Marcus did not call on Christmas.
Diane’s card arrived December 28.
Kevin called Christmas morning and said almost nothing.
January came down hard. Raymond wore 2 flannel shirts and a down vest inside the trailer and still woke shivering. Then the cough began. It deepened. By the 4th day it had settled in his chest. He called Nora on Sunday, and she heard the difference in his voice immediately. The next morning she was there. She drove him to the clinic. Pneumonia, the doctor said. He should be admitted. Raymond refused, and Nora fought him in the parking lot until they reached a compromise. She would stay. She called Ben, arranged a substitute for her class, and slept on the trailer couch for 4 nights, waking every 6 hours to make sure he took his medication. Ben drove down with rigid foam insulation and sealed cold-air gaps under the trailer. Raymond’s fever broke on the 3rd night.
When he thanked Nora, she only said, “You’re my dad.”
That was Part 1 of the answer Raymond had gone looking for.
The rest was still coming.
Part 2
On the 4th morning of Raymond’s pneumonia, while Nora was in the shower and the trailer smelled of broth, medicine, damp towels, and the bitter metal scent of winter air sneaking in where it still could, his phone rang.
It was Marcus.
The call began with land.
Summit Development, Marcus said, was buying agricultural parcels in the county above market. If Raymond still held any deeded acreage, even the sections the bank had not foreclosed on, they ought to move quickly. Raymond coughed through part of the answer and finally said, “I’m sick, Marcus.”
A pause.
Then: “Sick how?”
“Pneumonia.”
Another pause. “Are you being treated?”
“Nora’s here. She’s taking care of it.”
“Good. That’s good,” Marcus said. Then he cleared his throat and returned to the real purpose of the call. “Well, think about the Summit thing. Those offers don’t last.”
