The Day I Wore Purple

1.4 Dust to Dust

The curtain blocked Hannah's view of her mom's bed. Two silhouettes bobbed around behind it... probably stupid doctors.

Dad knelt down. "Hey princess," he said. "You need to talk to Mom. Forget about the paintings, okay? That was your dad's stupid idea..."

She pulled up her blouse to reveal the note tucked in her skirt, then slipped it out and handed it to her father.

"Is this for Mom?"

She tightened her lips and shook her head.

"For me?"

She nodded. She watched him unfold the letter. She watched him read it.

He seemed interested at first... then his face dropped. Hannah felt the anger as his forehead grew redder and redder. She had never been hit... not ever... but she knew it was coming now. And she deserved it.

Or maybe Dad would cry for the first time ever. Maybe he would feel so bad about all the horrible things that he would grab her and hold her and they would go home and everything would go back to normal. Mom would make her lunches with extra preserves and send her to school, waiting at home, arms wide open when she returned. Or summers in the garden picking strawberries—not the white ones—shooing away mosquitos before they could bite; that tender touch while layering aloe on sunburnt back and legs. Or winter, bundled up in blankets by the fire, Dad watching It's a Wonderful Life and Mom reading by lamplight, listening to the wind through the attic of their rickety old house, spilling hot cocoa and soaking it up with too many paper towels.

But then Dad noticed the fingerprint of dust in the corner of the note. He ran his thumb across it and he knew. His eyes flared red, tears welled up, and he mouthed two words with all the anger in the world, "Get out." And Hannah ran.

* * *

The rapid pattering of Hannah's steps reverberated through every surface of the hall. Except for a few nurses typing away at computers and a lonely security guard reading a book in the lobby, her world was empty.

She exploded through the revolving door and stumbled into the night. The sky was hazy orange instead of nighttime black and the parking lot was lit by tall yellow lamps.

She treaded up a small bluff that overlooked the hospital. She sat down and brushed her fingers across the cool blades of grass.

A pair of headlights slid through the parking lot, then turned onto the street and out of view. Hannah studied their path.

* * *

The wine was gone, but that didn't stop Grandpa Dan from drinking. Three times Gavin watched him turn his back to sip from a flask hidden in his jacket. "Flying cars and artificial intelligence are still decades away, but in a few years, everybody's gonna watch movies on the internet!"

"Cool!" Jonny said.

"Things are gonna take off. We're living on the elbow of an exponential increase in technology, spurred by our ability to share information with the click of a button. For the first time ever, scientists can work together from anywhere in the world! I can publish my findings online, and my peers in Japan can read them instantly. If kids stay motivated to learn, they'll be able to research any topic without leaving their room. Even now, little Jonny knows more about the world than the best scientists of the nineteen-hundreds."

Jon grinned. "For real?"

"For real! Did you know you're getting the very best care in the world for your disease?"

"Really?"

"Yep. Right here in the midwest. And you know what else?"

"What?"