I understood then that the empty chair beside her bed had never been only about this accident.
“You think I’ll get busy?”
“I think you’ll return to everything waiting for you.”
“Sophie is waiting for me.”
“I know.”
“She has spent a week sleeping in Clare’s guest room because her father managed to lose an argument with a delivery van.”
Laurel almost smiled.
“That sounds like something she’d say.”
“She has already said worse.”
“That’s my point, Graham. You have a child who needs you.”
“And that means what?”
“It means I’m not going to be another person asking for part of you.”
Her words were careful.
Too careful.
I understood what she was really saying.
She thought my being a father meant every new relationship had to stand outside a locked door marked FAMILY and wait to see whether there was anything left over.
“That isn’t how Sophie works,” I said.
“How does Sophie work?”
“She brought you cookies after seeing you for four days.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“She asked this morning whether you’d be lonely when I left.”
Laurel stopped.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
Her eyes lowered.
I continued before she could mistake honesty for retreat.
“But I’m still coming back.”
“You don’t owe me that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I looked at the two coffee cups on her table.
“Because every morning since I met you, I’ve had somewhere I wanted to be.”
Laurel said nothing.
Then she pulled the folded receipt from inside her book and handed it to me.
Clare’s phone number was still on the back.
Beneath it, Laurel had added her own.
Sophie’s tiny coffee cup remained in the corner.
“In case you forget which room I’m in,” Laurel said.
“I think I can manage 418.”
“They might move me.”
“Then I’ll ask Denise.”
“You ask Denise too many questions.”
“She seems to enjoy it.”
From the nurse’s station, Denise called, “I can hear both of you.”
Laurel laughed.
The sound followed me back to my room.
The next morning, Clare packed my things while I signed the final papers.
Sophie had already gone to school.
Before leaving, I crossed the hall with two cups from Bennett’s.
Laurel waited beside the window.
I handed her one.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Ten.”
“You have therapy.”
“At 8:30. I’ll be done.”
“And Sophie?”
“School.”
She nodded.
“And if you’re tired?”
“I’ll bring worse coffee and blame the machine.”
She studied me.
Then raised her cup.
“Ten.”
I touched mine to hers.