One Last Miracle [complete]

XV

XV

two months, one day...

"Dad."

"Alyson."

"What's the worst part about your job?"

From where dad is sitting at the dining table reading the paper, he looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Between systematically taking my medication, I say, "The worst part—about your job?" I wave my hand. "Arresting people? Dealing with psychos? Paperwork?"

He sets the paper aside, taking a sip of his coffee. "Why?"

"Rick wants to follow in your footsteps. And I'm curious."

While he silently finds an answer, I stack my boxes of pills on top of each other. With a flick, they topple over, hitting the table with a near-silent impact. If only that was how cancer worked—with one flick it'd disappear and I'd be cured.

Wishes don't come true though and Tinkerbell doesn't exist—

"Trauma cases."

Blinking, I look up at dad. "Huh?"

"Trauma cases," he repeats. "They're the worst part of my job. Watching families find a silver lining in a terrible situation is like being stuck in a permanent nightmare."

The unexpected answer, I'm silent for a second. Then I say, "So why do you still do it? You've been an officer for, what, thirty years?"

"Fifteen years, Alyson. I'm not that old." He raises an eyebrow and I shrug innocently. Shaking his head, he finishes the last of his coffee, setting it atop the paper. "The reward. Every time I hear the news that someone's behind bars, or paying for their crimes it makes it all worth it. Yes, I see people who've lost everything and are in the worst situation they can be—and there's nothing worse—but giving people closure, that what matters more."

"You're never scared?" I ask.

He stands, taking his coffee with him. Walking around the island bench, he goes to the sink, rinsing out his cup. "It depends."

Following him, I stack my tablet boxes again, lifting them up. The cabinet under the island bench isn't low, but I still have to bend a little to put them back in. "On what?"

"The situation." As he goes back to the table, I hop on the island bench, making sure to avoid the sink. He goes on once he's in the seat again, "If it's a case of a gun being held by a lunatic, I'm scared—for others, though, not me. A home invasion—same case. You learn to be selfless, letting other's safety come before yours. One on one, though, it's a matter of circumstance."

Some leftover waffle sits beside me, so I finish it off—by now it's cold but I barely notice. "Did mum ever try to make you quit—because of the danger?"

"She wasn't all that happy, but everything we do in life is dangerous, Alyson. It's unavoidable."

I hum quietly, nodding absently.

In the empty house, his silence seems ever louder. Finally, he rubs a hand on his sweat pants, saying, "This is about the cancer. Isn't it?"