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“Great, so now that Dad’s here, perhaps we could begin.”
I slowly broke free from Milo to glance over at the man. He seemed to be younger than me, clean cut, nothing outwardly wrong with him, but I wasn’t loving his bedside manner.
“Maybe tell me what we’re beginning with, Doctor?”
“Oh, apologies.” He held out his hand. “Dr. Barnett, I’m the anesthesiologist.”
I looked over toward Finch. “He’s going under? I thought they said they’re numbing the area?”
“They are but um…” Finch winked at Milo when he whimpered. “Doctor Barnett will bring Milo to dreamland. Even before they numb the area. He’ll feel nothing. It’s how this is normally done. Why don’t Doctor Barnett and I step out, and you and Milo talk it over?”
“Finch, I’m on a schedule, I can’t just?—”
“Sure you can, let’s go.” He grabbed the doctor’s arm, and the two of them left the room as did the nurse.
“He’s bossy,” Milo said, and I chuckled.
“I kinda like it.”
“Me too.” Milo smiled and I mirrored him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. Same as I did a month ago, a week ago…forever ago.”
It was such a bizarre thing. A lot was going on inside Milo’s body, bad things, but to observe him was to see a happy and healthy boy.
“I don’t know a lot about this stuff that the doctor is saying, but sleeping through all this sounds good to me.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Finch explained I’ll go in and it’ll be like blinking. Next thing I know, I’ll be back here.”
“You know Finch is going to go in with you…Do you still want that?”
His eyes widened. “Please, I don’t want to go in there alone.”
I squeezed his hand. “He’ll be there. He’s…” I tried to find the words but leave it to my son to find them for me.
“Magic?”
“Huh…yeah, I suppose he is.”
Milo started playing with the sheet, eyes wandering.
“Something you want to tell me, Milo?”
“I…I do but I don’t want to make you sad.”
I reached over and I ran my fingers through the hair on the top of his head. “You can tell me anything, and how it makes me feel will never be more powerful than me wanting to hear what you have to say.”
He bit his lip. I didn’t rush him, though I was sure Finch was not loving having to keep the doctor occupied.
“I had a dream last night. I saw Mommy. She was in a garden, laughing. She was so pretty and she saw me and waved. I couldn’t go to her, I…was sad, and then someone was holding my hand.”
Swallowing was difficult as I listened, as if a marble had lodged itself in my throat. “Who was it?”
“Finch. He was different…had wings and was glittery. He said, ‘I’ll take good care of him.’ He was talking to Mommy and she smiled and nodded and then I woke up.”
I sucked in a breath, the air in the room thicker than walking through smoke.
