One Last Thing Before I Go

too late did he realize the die had been cast all because she woke up before him, and that he’d fallen for her largely because she didn’t regret sleeping with him. Which, in time, she most definitely would.

CHAPTER 14
    T he doctor who tells him he is going to die is the same man who will be marrying his ex-wife in two and a half weeks, which is either poetically just, or at least the sort of karmic fart that is emblematic of his life these days.
    Rich Hastings is a tall, thin man, with a narrow face and bushy eyebrows that offset his receding hairline and make him look like a thoughtful owl. He is the one who bought Casey her car and will be paying her college tuition. He has not only replaced Silver as husband and father to his own family, but clearly fills that role better than Silver ever could. And yet Silver finds it impossible to dislike him, and not for lack of trying. He has expended no small amount of energy trying to cultivate a healthy disdain for Rich. But there is just something too innocent about him, something that defies cynicism. Also, he just seems to like Silver so damn much, and that is a rare trait indeed. And even now, as Rich tells him he is going to die, Silver can’t find it in himself to resent him.
    “You have an aortic dissection,” Rich says, his voice low and grave.
    “I don’t know what that means.” Silver’s ability to speak has returned, although the words still sound a bit funny to him, alien, hanging in the air until they lose their meaning.
    Rich holds up his scans, not so much to show him the colorful nonsense as to hide behind it.
    “There’s a tear in the inner wall of your aorta.”
    “Well, that can’t be good.”
    “It’s not.” Rich puts down the papers. “Your blood rushes into the tear, filling the wall, causing the layers of your aorta to separate and expand. This is also called a dissecting aneurysm.”
    “Don’t people die of aneurysms?”
    “Yes, they do. But you caught a break here. The TIA tipped off the ER doctors, who did an MRI and found the dissection.”
    “Rich.”
    “Yes?”
    “You have to stop speaking doctor.”
    “Shit, I’m sorry, Silver.” And he is. The remorse cuts deep furrows in his wide forehead, making his eyebrows flex like caterpillars. When Casey was little, Silver would read a book to her about a caterpillar. The caterpillar would eat its way through fruits and vegetables and, ultimately, through the hard pages of the book. Casey found it hysterical. Silver never really got it, but he loved the unfettered way she laughed.
    “A TIA is a transient ischemic attack. A ministroke. It’s why you briefly lost the ability to speak.”
    “Oh.”
    “The blood running into the tear has distended your aorta, which can sometimes cause small clots to form. When those clots break off and get up into your brain, they can impair various functions.”
    Silver takes a minute to absorb this news. He imagines his aorta, like an unspooled garden hose, bent and torn. It feels right to him.
    “So, am I going to die?”
    “No!” Rich says emphatically. He gets to his feet. “We caught this in time. You need emergency surgery, but when we’re done you’ll be good as new.”
    “Just like that.”
    “Well, I don’t mean to minimize the risks of surgery, but you’re young and healthy—”
    “I have an aneurysm. I just had a ministroke. I don’t feel healthy.”
    “Well, yes, obviously. What I meant was, you’re a perfect candidate for the surgery. I’d like to operate first thing tomorrow morning.”
    “You’d be the one operating?”
    “Yes.” He considers Silver for a moment. “Would that be an issue for you? If it is, I could refer—”
    “No.”
    “You sure?”
    “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.”
    “If I was having the surgery. Which I’m not.”
    That shocks Rich, almost as much as it shocks him. Rich’s eyes grow wide with concern. Rich is a good person. Silver would like to punch him.
    “Silver, without this surgery, you will die.”
    “When?”
    “That’s impossible to predict. But your aorta will ultimately rupture, I guarantee it.”
    “I understand. Thank you.”
    “I don’t think you do.”
    “I’m smarter than I look.”
    Rich looks around the room, at a loss. Without realizing it, he turns in a complete circle, looking for an answer. He wasn’t on call today. He has come in for this.
    “You have a daughter, Silver.”
    “And she has you.”
    Only when he