with thistle and dandelions, all shriveled in an orgy of chaffed stalk and leaf. Beyond the ditches, rows of lifeless golden cornstalks stretched endlessly for miles.
"You don't have to apologize for him."
"It's supposed to get colder the next couple of days. Maybe even snow," Natalie said. "By the way, how's your hand doing?"
Andy looked down at it, surprised for a moment at the bandage still wrapped around the cut. He hadn't paid any attention to it, had almost forgotten it. "It stopped bleeding, I'm sure," he said, and unwrapped it, making sure this was true. The beginnings of a long, dull scab bordering the pink line of the gash was beginning to form. He stuffed the bandage in his jacket, and noticed a slight throb beneath the scab.
"He's had two strokes." Natalie's breath came out in a chilled mist. “When he had his first one, I was at school, working on a nursing degree. Jesus, it must have been sixteen years ago. It scared me so much, I rushed back here to Ellingston to see him, to make sure he was doing okay. I only had a month of school left, but I couldn't go back. I couldn't leave him alone like that.
"Well, that lasted for six years, then I was anxious to get out again. I wanted to go back to school. Get my nursing degree. I decided I'd have to pretty much start over, having been gone so long. So I did. I started from scratch. It wasn't as hard the second time around, but I still had to put in some long days and nights. I drank a lot of coffee.” She chuckled.
"So anyway, four years ago, after I got my degree, I worked at the hospital in Faribault for awhile. I liked the people there, most of them, anyway, and it wasn't so far away that I couldn't see my father every now and then." Natalie slowed. A large flock of Canadian geese flew overhead. She stopped and turned to Andy.
"He had a stroke about two months ago. The second one. Luckily, I was here visiting. It almost killed him - it would've if I hadn't been there. He'd be dead right now."
Andy tried not to shiver, but it was hard. The air worked through his lungs, refreshing them, but did nothing to warm the rest of him. He kept his hands in his pockets, pressed close to his sides.
Natalie turned in a semi-circle, surveying the fields. "I've decided to stay with Dad for awhile, for as long as he needs me. I just can't leave him alone any more. If I was away, on my own, I'd always be wondering how he was doing. And if anything happened to him while I was away, I'd feel guilty. I owe him so much.
"He raised me by himself. Raised me while filled with so much grief over Mom. He fed me, clothed me. Gave me so much. All the while his wife dead, buried. So I feel like I owe him."
They left the side of the highway for a gravel road that wound through the cornfields. They saw a cloud of dust rising in the distance, and a pick-up truck soon came around the bend in front of them. The driver honked and waved as it rumbled toward the highway. Andy and Natalie waved back, choking on the flying dust it kicked up.
"That last stroke put him in his wheelchair," Natalie said. "Affected his mind, too. He'll talk about things that happened when he was a little kid, like they just happened yesterday. He remembers all of his schoolmates' names. His grammar school teachers. The room numbers. But if you ask him about something that happened last week, or last month, or even a few minutes ago, he won't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about. He doesn't know what day it is, what year it is. Sometimes he doesn't even know who I am. He'll ask me what I'm doing in his house. And I'll tell him, 'It's me, Dad - Nat, you're daughter', and after a while, something will click and he'll remember. But then it starts all over again." Natalie slowed her pace. "Jesus, it's frustrating."
A raven flew by - big, black and noisy. Its squawking thundered in Andy's ears. He winced. Natalie glanced at the bird, then looked back at the gravel at their feet as they walked.
"And
"You don't have to apologize for him."
"It's supposed to get colder the next couple of days. Maybe even snow," Natalie said. "By the way, how's your hand doing?"
Andy looked down at it, surprised for a moment at the bandage still wrapped around the cut. He hadn't paid any attention to it, had almost forgotten it. "It stopped bleeding, I'm sure," he said, and unwrapped it, making sure this was true. The beginnings of a long, dull scab bordering the pink line of the gash was beginning to form. He stuffed the bandage in his jacket, and noticed a slight throb beneath the scab.
"He's had two strokes." Natalie's breath came out in a chilled mist. “When he had his first one, I was at school, working on a nursing degree. Jesus, it must have been sixteen years ago. It scared me so much, I rushed back here to Ellingston to see him, to make sure he was doing okay. I only had a month of school left, but I couldn't go back. I couldn't leave him alone like that.
"Well, that lasted for six years, then I was anxious to get out again. I wanted to go back to school. Get my nursing degree. I decided I'd have to pretty much start over, having been gone so long. So I did. I started from scratch. It wasn't as hard the second time around, but I still had to put in some long days and nights. I drank a lot of coffee.” She chuckled.
"So anyway, four years ago, after I got my degree, I worked at the hospital in Faribault for awhile. I liked the people there, most of them, anyway, and it wasn't so far away that I couldn't see my father every now and then." Natalie slowed. A large flock of Canadian geese flew overhead. She stopped and turned to Andy.
"He had a stroke about two months ago. The second one. Luckily, I was here visiting. It almost killed him - it would've if I hadn't been there. He'd be dead right now."
Andy tried not to shiver, but it was hard. The air worked through his lungs, refreshing them, but did nothing to warm the rest of him. He kept his hands in his pockets, pressed close to his sides.
Natalie turned in a semi-circle, surveying the fields. "I've decided to stay with Dad for awhile, for as long as he needs me. I just can't leave him alone any more. If I was away, on my own, I'd always be wondering how he was doing. And if anything happened to him while I was away, I'd feel guilty. I owe him so much.
"He raised me by himself. Raised me while filled with so much grief over Mom. He fed me, clothed me. Gave me so much. All the while his wife dead, buried. So I feel like I owe him."
They left the side of the highway for a gravel road that wound through the cornfields. They saw a cloud of dust rising in the distance, and a pick-up truck soon came around the bend in front of them. The driver honked and waved as it rumbled toward the highway. Andy and Natalie waved back, choking on the flying dust it kicked up.
"That last stroke put him in his wheelchair," Natalie said. "Affected his mind, too. He'll talk about things that happened when he was a little kid, like they just happened yesterday. He remembers all of his schoolmates' names. His grammar school teachers. The room numbers. But if you ask him about something that happened last week, or last month, or even a few minutes ago, he won't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about. He doesn't know what day it is, what year it is. Sometimes he doesn't even know who I am. He'll ask me what I'm doing in his house. And I'll tell him, 'It's me, Dad - Nat, you're daughter', and after a while, something will click and he'll remember. But then it starts all over again." Natalie slowed her pace. "Jesus, it's frustrating."
A raven flew by - big, black and noisy. Its squawking thundered in Andy's ears. He winced. Natalie glanced at the bird, then looked back at the gravel at their feet as they walked.
"And
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