BooksBarbecue
Back Gateways
Chapters (98)
  1. Author’s Note
  2. Tuesday
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. Wednesday
  21. 1
  22. 2
  23. 3
  24. 4
  25. 5
  26. 6
  27. 7
  28. 8
  29. 9
  30. 10
  31. 11
  32. 12
  33. 13
  34. 14
  35. 15
  36. Thursday
  37. 1
  38. 2
  39. 3
  40. 4
  41. 5
  42. 6
  43. 7
  44. 8
  45. 9
  46. 10
  47. 11
  48. 12
  49. 13
  50. 14
  51. 15
  52. 16
  53. Friday
  54. 1
  55. 2
  56. 3
  57. 4
  58. 5
  59. 6
  60. 7
  61. 8
  62. 9
  63. 10
  64. 11
  65. 12
  66. Saturday
  67. 1
  68. 2
  69. 3
  70. 4
  71. 5
  72. 6
  73. 7
  74. 8
  75. 9
  76. 10
  77. 11
  78. 12
  79. 13
  80. 14
  81. 15
  82. Sunday
  83. 1
  84. 2
  85. 3
  86. 4
  87. 5
  88. 6
  89. 7
  90. 8
  91. 9
  92. 10
  93. 11
  94. 12
  95. 13
  96. Tuesday
  97. 1
  98. Afterword

He caught a glimpse of his father’s skinny white buttocks through the back of the hospital gown as he walked to the tiny closet.

“Well, will you look at this!” he said as he opened the door. He held up a white golf shirt and tan Bermuda shorts. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Jack said. He looked at Anya. “Where’d they come from? You were here this morning. Did you—?”

“You think I go snooping in closets?”

His father headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Dad, those aren’t your clothes.”

“I’m claiming them for the moment. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

I give up, Jack thought. I’m licked. He’s going home.

While he was changing, Anya puttered around the room, opening and closing drawers, filling a little plastic bag with the soaps, mouthwash, toothpaste, and other necessities the hospital had supplied.

“No sense in letting any of this go to waste,” she said. “He’s paid for it, after all—probably through the nose, if I know hospitals.”

Jack watched as her hand darted behind the headboard. She pulled something out and quickly shoved it into the plastic bag. He didn’t see it, but he could guess what it was. She was taking back her painted tin can totem.

Dad, still wearing his hospital booties, stepped out of the bathroom and spread his arms to show off his new duds.

“Would you believe it? A perfect fit.”

“Imagine that.”

Jack looked at Anya but she wouldn’t make eye contact. What was her part in all this? Was that nurse’s aide right? Could Anya have had something to do with his father’s miraculous recovery? That would be strange, but he was becoming used to strange.

“Are we ready?” his father said. “Then let’s go!”

7

On the ride back to Gateways—Jack driving, his father in the passenger seat, Anya and Oyv in the back—he told his father what he knew about the accident, including the anonymous call to the police that appeared to have been made before the crash.

“I wish I could remember,” he said. “The last thing I recall is leaving the house and driving out the front gate. And that’s it. What happened during the drive? Why can’t I remember?”

“It’s called retrograde amnesia,” Jack told him. “You can’t retrieve memories of events right before you got hit. There’s a good chance over time your brain will sort them out, but then again, it may never.”

His father stared at him. “How do you know so much about it?”

Oops. “A sort of lecture I listened to once. Very interesting.”