Onlypeacewas subjective. Peace was what you made it. What you believed it to be.
That became all the more clear as I woke up to her phone vibrating from somewhere on the floor.
I answered the call, and by the time I pressed it to my ear, I’d missed half of what the person had said. I pulled the phone away—the number wasn’t saved, but also wasn’t unknown. Just ten random digits, but the first set was the same area code as the rest of Alliston Springs.
“Wait, wait. I didn’t hear a word you said. Can you repeat that?”
The feminine voice halted. “May I ask to whom I am speaking?”
“Lyra’s husband.”
A slight pause, papers flipping in the background. “Oh, that’s right. She did mention that, sorry.”
A sly grin broke free, until the woman on the other end asked, “Is your wife around? We’d like to discuss some things with her.”
“You have yet to tell me who this is.”
“So sorry. This is Marsha with Alliston Springs Hospice Center.”
Hospice?
“Anything you wanna say to her can be said to me.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure—”
“I’m her husband,” I repeated. “You said yourself she let you know that in whatever papers you’re holding, which means I have a right to know what you’re calling about.”
More flipping of papers, then a sigh. “Alright. He’s starting to come to. The treatment seems to be working.”
My fingers tightened on the phone as I left and stepped out onto the porch. “I’m going to need you to repeat that one more time. Try adding names.”
“Chet Walker, your wife’s father, is—”
“He’snother father.”
“Noted.” Another crinkling sound. “Chet woke up last night, coming out of the coma. He’s still sleeping most of the day, but we started the treatment like we’d discussed, and—”
“What treatment?” I snapped.
“The treatment we discussed with your wife.”
The phone made a crackling sound as my grip on it tightened. “Which you will discuss with her husband. Now.”
“I-I’m sorry, sir. You’re listed for visitations, being that you are Lyra’s husband, but not extensive medical updates.”
“Where is this again?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Alliston Springs Hospice Center, sir. I—”
“Got it. Thanks. I’ll let her know.”
I hung up, then searched how far away that was on my phone.
Then I called the one person who could help me.
“Meet me at the bar in fifteen,” I rushed out.
“Jesus, Carver, I’m not even—”
