Free IGMS Issue 8 by IGMS

with a tight smile and exited the waiting room.
    The children took an interest in large colored blocks from a toy box. The five-year-old -- Isaac, was it? -- attempted to build towers, while Amy just banged them against the carpet and each other.
    Shock settled into John's bones. His mind blanked.
    Paul returned, a bottle of cola in one hand. When she saw him, Amy promptly raised her arms to be held, but Paul shook his head and took his seat, turned pointedly away from John.
    Normally, he wouldn't try to engage Paul, but he needed to talk. He voiced the first inanity that came to mind. "How's school?"
    "We're doing
Frankenstein
in English class."
    "What do you think of it?"
    "Sucks."
    John shifted in his seat. "How's your girlfriend?"
    Paul rolled his eyes. "I broke up with her two months ago."
    "Paul, I'm not quite at my best right now. Your mother -- she never told me about this."
    "Why should she? You couldn't have done anything about it. And you were busy being a best-selling writer, anyway."
    Jackie came back into the waiting room. "She's awake. She wants to see you. Alone."
    Paul glanced in John's direction.
    John stood. "All right."
    "I'll show you the way."
    She led him down a hall, past a nurses' station, and around a corner. She stopped at the door to room 1430 and opened it for him. They exchanged strained smiles as he entered. She closed the door behind him.
    It was a semi-private room, one bed mercifully empty. The curtains were closed, casting a pall.
    Marie turned to him. Hooked to an IV, she lay under a single hospital sheet that accentuated the bony outlines of a body gone shrunken and frail. Her once blonde hair had thinned and grayed. Her face had become so gaunt and wizened as to make her appear ninety years old. It had been only two months since he'd last seen her.
    He flashed on the last time he had seen her in a hospital bed -- just after Paul's birth, almost fourteen years ago. The difference between that exhausted but radiant woman and the cruelly wasted one before him --
    He looked away, unable to bear the sight.
    "John." Her voice was hoarse. "Thank you for coming."
    He approached the bed, still averting his eyes.
    She extended a skeletal hand from under her bed sheet. He took it gently, forced himself to look at her. "Marie, why --"
    "Why didn't I tell you?" She paused to take a rattling breath. "Not sure. I guess I thought I'd wait until you noticed something was wrong. Until you asked. But you never did, John. You never did. That made me angry."
    "I'm so sorry. I --" But he could think of no way to complete the thought. In a choked voice, he said, "Are you in much pain?"
    "Some. I can medicate whenever I want." She nodded toward the IV. "But for now, I'd rather have the pain. I need my mind clear."
    "Are you sure --" He cleared his throat. "Are the doctors sure nothing can be done? We can get a second opinion. I can bring in specialists to --"
    "No. That time is long past. I'll hold out as long as I can. For Paul, you understand. But I can't hold out forever. That's why you need to listen right now."
    "What can I do? I'll do anything."
    "I'm glad to hear you say that." She took another raspy breath. "When I was first diagnosed, Jackie and I had long talks about Paul. She agreed to take care of him should anything happen."
    "Jackie? What about me?"
    She leveled a stare at him, blinking once, slowly. "I didn't think that would be a good idea."
    He released her hand. "I'm his father. Haven't I always made sure he was taken care of? Have I ever missed a child support payment? And his college tuition is already in the bank, if he wants it."
    "You were never tight with money. That much I'll give you. Time, on the other hand --"
    "My career --"
    "Enough. I don't have the strength to argue right now."
    He fell silent, ashamed.
    She coughed, and slowly wiped spittle from her chin. "What I need to say to you is this: when I'm not doped up on morphine, when I have time to think -- as best I can through the