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Back Always the Last to Know Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for
  3. BOOKS BY KRISTAN HIGGINS
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. CHAPTER ONE
  7. CHAPTER TWO
  8. CHAPTER THREE
  9. CHAPTER FOUR
  10. CHAPTER FIVE
  11. CHAPTER SIX
  12. CHAPTER SEVEN
  13. CHAPTER EIGHT
  14. CHAPTER NINE
  15. CHAPTER TEN
  16. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  17. CHAPTER TWELVE
  18. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  23. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  24. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  45. CHAPTER FORTY
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  47. EPILOGUE
  48. Readers Guide
  49. Questions for Discussion
  50. About the Author
  51. What’s next onyour reading list?

And Noah smiles, then opens the toolbox and starts doing things. John is not sure what or why.

The baby makes noises, but John knows they are not words, and it’s such a relief, letting the sounds just be sounds, and nice sounds at that. Happy sounds. Then the baby puts his head against John’s shoulder, and John’s eyes get wet, because he remembers this feeling. He had a baby once, too. Maybe more than one. He knows how to hold this baby, yes he does. One arm under the baby’s bottom, one hand resting on his back, feeling the breath going up and down, up and down.

Then those thoughts are gone, and there’s just the baby, and the smell of his head, and the feeling of his dark silky hair, and the soft, sweet warmth of his weight as the baby breathes. Up and down. Up and down.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sadie

Moving back to Stoningham was not something I’d ever wanted to do.

But move back I did. Who else would take care of my father? Jules was too important and busy and had Brianna and Sloane and Oliver. Mom was first selectman, and the truth was, I think she stopped loving my father decades before. Maybe before I was born, aside from one obvious coupling.

I couldn’t leave him alone. He stayed in the critical care unit at UConn for ten days, then was transferred to Gaylord, a specialized rehab center, where his healing would really begin.

It became apparent that Dad wasn’t going to die, despite being seventy-five years old and all that had gone wrong. In addition to the stroke, he’d had a bad concussion. It was complicated, the handsome neurosurgeon told us. Only time would tell, which, you know, I’m glad Stanford and Johns Hopkins had taught him. Only time would tell, huh? Great. Try not to overwhelm us with complicated medical terms, Doc.

I mean, I understood. Of course I did. Words like apraxia, aphasia, neuroplasticity, executive functioning and hemiparesis became part of my daily vocabulary. Dad had all kinds of therapy at Gaylord—physical, speech, aqua, occupational, community reentry, where they’d take patients to the grocery store or a restaurant. There was a robotic suit of some kind that helped him relearn to walk. He was given an iPad, which he didn’t understand, even when the therapists guided his fingers.

What I wouldn’t give for an e-mail or message from him saying, “Don’t worry, sugarplum. I’m in here. Just give me a little time. Love, Dad.” Instead, he stared blankly, then turned his head to the window.