The cough deepened over three days. By the fourth day, Raymond’s chest felt heavy, and his breath came in shallow pulls that didn’t satisfy. He called Nora on Sunday, not to ask for help, just because it was Sunday and she always called at six, but his voice was different, and Nora heard it immediately. “How long have you been coughing like that?” “Few days.” “Have you seen a doctor?” “It’s just a cold.” “Dad.” Her voice had the tone Eileen used when patience was running thin. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
She arrived at eight the next day. She took one look at him, put her hand on his forehead, and drove him to the clinic in town. Pneumonia. The doctor wanted to admit him. Raymond refused. Nora argued with him in the clinic parking lot for ten minutes, her breath coming in white clouds, until they reached a compromise. She would stay with him at the trailer and make sure he took the antibiotics and rested.
She called Ben from the trailer’s kitchen. “I’m staying for a few days. Can you handle the kids?” Ben said he could. She called the school and arranged a substitute for her classroom. She did not complain about the lost pay.
For four days, Nora slept on the trailer’s couch and woke every six hours to make sure Raymond took his medication. She made broth from the chicken bones she found in the freezer. She boiled water for steam when his cough was worse at night. On the second day, Ben drove down with a load of rigid foam insulation and spent the afternoon sealing the gaps under the trailer where cold air crept in.
He worked in silence, methodical and unhurried, and when he finished, he came inside and sat with Raymond for an hour and talked about engine rebuilds while Nora graded spelling tests at the table. On the third evening, Raymond’s fever broke. He sat up on the fold-down bed and looked at Nora, who was reading in the dim circle of the lamp she had brought from home, and said, “Thank you.”
She looked up. “For what?” “For staying.” “You’re my dad.” “Your brothers and sister are my children, too.” Nora closed her book. “I know,” she said. Nothing else. She didn’t need to say what they both understood.
On the fourth morning, while Nora was in the shower, Raymond’s phone rang. It was Marcus. “Dad, I heard from a colleague that Summit Development is buying up agricultural parcels in the county. They’re paying above market. If you still hold the deed to any of the acreage, even the sections the bank hasn’t foreclosed on, we should get ahead of this.”
Raymond coughed. “I don’t have anything to sell, Marcus.” “Are you sure? Even the north forty? That’s where you’re living, right? If you own that parcel free and clear, you could negotiate.” “I’m sick, Marcus.” A pause. “Sick how?” “Pneumonia.” “Oh.” Another pause. “Are you being treated?” “Nora’s here. She’s taking care of it.” “Good. That’s good.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Well, think about the Summit thing. Those offers don’t last. I’ll email you the details.” He hung up.