I can sense his arriving. No, it’s more like he’s being pushed; something is driving my father with great force back into his body. Now he’s hammering his heels on the bed, and finally the machines also register the change. Spikes show up on the EEG connected to his head, alerting the doctors on their control podium. Within two minutes Dr. Saul is on the scene, the strains of a restless night evident from his face. He peers at the young duty doctor with the red sideburns and the scar on his throat.

“Stress-induced activity,” the young doctor says. “He’s coming back, but his circulation is on the brink of collapse, and the oxygen content in the blood is falling sharply.”

“Can you hear me, Mr. Skinner?” says Dr. Saul.

“Please,” whispers Eddie, pale but composed. She puts her hand on Dr. Saul’s shoulder. He turns to face her, and she gently shakes her head. The doctor steps back from the bed.

“Samuel,” Eddie orders. “Come here.”

My father’s sweating, and the ventilator’s wheezing. It’s as if he’s trying to breathe and swallow on his own. Swiftly they remove the aspirator from his mouth. Eddie clings to Henri’s hand, and I stand in the same position as I always do so that he can see me if he opens his eyes.

And then my father does open his eyes and he is here. He is truly here! He gazes lovingly at me, and the pain on his face almost overwhelms me. There’s no means of alleviating the torment caused by his fever, inflammation, and fractured skull. No drugs, no sleep, nothing. He’s being burned alive—but nevertheless, he is alive!

Then his eyes swivel with enormous effort to Eddie, and he stares unwaveringly at her.

I turn my attention to Maddie. She too has opened her eyes. She looks at me! Now I understand everything, but I refuse to accept it.

Eddie

“Painkillers, we have to . . .” “Blood pressure . . .” “Hypertension . . .”

I want them to stop for moment, all of them, and listen to Henri.

“Be quiet,” I say, then I roar, “Will you please be quiet for a second! Shut up!”

At last they stop.

Henri’s eyes are cradling me, and his hand is alive and squeezing mine.

“I love you,” I say.

His gaze softens, and I can see the effort it requires from him just to keep his eyes open. He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a feeble sigh.

“Maddie?” he asks, attempting to turn his gaze to Sam. I don’t know how he knows her name, but Sam’s answer is swift and reassuring. “She’s going to recover, Dad.”

Henri’s features relax. Our eyes meet again. You too, I pray, you too.

“Don’t go,” I whisper.