Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(66)

“My parents used to watch reruns of it all the time. Nana Rosie too.” I smile at the memory. “Ozzie and Harriet was the first television portrayal of the American family. They were this perfect real-life family of four, with the kinds of problems that could be solved in under thirty minutes. They laughed together and at one another, but they always worked everything out. I think my parents wanted us to be like the Nelsons. I think, to some degree, I wanted that for you and me too.”

I’ve never said anything like that about my marriage out loud. Not to Chelsey or Jackie. Not even to my therapist. What’s even more surprising than making the admission is how relatively calm I feel about having said it. No instant wave of regret. No anxiety gripping my throat. Just me. Me and Smith in his parents’ house, back where we started.

“I’m sorry we weren’t like the Nelsons,” he says softly.

“That’s OK. The Nelsons weren’t even like the TV version of their family.” I sigh. “I watched a documentary in middle school where the family talked about how hard it was to keep up the perfect family image that everyone expected from them. So in a way, it’s a good thing we didn’t end up like them.”

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my cardigan. I want to ignore it. I want to stay in this little muddy bubble for as long as humanly possible because I know I’ll never get it back. Smith and I will never be alone in his parents’ house again. Next week, this place will continue to morph into a vacation rental, and eventually, it will be sold to a new family. A small piece of my childhood will be lost again forever, and I’m just not ready to let it go.

“You going to get that?” Smith asks.

I’m about to tell him no when the front door swings open. Heels click against the marble floor, and instantly I know exactly who it is and exactly how not well this is going to go.

“Sarah.” Smith starts to get up.

Her face is red, like she’s been crying. God, I hate making people cry, unless they deserve it. She, unfortunately, doesn’t deserve it. She gawks at me, which could possibly be because I’m covered in manure and not just that I’m sitting on the kitchen floor next to her boyfriend with an engagement ring.

“Your dad just collapsed.” Sarah gasps for air. “He’s on his way to the hospital.”

“Oh my god. What happened?” I jump to my feet.

“We were waiting for you both to come back for dessert, and everyone was arguing again. You guys fight a lot. Like, way more than what’s probably normal. Nobody could decide whether to eat or wait, and then he just sort of collapsed.”

“Oh my god.” My heart freezes in my chest.

“Wait, what do you mean, He’s on his way to the hospital?” Smith asks. “I never heard an ambulance.”

“He wouldn’t let us call one.” She covers her face with her hands. “Silvia drove him. Everyone except for Martin left. He and I stayed to find you two, and honestly, I kind of wish he was the one that found you both.”

“I can call us a car,” Smith says. “Penny, go get changed.”

I’m out the door before he’s finished giving me the direction. For the second time tonight, I race across the street. My feet thud against the pavement so hard it makes my teeth rattle. Just as I make it to my parents’ driveway, my phone buzzes, and this time I answer it.

“Penny.” Phoebe’s voice is frantic. “Penny, oh my god, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Where the hell have you been?”

“What’s wrong with Dad?”

“I don’t know.” She sobs into the phone. “We’re at the ER and some nurses just took him back. He wasn’t breathing right, and his skin was all gray and clammy. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I just need to change and I’ll be there. OK?”

“Penny, I need you now.” She gasps. “I’m in the bathroom having a complete fucking breakdown. I can’t be the one to hold everything together right now.”

A car pulls in front of Smith’s house.

“I’m on my way, Phoebe. Right now. I promise.”





Chapter 22


It takes us just under seven minutes to get to the hospital. Smith and I pick up Martin, who was halfway down the street looking for us, and our driver broke nearly every traffic law imaginable to get us to the hospital fast. I’d like to think that he was in such a hurry because he could tell how concerned we all were, but I suspect that my lingering odor may have played a large part in his expediency. We make it into the waiting room just as the doctor assigned to my father arrives.

“Are you OK, ma’am?” The doctor waves her finger over me. “Have you been in an accident?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just a little manure. How’s my dad? Is he going to be OK?”

“Carter’s suffered a heart attack.” Dr. Vance delivers the news so delicately that it almost takes the sting out of her message. Almost. “I know that sounds really scary, but the good news is that he’s stable.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” my mother breathes. “Can we see him?”

“In a few minutes,” Dr. Vance says. “But then we’ll need to take him back for a procedure.”