Free The Free (P.S.) by Willy Vlautin Page A

humble.”
    He smiled. “I’m going to miss you, too, Pauline.”
    “Good,” she said. “I like to be missed. They told me your wife and daughters just left.”
    “They went home to get the house ready.”
    “I bet it’ll be good to get home, huh?”
    “I don’t want to die here,” he said.
    “Don’t talk like that, Mr. Flory. You’ll make me cry.”
    “I’m just telling the truth,” he said.
    “Maybe.”
    “We both know.”
    “I bet your family will be glad to see you home.”
    The old man shook his head.
    “Why wouldn’t they be, Mr. Flory?”
    “I’ve been a burden to them all for a long while now.”
    “I’m sure they don’t think that. Probably just the opposite. But I know you’ll all be happy to be out of here. Hospitals are depressing any way you look at it, Mr. Flory. That is, unless you’re having a baby and neither of us are.” She laughed. “Anyway, make sure to tell your wife I’m going to miss her. She makes the best cookies I’ve ever eaten and she always looks so nice. She told me she dresses up hoping it’ll make you feel better somehow.”
    “She’s a good woman,” he said faintly.
    “I think she might like you, Mr. Flory.”
    He coughed again and tried to clear his throat. “She goes to church every week. It takes her an hour and a half each way to get there. Every week since I’ve known her, no matter what, she goes. Even if it’s snowing and I tell her it’s not safe, she’ll go. There’s no arguing with her about it, no arguing at all. When we were first married I’d go with her, but I didn’t like the church. I didn’t like the priest. In my heart . . . in my heart I just don’t believe in it. I hate admitting that out loud but it’s true. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about it. You can’t help it when you’re in my situation. But even now when I know I’m dying, I still don’t believe in it. I believe in something, but not that. I don’t think about it like a club or a business run by a celibate man. It’s hard to explain the way I feel. But now I start questioning things. I know you can’t force yourself to believe in something, but now I’m trying to. ’Cause if there is a heaven, if there really is, my wife and daughters will be there someday, but I won’t be there with them. ’Cause no matter how hard I try I still don’t believe.” The old man closed his eyes in exhaustion. “If it is true . . . then I’m gonna be without them forever and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”
    “You’ll be with them, Mr. Flory. They make exceptions for good-looking old cowboys.”
    He opened his eyes to see her. He reached out his hand and she took it. “I sure like you, Pauline.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Flory. I feel the same way about you.” She sat down across from him in the bedside chair and sighed. “But if you keep talking like this, buster, I’ll need a drink and a good cry.  So we have to get back to business. How’s your pain tonight? They upped your dosage again, huh?”
    “The pain’s always the same no matter what they do,” he whispered.
    “I’m sure sorry about that. You got a rough deal. Hit the button anytime you want, Mr. Flory. I’ll let you sleep now. If you need anything, you know how to get ahold of me.” She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it twice and left.
    In room 5 Mr. Delgado was alone and asleep, recovering from emergency surgery. Pauline checked his IV and vitals, made notes on his chart, and left. In room 2 the woman recovering from surgery for a ruptured appendix was awake. Her husband sat in the chair next to her holding her hand.
    “He’s nervous because he’s never been in a hospital before,” his wife said.
    “Not ever?” Pauline asked.
    “No,” he said.
    “You weren’t born in one?”
    “No.”
    “Then you’re lucky.”
    “That’s what I keep telling him,” his wife said. “But there’s no talking with him when he gets upset. Anyway I’m the one in pain. I’m the