a contact from his housing program. The hospital had Leah’s number because she had provided it at admission.
“You are not obligated to take responsibility,” the nurse said.
The sentence sounded practiced but sincere.
Leah asked for the number of Thomas’s program coordinator.
The nurse could not provide it without his consent.
“Then ask him to consent.”
“He says he does not want anyone there notified.”
“Why?”
“He did not tell me.”
Leah knew why before she asked.
Thomas feared that appearing unsteady, injured, or difficult would threaten his place in the program. Whether that fear was reasonable did not matter. Shame rarely checked policy before making decisions.
Leah called Cal.
It was the first time they had spoken since the parking lot.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine.”
“Is the baby—”
“The hospital says Thomas wants to leave.”
Cal was quiet.
“I know.”
“He called you.”
“Yes.”
“Why does he not want the housing program contacted?”
“He left without signing out.”
“To come here.”
“Yes.”
“Does that put his room at risk?”
“Possibly.”
“You know their rules?”
“I read them.”
“Of course you did.”
Cal did not defend himself.
Leah paced the lodge library. The room smelled faintly of wood smoke from fires burned years before. Through the windows, family members loaded unused wedding decorations into cars.
“Will they remove him?” she asked.
“I don’t know. The program isn’t a jail. But there are accountability requirements, and he has broken several.”
“Can you pick him up?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
“Only if you want me to.”
The answer annoyed her.
“Do not make me responsible for every decision now because you made too many before.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“It sounds like you are.”
Cal exhaled.
“I planned to pick him up and take him back to Pueblo. I haven’t left because I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.”
The words felt unnatural between them.
“I’ll call his coordinator,” Cal said. “Thomas gave me the number months ago.”
“He gave it to you.”
“Yes.”
“Call. Tell them the truth.”
“He asked me not to.”
“Then stop protecting people from consequences they earned.”
Cal was silent long enough that she wondered whether the call had dropped.
“Okay,” he said.
This time, the word did not sound performative.
Thomas’s coordinator agreed to send someone from Pueblo. Thomas would not lose his housing automatically, but he would face a review and additional conditions. When Cal relayed the information, Leah felt both relief and guilt.
The guilt irritated her.
She had not caused Thomas to leave without permission. She had not invited him to the lodge. She had not made him fall. Yet part of her still imagined him alone in the hospital, believing she had summoned officials to punish him.
The old pattern returned quickly. Thomas created a crisis; Leah inherited the shame.
She called his room.
He answered after six rings.
“You told them,” he said.
“I asked Cal to.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
“They might throw me out.”
“They said they will review it.”
“You don’t know those people.”
“Neither do you, apparently, or you would have called before leaving.”
Thomas breathed through his nose.
“I wanted to give you the box.”
“You could have mailed it.”
“Things get lost.”
“You were willing to risk your housing over a stuffed rabbit?”
“It wasn’t only the rabbit.”
“I found the letters.”
Silence.
Leah sat in the library chair and rested her feet on a stack of unused table linens.
“You did not send them,” she said.
“No.”
“Why keep them?”
“Didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have thrown them away.”
“I threw enough away.”
The answer was almost good. That made her suspicious.
“Did you rehearse that?”
Thomas gave a rough laugh, then groaned from the pain.
“No.”
“The letters do not change what happened.”
“I know.”
“They make some of it worse.”
“I know.”
“Cal says that too much.”
“Maybe because you’re right a lot.”
“You used to hate when Mom was right.”
“I was usually drunk when she was.”
The mention of her mother entered the conversation quietly. Leah looked toward the red scarf draped across a reading chair.
“Why did you take her things?”
Thomas did not answer immediately.
“I thought I was leaving for a week.”
“You emptied the closet.”
“I was drunk.”
“Again, not a complete explanation.”
“No.”
She waited.
Thomas’s breath crackled faintly through the phone.
“I couldn’t stay in that house,” he said. “Everything sounded like her. The refrigerator turning on. The pipes. That stupid clock she bought at the flea market.”
“The rooster clock.”
“Hated that thing.”
“She loved it.”
“She loved that it annoyed me.”
Leah remembered the clock. A painted rooster crowed electronically every hour until someone removed the batteries. Her mother kept replacing them.
Thomas continued.
“I packed things I could see. Then I drove. By the time I stopped, I had decided you were better with Joan.”
“You did not ask Joan.”
“She took you.”
“Because you disappeared.”
“I know.”
Leah closed her eyes.
“Do not say it.”
“All right.”
“You left me at school.”
The sentence came from a place deeper than the planned questions.
Thomas was silent.
“You were supposed to pick me up,” she said. “I waited outside the gym until the custodian found me. Aunt Joan drove three hours because nobody knew where you were.”
“I remember.”
“You were in Utah.”
“Yes.”
“You called six months later and asked why I sounded angry.”
“I was sick.”
“You were selfish.”
“Yes.”
“You were grieving.”
“Yes.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
May you like
This time, she allowed the words.
The coordinator arrived at the hospital before evening. Thomas went back to Pueblo under supervision, with his medication and discharge instructions in a paper bag. Cal did not see him.
