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Wilford opened the door slowly, making sure they weren’t about to get tackled and make a bunch of noise as soon as they stepped inside. The coast was clear. The house was silent. Andy was asleep on the sofa, while some infomercial played endlessly on the television. Wilford had said by midnight. It was a little past that. Whoops.
He tapped on the wall, just loud enough to wake Andy. He sat with a start, slowing down when he spotted Wilford and Celine.
“Everything good?” Wilford asked, watching as Celine disappeared into the bedroom.
Andy nodded, already picking up his shoes from the front door. “Yeah. He went to bed real easy tonight. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Wilford nodded, letting Andy see himself out as he made his way to the bedroom. Celine stood in front of the dresser, taking her earrings out and dropping them into the bowl where Wilford kept his various important trinkets. Watching her, he sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He had no idea what came next. He thought he knew what he wanted to come next, but after the disaster that was last time, Celine had kept her distance. She gave him time to work through his new medication and figure out what he wanted. He hated it. He hated the waiting and the pretending, and the complete inability to just be normal again, even if only in this one aspect.
He was done waiting. As soon as Celine turned around, Wilford reached forward and pulled her to the bed by her hips. She fell between his legs, laughing again and trying to muffle it. But it was too late. The door to the hall opened slowly and Michael shuffled inside.
“Daddy,” he said, with the most pathetically small voice Wilford had ever heard from him.
Billy had joked about this. Many times. Obviously, that made this his fault, and Wilford was going to have to punch him in the face at the next opportunity.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” Wilford asked, trying very hard to keep his voice calm.
“Tummy hurts,” Michael said.
The entire world paused for a moment. Then Celine awkwardly rolled over to the side so Wilford could sit up to deal with the issue. “Where?” he asked.
Michael pointed right at the middle of his belly. Trying not to sigh, Wilford got to his feet and picked the kid up. “You gonna puke?” he asked.
Michael shrugged. Super great. Wilford took him out to the kitchen. “How about some fizz? Think that’ll make it feel better?” he asked.
Michael shrugged again, and then nodded. Wilford opened the fridge to pull a can of ginger ale from the door, and paused to peek around the shelves. Little plastic cups with foil lids and single-wrapped cheese sticks were tucked away on the back of one of the shelves. Great. He let the door swing shut and grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards.
“You been eating something you shouldn’t?” he asked as he poured a small amount of soda into the glass.
“No,” Michael said quietly.
It wasn’t worth pressing the issue. He wasn’t going to learn not to without facing the consequences on his own. Wilford handed him the glass and let him drink. Just to be sure, he held his free hand against Michael’s head, but he didn’t feel warm. The odds were very strongly in favour of Michael discovering yoghurt and hiding the cup somewhere.
Once Michael was done sipping on his drink, Wilford put the soda can into the cup and picked both up. As he turned around, he found Celine watching curiously from the hall.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
Wilford rolled his eyes. “I think we’re in for a long night,” he said. “Looks like Mr Hot Shot found the snacks Andy keeps in the fridge.”
He watched Celine’s change from confused to understanding in a manner of seconds. “Oh,” she said.
Wilford stepped close to her, putting his hand on her waist and trying to decide what the hell he should do next. “I hate to ask for another rain cheque, but…” But what. He should have rented a hotel and made overnight arrangements.
Celine smiled and shook her head. “Do what you need to do,” she said. She lingered just a moment longer before stepping back into the bedroom. Assuming that meant she was heading home, Wilford turned his attention back to Michael.
“I think you need some overnight pants, don’t you?” he said. Michael grumbled, but he didn’t get a say in the matter. If he was going to sneak something out of the fridge, he got to deal with all of the consequences, uncomfortable puffy underwear included. He took Michael into the bathroom to swap his underwear out for a pair of the chunky overnight ones left over from when he was wetting the bed every night. Wilford wasn’t sure what good they’d do now, but it was better than nothing.
“Big bed,” Michael said as soon as Wilford picked him back up again.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Still, Wilford indulged him. If he was sick enough to be talking to Wilford again, he was sick enough to sleep in the big bed. Wilford pushed the bedroom door open enough to make sure Celine was decent before barging in, and found her not dressed to go home, but in a pair of his pyjamas and an old baseball shirt, lounging on the bed. A reflexive command to take it off was at sudden war with wanting to comment on how she looked in it, and he found himself saying nothing at all for far too long.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Wilford quickly shook the fuzz out of his brain. “Yeah. He’s being needy tonight,” he said, stepping into the room and putting Michael down on the bed. He expected Michael to just roll right over and go to sleep, but he immediately crawled over to cuddle with Celine.
“Stealing my woman now too. Okay,” Wilford said, putting the rest of the soda down on the night stand.
Celine laughed and let Michael cuddle. “He’s going to break a lot of hearts,” she said.
“The absolute nerve,” Wilford said. He took his jacket off and tossed it vaguely toward the closet to be dealt with later, and walked into the en suite. He took a few moments to pull the rubber bands out of his mouth and take his teeth out so he could clean them in the morning. A blast of mouthwash for the ones that didn’t come out, and he was ready to figure out what to do with the rest of his night. Except he’d done it again, and now the pace of the evening had slowed enough to make him aware of everything he was doing. He had not brought a change of clothes in with him. He’d just have to man it up and be an adult about it.
He stepped back out, stopping in the doorway to watch as Celine showed Michael something on her phone. Whatever it was, the sound was vague and tinny, like it had been filmed in public somewhere. Either way, Michael couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Wilford wasn’t going to sleep in his clothes. That was certain, and he’d spent enough time stalling. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of pyjamas from his dresser and quickly changed, focusing on the act and ignoring the very real possibility that he was being watched. In the end, the world kept right on spinning and he was still breathing, so he joined the other two in bed. As he got settled, he craned to see what Celine was showing the kid. Michael was absolutely transfixed by a leopard playing with a giant cardboard box.
While Celine entertained Michael with animal videos, Wilford took the opportunity to check his messages. A few forwards from Nichola, scheduling reminders about guests. The ones he was most interested in were from Rosa. She had got the YouTube account set up, apparently circumventing some rules Wilford didn’t entirely understand to get it ready to go sooner. She and Jess had done all sorts of work on figuring out what specific rights the network held, and what rights Black Light held. Based on what he was reading, he owned more of his show than he realised, which meant he could fly the webcasting under his own banner sooner than he’d hoped. He sent back responses with instructions on how to go forward and locked down his phone. Michael was snoring quietly between the two of them, which made for a good escape opportunity. Nodding toward the door, Wilford slowly got up, careful not to jostle anything too much. Celine followed carefully, leaving Michael asleep in the big bed while they snuck out to the living room. Wilford sat down on the sofa, pulling Celine down next to him. As soon as she got cosied up beside him, Michael started crying from the other room.
Wilford was up early, having barely slept during the night. He was surprised Celine hadn’t given up and gone home, but now he left her in bed with Michael while he got up to cook for the dogs and get everything ready for the day. It was going to be a rough day. Nothing but irritating, out of touch old fuckers who only gave No for an answer.
Andy let himself through the front door as Wilford set the dogs’ chicken on the counter to cool.
“We had a pretty rough night,” Wilford warned. “He’s either picked up some stomach bug or got into your snacks. I’m not sure.”
Andy paused, looking vaguely around the room. “I haven’t noticed anything missing, but I’ll keep an eye out,” he said.
Wilford nodded. “Celine’s back there with him. She’ll probably take off as soon as she gets up though.” He checked his watch and put the dogs’ plates down on the floor on his way to pick up a folder from the kitchen table. “I’m in meetings all day, but I should be at the studio. If I’m not, I’ll let you know.”
“Is he running a fever?” Andy asked.
“Maybe. It didn’t seem like it last time I checked.”
Andy nodded again. “All right. Do you want me to bring him into town if it gets worse?”
Wilford thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I should be able to get away to take him in if I need to.”
He was already running late. Wilford made sure he had everything and headed toward the door.
He hated meetings. Meetings were the worst. But at least this time Nichola had managed to make it a virtual meeting, so nobody had to waste their day driving all the way downtown. Instead, it meant the meeting had more time to drone on and on. When the door opened and the HR girl poked her head in, Wilford was glad for the interruption. He got up and slipped out of the room, hoping whatever she had for him to deal with would take a long time.
“There’s someone outside that wants to talk to you,” she said, clearly exasperated with something.
“Someone?” Wilford asked. “Not Andy?” Andy had a badge and everything. He shouldn’t have had a problem getting into the building.
“No,” she said slowly. “He says he’s your dad.”
Wilford wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “He what?”
“That’s what he says, but I was told your parents passed away. Do you want me to call the police?”
“Fuck,” Wilford hissed, shaking his head. This was Walter’s doing somehow. What the hell was he up to now. “No, I’ll deal with it,” he said, already walking toward the front of the building. Walter was going to be missing a face by the end of the day.
Everything Wilford had to say to him died on his tongue as he stepped into the lobby. Walter was not standing on the other side of the glass door. Because that would be too easy. No, it had to be his father, standing out there and roasting in the heat.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Wilford muttered. He could turn around and leave, continue the narrative he’d kept up since he was 18 years old. Make a point that would look fucking fantastic on the news when the old man died of heat stroke.
Wilford opened the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Jun-su moved like he didn’t know what to do. Wilford stepped away before he could figure it out, waving him inside and out of the sun. He sure picked a hell of a day to show up, when Wilford had to absolutely be on his A-game. He wondered what the statue of limitations on abandonment was, but now was not the time to bring it up. Besides, he wanted to get some answers out of the old man before he chased him away.
He opened the door to his dressing room and walked in, assuming Jun-su would follow.
“You must be friends with the director,” Jun-su said as he stepped into the room. He looked around, gawking like a tourist.
“She’s all right,” Wilford said. He shut the door and started walking to his desk. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you.”
Jun-su stopped gawking and got serious. “I got your letter around Christmas time. Your mother doesn’t know about it. I thought it was a joke. Someone looking for money.”
Money. It’s what was on Wilford’s mind too. “Is that so?” With his back to his father, Wilford pulled his chequebook out of his inventory and started writing one out for $1000.
“I asked your brother if he knew anything. He told me you have a son?” Jun-su said, not quite asking, but not really stating either.
Wilford tore the cheque out of the the book and handed it over. “Michael. He’s three,” he said.
Jun-su took the cheque, but didn’t look at it. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
Wilford couldn’t do this right now. It was too much stress, and he needed to be doing his job. “Did you?” he asked.
Jun-su didn’t have an answer. He looked down at the cheque instead. “What is this?” he asked.
“Repaying a debt.” Wilford didn’t know what to do with him. He just wanted to run screaming.
“You should use this on your son,” Jun-su said, trying to hand it back.
Did he somehow not know? Did Walter tell him nothing useful or relevant? Could he not fucking read? Wilford opened the door back to the hall. “We’ll survive,” he said. “I have to get back to my meeting. Stay… here. Whatever. I don’t care.”
Wilford left him there, gawping like a fish as the door closed between them. He wasn’t exactly eager to get back to the meeting, but anything was better than dealing with a man who thought he could just walk back into everything without a second of thought. As he opened the door, Nichola was continuing on as strongly as she’d been before he left.
“Currently CBN’s budget covers all operating costs, while Black Light covers the cost of production. Black Light would like to absorb all costs, as well as all employment rights currently covered by CBN, including the ability to subcontract employees and set our own wages.”
Wilford sat back and let Nichola do all the talking. The talk had been going nowhere for an hour straight, but it would have gone less than nowhere with with Wilford’s ‘fuck you’ negotiation tactics, and they both knew it. He was only there because it was his name on all the paperwork and his signature on the payroll cheques.
“CBN would still retain their market share and all distro rights. We just want better control over who’s on our set, and how they’re paid,” Nichola said, reiterating her point for the fifth time.
“Ms Stevens,” one of the men on the television said. There were three of them, with their $1000 suits and spray-on tans looking worn down, but not in the right way. “If we do this for you, we have to do this for everybody, and that’s bad for the network.
Nichola sighed and glanced up at the other side of the table, behind the camera. “Then let’s go back to the pay scheme we talked about,” she said. “Our average single subcontracted employee has three hundred dollars left at the end of the month. These people work in Vinewood, and they still—”
“Ms Stevens,” the exec said again. “You’re not hearing us. If we raise your salaries, we have to raise them for everybody, and that hurts the network.”
Wilford couldn’t remain silent any longer. “You’re telling me Centennial Broadcasting — worth sixty billion — can’t afford salary adjustments for cost of living?” he asked.
“If your employees can’t pay their bills, then maybe they need to learn to budget,” the irritating man on the television said.
The execs weren’t aware of the other three in the room with Wilford and Nichola. They sat quietly, taking notes on everything being said. Billy was amongst the three, along with two reps from his union. Wilford was done with small dreams for the network. They were all complicit. Every single one of them. This was no longer about Jay Norris. It was about an evilness that had been allowed to run unchecked for far too long. He was going to take down the entire industry, and that started with letting these people sit in on their argument so they heard firsthand what was happening.
While Nichola launched into a tirade at them, the door behind Wilford opened again. He turned around, seeing one of the girls from HR beckoning him out to the hall. Without a word of excuse, he got up to see what he was needed for this time. Along with the girl, Andy was out in the hall, holding onto a very fussy Michael. Wilford checked his watch. It was only noon.
“What’s up?” he asked, taking Michael. As soon as Michael was in Wilford’s arms, he quieted down and buried his face in Wilford’s shirt.
“He hasn’t stopped crying all day,” Andy said. He looked exhausted. “He didn’t eat breakfast, and he threw up as soon as I gave him lunch, so I figured I’d bring him in.”
Wilford nodded. “All right.” He craned to look down at Michael, but he couldn’t see much from the awkward angle. “He probably picked something up around here. I’ll try stay home tomorrow.”
Andy nodded. “All right. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that’s the case.”
Wilford hoisted Michael up a little higher and took him back into the conference room. Nichola was still ranting at their employers, not giving them any time at all to even try to speak. Wilford ignored the one-sided argument and tried to get Michael settled. He was already whining again, and didn’t seem to want to be calmed down. Hoping it might help, Wilford pulled a box of animal crackers from his inventory and tried to convince Michael to take it.
“Come on, man. What’s the deal?” he asked as Michael shook his head.
“Is this necessary?” one of the men on the TV asked over Nichola.
Wilford ignored him, letting Nichola continue on her tirade. He got Michael to take the cracker, and take a bite, which seemed like an abnormally large victory.
For about twenty seconds. That feeling went away as soon as his shirt was covered in child puke.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Wilford said, getting up awkwardly as Michael’s fussing turned to full-blown crying again. Damn the meeting. Wilford took Michael to the men’s room, struggling to figure out how to juggle the kid and get cleaned up at the same moment. His dilemma was a short one though, thanks to Billy following him in. Wilford immediately handed the kid over and took off his shirt and threw it into the sink under running water.
“He’s burning up,” Billy said.
Wilford shook the water off his hands and felt Michael’s forehead. He hadn’t been that warm the night before, but it was definitely a problem now.
“Where’s the nearest urgent care?” he asked.
“Uh. Mount Zonah?” Billy guessed.
Wilford looked at his shirt in the sink. It wasn’t going home with him in that state. “Get that to laundry,” he said, taking Michael back. “Tell Nick I had to get out of here.”
Billy nodded. “Yeah. Go. I’m on it.”
Wilford rushed back to his dressing room, having forgotten all about Jun-su until he stepped inside and found the man sitting awkwardly on the sofa still holding the cheque in both hands. Michael was still crying, and Wilford didn’t want to put him down and risk making it worse somehow. Unfortunately there was only one option left.
“Here. Hold him,” he said, dropping the kid in Jun-su’s lap. He let his father continue to do an impression of a goldfish while he pulled a wardrobe shirt off the rack in the corner and put it on.
“Are they going to be angry about that?” Jun-su asked.
Wilford was done playing this game. “It’s my fucking show,” he said, all the patience for this stupid situation evaporated. He buttoned enough of the shirt to be decent and picked Michael up again. “Fuck, you might as well come with. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
He could go the the moon for all Wilford cared. But he wasn’t exactly surprised when Jun-su awkwardly got up to follow him out of the building and to the parking lot. Whether or not he heard, Jun-su didn’t quite seem to grasp exactly what Wilford had said on their way out until he got to his car and unlocked it. He just stood there, still gawping as Wilford strapped the kid into his seat. Michael fussed the entire time, not wanting to be tied up in all those straps. Wilford couldn’t blame him.
“Get in the damn car,” Wilford said as he closed the back door and opened the front. Finally Jun-su reacted and opened the door as well. He looked around the car, holding himself like he was afraid to touch anything, lest he break it.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, turning to look at Michael in the back.
“Don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” Wilford said. He might have been able to cope with the situation better if he hadn’t been risking his entire company all day. He might have been able to cope with the situation better if Jun-su hadn’t picked that exact day to show up in Los Santos. He tried to ignore all of it and pulled out of his spot and headed toward the street.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, feeling like he never really got an answer.
“I told you. I got your letter,” Jun-su said.
“That’s not an answer. You didn’t have to come here, five months later.” Walter was still going to lose his face over this, if it meant Wilford had to hunt him down to do it.
Jun-su didn’t answer right away. For a long moment, the only sound in the car was Michael’s low whining from the back seat. “Your brother was worried about the boy,” he said finally.
Wilford squeezed the steering wheel, if only to keep from throwing a punch. “My brother, the pathological shit-stirrer, was worried?” he asked. He breathed very slowly, keeping his glare on the road ahead of him. He could see his father squirm awkwardly in his seat, but he didn’t care. Let him be scared. He was never scared before, when he was bigger than Wilford. It was a different story now. Wilford wished he could enjoy it. Instead, he tilted his rear view mirror to see into the back seat. He was worried Michael might puke again in his seat, but it didn’t seem like he was going to, but he was clearly uncomfortable.
“Shout about it, pal,” Wilford said. “Tell me all about it.”
Michael didn’t shout. He just kept right on whining quietly to himself. Wilford ignored his father for the rest of the drive, focusing instead on getting to Mt Zonah, and trying to distract Michael from himself. Once they were there, he found a spot near the urgent car building and parked as quickly as he could, barely paying attention to the lines on the pavement.
“Come on, pal,” Wilford said as he freed Michael from his seat. He looked up to see Jun-su awkwardly getting out of the car, still looking like a lost goldfish. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.” Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t yoghurt. He threw a glare at his father as he walked past, into the reception.
Still having nothing better to do, Jun-su followed him in, saying nothing as Wilford got them checked in. Apparently the way to beat the waiting list was to come in with a screaming toddler who was running a fever and reeking of vomit. Wilford had barely given his insurance information before a nurse rushed out to see them to an exam room. Again, Jun-su followed, and Wilford didn’t have the energy to tell him to leave.
“When did this start?” the nurse asked, sitting Wilford down in a chair so he could hold Michael while she checked him.
Wilford shrugged and shook his head. “Last night,” he said. “I didn’t get home until after midnight.” He remembered something suddenly. Something Andy had said. “The nanny said he went to bed easier than normal. We try to get him to bed between nine and ten, so before then I guess.”
The nurse was already taking his temperature and giving him a quick check. “What other symptoms?” she asked.
“He got up right after I got home, with a stomach ache,” Wilford said, watching whatever she was doing. “He can’t have dairy. I thought he’d got into something from the fridge, so I gave him a little bit of ginger ale and took him back to my room. Don’t know when the fever started. Nanny said he puked after lunch, and then I tried to feed him some crackers and he did it again.”
The nurse nodded and typed something into the computer. “A doctor will be right in,” she said, rushing out.
With Michael still fussing in his lap, Wilford bounced him up and down, hoping it might calm him. It didn’t.
“You’re a fucking jinx,” he said stiffly.
Jun-su had nothing to say.
The nurse wasn’t wrong about about the doctor. The door opened again, and an older woman stepped in, crouching down in front of Wilford.
“Hey, Michael. How are we feeling?” she asked, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck.
Michael’s only response was more fussing. Wilford shook his head. “He’s got a delay,” he said. “Talking’s not his thing.”
The doctor nodded and pulled the computer cart closer so she could read it. “This started last night?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Wilford said. He watched as the doctor checked over Michael as well. When she pressed her fingers against his stomach, his whining turned into screaming. She frowned and checked the notes again. “Let’s get him into an ultrasound,” she said slowly.
“Why?” Wilford asked. He thought it was some kind of awful flu. He’d never had an ultrasound for a flu.
The doctor looked straight at him, and he did not like the look on her face. “To rule out appendicitis.”
“He’s three!” Wilford said.
The doctor nodded and stood up. “It’s rare, but it can happen this young,” she said. “We’ll get him in right away.”
Twenty minutes later, Wilford was in the parking lot inhaling his second cigarette and trying to get Nichola to answer her phone. She was probably still in that damn meeting. He gave up, angry that he couldn’t slap his phone shut, instead having to angrily tap a button on the screen to end the call. Jun-su stood awkwardly against a wall in the shade, watching the whole thing. He hadn’t said anything since they’d first walked into the building. He needed to leave. Wilford pulled up Google and tried to look up Walter, but he couldn’t find a single search result. No matter how many pages deep he went, he couldn’t find a single page that actually had to do with his brother, and not himself.
Suddenly, he remembered something. Abe had said something weird months earlier, when Wilford was trying to find anyone else who’d want to talk the kid. He tried searching for Walter Jung, and found his brother on the first result. He owned a farm out in Flint County, and had a public phone number listed right on his site. For some reason, Wilford was still surprised when Walter answered.
“Come get this fucking jinx out of my face,” he demanded. He threw his cigarette butt onto the pavement, and pulled a third one out of the pack. It was almost empty.
“What?” Walter asked, sounding just as uselessly confused as ever.
“Mount Zonah. You sent him here. You come pick him up,” Wilford said.
He could hear Walter demanding more information as he hung up. Maybe if he was in enough of a panic, he’d actually do what he was told. Wilford took a deep drag from his cigarette, trying to just calm down. It wasn’t working, but he tried to pretend it was.
When he finished with that cigarette, he held his phone up again and scrolled through his contacts to find Celine’s number. He wasn’t supposed to call. It was too dangerous, but he didn’t want to text. It didn’t feel right.
He called her. He half expected the phone to ring out to voice mail, but she picked up right away.
“You’re lucky. I’m not home,” Celine said. “How’s Mikey?”
Now that Wilford had her on the line, he couldn’t think of a single word to say. He looked back at his father and shook his head. “In the fucking ER,” he said. “We’re at Mount Zonah.”
“Oh my god, what? What’s wrong?”
Wilford didn’t even know where to start.
Wilford didn’t know why he was so nervous when he saw the doctor walk outside. He stood up quickly, throwing his cigarette to the ground.
“Good news,” the doctor said in a tone that didn’t sound fake. “Everything went well. They’re just starting to bring him around, and will take him back up to your room in a few minutes.”
Wilford nodded. He didn’t know what the procedure for this was. “Can we go up there?” he asked.
“Of course,” the doctor said. “You’ll probably beat him up there.”
“Good. Uh. Thank you,” Wilford said, still feeling lost. He turned to Celine, vaguely aware of the doctor going back inside. He leaned his head against her shoulder, just taking a moment to breathe for the first time all day. After a moment, he stood up straight and started to head back inside.
“Don’t fucking come near me again,” he said to Jun-su. “Don’t ever come back here.”
He shouldn’t have listened to Walter. He should never have sent that letter.
Celine tugged on his hand, and Wilford followed. As they walked through the halls, Celine pulled out her phone and frowned at the screen. “God, he’s already calling me,” she said. She stuffed her phone back into her purse and kept walking.
“Should you go home?” Wilford asked. He didn’t want her to, but she was spending a dangerous amount of time with him as it was.
“Probably,” she said. “But I don’t want to.”
They walked together to the elevator, taking it up to the sixth floor. Wilford could barely remember the way, even with all the signs on the walls, but they eventually found the right room and slipped inside. It was still empty, so they both sat down on the bench beneath the window.
“Babe, I hate to say it,” Celine said. “But you reek.”
Wilford laughed weakly. “Like you’ve never been puked on,” he said.
Celine took both his hands in her and smiled at him. “I don’t think I want to be.”
“I got some bad news for you if you plan on hanging around,” Wilford said.
The door opened and a couple of nurses angled a bed into the room. Wilford watched, not sure if he was meant to get up or not.
“He’ll probably be out for a little bit,” one of the nurses said. “The surgeon will be up soon to talk to you.”
Wilford nodded. “Right,” he said. He didn’t know why he was still nervous, but he hated it.
They wanted to keep him overnight, which meant Wilford was staying overnight. Nichola had come and gone, bringing him and Celine dinner along with his medication. She didn’t stay long, giving Wilford the feeling she didn’t want to be in the way. He let her leave without saying as much, still trying to figure out why he couldn’t get his head on straight.
Celine stayed with him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it. When Michael was awake for brief moments, he wasn’t fussy. That was good. That finally made Wilford start to feel better. The kid obviously wasn’t feeling well, even with whatever drugs they were giving him, but not constantly crying was a definite improvement. He still didn’t want to eat anything, but Wilford didn’t remember having much of an appetite after the last time he’d been in the hospital either.
By mid morning, everyone seemed happy enough with how things had gone that they were sending him home. As soon as Celine heard that, she started to put herself together.
“I’m going to go home and pick some things up,” she said. “I’ll meet you at your place.” She kissed him on the forehead and left, giving Wilford some time alone he hadn’t realised he’d wanted.
He tapped on the wall, just loud enough to wake Andy. He sat with a start, slowing down when he spotted Wilford and Celine.
“Everything good?” Wilford asked, watching as Celine disappeared into the bedroom.
Andy nodded, already picking up his shoes from the front door. “Yeah. He went to bed real easy tonight. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Wilford nodded, letting Andy see himself out as he made his way to the bedroom. Celine stood in front of the dresser, taking her earrings out and dropping them into the bowl where Wilford kept his various important trinkets. Watching her, he sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He had no idea what came next. He thought he knew what he wanted to come next, but after the disaster that was last time, Celine had kept her distance. She gave him time to work through his new medication and figure out what he wanted. He hated it. He hated the waiting and the pretending, and the complete inability to just be normal again, even if only in this one aspect.
He was done waiting. As soon as Celine turned around, Wilford reached forward and pulled her to the bed by her hips. She fell between his legs, laughing again and trying to muffle it. But it was too late. The door to the hall opened slowly and Michael shuffled inside.
“Daddy,” he said, with the most pathetically small voice Wilford had ever heard from him.
Billy had joked about this. Many times. Obviously, that made this his fault, and Wilford was going to have to punch him in the face at the next opportunity.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” Wilford asked, trying very hard to keep his voice calm.
“Tummy hurts,” Michael said.
The entire world paused for a moment. Then Celine awkwardly rolled over to the side so Wilford could sit up to deal with the issue. “Where?” he asked.
Michael pointed right at the middle of his belly. Trying not to sigh, Wilford got to his feet and picked the kid up. “You gonna puke?” he asked.
Michael shrugged. Super great. Wilford took him out to the kitchen. “How about some fizz? Think that’ll make it feel better?” he asked.
Michael shrugged again, and then nodded. Wilford opened the fridge to pull a can of ginger ale from the door, and paused to peek around the shelves. Little plastic cups with foil lids and single-wrapped cheese sticks were tucked away on the back of one of the shelves. Great. He let the door swing shut and grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards.
“You been eating something you shouldn’t?” he asked as he poured a small amount of soda into the glass.
“No,” Michael said quietly.
It wasn’t worth pressing the issue. He wasn’t going to learn not to without facing the consequences on his own. Wilford handed him the glass and let him drink. Just to be sure, he held his free hand against Michael’s head, but he didn’t feel warm. The odds were very strongly in favour of Michael discovering yoghurt and hiding the cup somewhere.
Once Michael was done sipping on his drink, Wilford put the soda can into the cup and picked both up. As he turned around, he found Celine watching curiously from the hall.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
Wilford rolled his eyes. “I think we’re in for a long night,” he said. “Looks like Mr Hot Shot found the snacks Andy keeps in the fridge.”
He watched Celine’s change from confused to understanding in a manner of seconds. “Oh,” she said.
Wilford stepped close to her, putting his hand on her waist and trying to decide what the hell he should do next. “I hate to ask for another rain cheque, but…” But what. He should have rented a hotel and made overnight arrangements.
Celine smiled and shook her head. “Do what you need to do,” she said. She lingered just a moment longer before stepping back into the bedroom. Assuming that meant she was heading home, Wilford turned his attention back to Michael.
“I think you need some overnight pants, don’t you?” he said. Michael grumbled, but he didn’t get a say in the matter. If he was going to sneak something out of the fridge, he got to deal with all of the consequences, uncomfortable puffy underwear included. He took Michael into the bathroom to swap his underwear out for a pair of the chunky overnight ones left over from when he was wetting the bed every night. Wilford wasn’t sure what good they’d do now, but it was better than nothing.
“Big bed,” Michael said as soon as Wilford picked him back up again.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Still, Wilford indulged him. If he was sick enough to be talking to Wilford again, he was sick enough to sleep in the big bed. Wilford pushed the bedroom door open enough to make sure Celine was decent before barging in, and found her not dressed to go home, but in a pair of his pyjamas and an old baseball shirt, lounging on the bed. A reflexive command to take it off was at sudden war with wanting to comment on how she looked in it, and he found himself saying nothing at all for far too long.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Wilford quickly shook the fuzz out of his brain. “Yeah. He’s being needy tonight,” he said, stepping into the room and putting Michael down on the bed. He expected Michael to just roll right over and go to sleep, but he immediately crawled over to cuddle with Celine.
“Stealing my woman now too. Okay,” Wilford said, putting the rest of the soda down on the night stand.
Celine laughed and let Michael cuddle. “He’s going to break a lot of hearts,” she said.
“The absolute nerve,” Wilford said. He took his jacket off and tossed it vaguely toward the closet to be dealt with later, and walked into the en suite. He took a few moments to pull the rubber bands out of his mouth and take his teeth out so he could clean them in the morning. A blast of mouthwash for the ones that didn’t come out, and he was ready to figure out what to do with the rest of his night. Except he’d done it again, and now the pace of the evening had slowed enough to make him aware of everything he was doing. He had not brought a change of clothes in with him. He’d just have to man it up and be an adult about it.
He stepped back out, stopping in the doorway to watch as Celine showed Michael something on her phone. Whatever it was, the sound was vague and tinny, like it had been filmed in public somewhere. Either way, Michael couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Wilford wasn’t going to sleep in his clothes. That was certain, and he’d spent enough time stalling. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of pyjamas from his dresser and quickly changed, focusing on the act and ignoring the very real possibility that he was being watched. In the end, the world kept right on spinning and he was still breathing, so he joined the other two in bed. As he got settled, he craned to see what Celine was showing the kid. Michael was absolutely transfixed by a leopard playing with a giant cardboard box.
While Celine entertained Michael with animal videos, Wilford took the opportunity to check his messages. A few forwards from Nichola, scheduling reminders about guests. The ones he was most interested in were from Rosa. She had got the YouTube account set up, apparently circumventing some rules Wilford didn’t entirely understand to get it ready to go sooner. She and Jess had done all sorts of work on figuring out what specific rights the network held, and what rights Black Light held. Based on what he was reading, he owned more of his show than he realised, which meant he could fly the webcasting under his own banner sooner than he’d hoped. He sent back responses with instructions on how to go forward and locked down his phone. Michael was snoring quietly between the two of them, which made for a good escape opportunity. Nodding toward the door, Wilford slowly got up, careful not to jostle anything too much. Celine followed carefully, leaving Michael asleep in the big bed while they snuck out to the living room. Wilford sat down on the sofa, pulling Celine down next to him. As soon as she got cosied up beside him, Michael started crying from the other room.
Wilford was up early, having barely slept during the night. He was surprised Celine hadn’t given up and gone home, but now he left her in bed with Michael while he got up to cook for the dogs and get everything ready for the day. It was going to be a rough day. Nothing but irritating, out of touch old fuckers who only gave No for an answer.
Andy let himself through the front door as Wilford set the dogs’ chicken on the counter to cool.
“We had a pretty rough night,” Wilford warned. “He’s either picked up some stomach bug or got into your snacks. I’m not sure.”
Andy paused, looking vaguely around the room. “I haven’t noticed anything missing, but I’ll keep an eye out,” he said.
Wilford nodded. “Celine’s back there with him. She’ll probably take off as soon as she gets up though.” He checked his watch and put the dogs’ plates down on the floor on his way to pick up a folder from the kitchen table. “I’m in meetings all day, but I should be at the studio. If I’m not, I’ll let you know.”
“Is he running a fever?” Andy asked.
“Maybe. It didn’t seem like it last time I checked.”
Andy nodded again. “All right. Do you want me to bring him into town if it gets worse?”
Wilford thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I should be able to get away to take him in if I need to.”
He was already running late. Wilford made sure he had everything and headed toward the door.
He hated meetings. Meetings were the worst. But at least this time Nichola had managed to make it a virtual meeting, so nobody had to waste their day driving all the way downtown. Instead, it meant the meeting had more time to drone on and on. When the door opened and the HR girl poked her head in, Wilford was glad for the interruption. He got up and slipped out of the room, hoping whatever she had for him to deal with would take a long time.
“There’s someone outside that wants to talk to you,” she said, clearly exasperated with something.
“Someone?” Wilford asked. “Not Andy?” Andy had a badge and everything. He shouldn’t have had a problem getting into the building.
“No,” she said slowly. “He says he’s your dad.”
Wilford wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “He what?”
“That’s what he says, but I was told your parents passed away. Do you want me to call the police?”
“Fuck,” Wilford hissed, shaking his head. This was Walter’s doing somehow. What the hell was he up to now. “No, I’ll deal with it,” he said, already walking toward the front of the building. Walter was going to be missing a face by the end of the day.
Everything Wilford had to say to him died on his tongue as he stepped into the lobby. Walter was not standing on the other side of the glass door. Because that would be too easy. No, it had to be his father, standing out there and roasting in the heat.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Wilford muttered. He could turn around and leave, continue the narrative he’d kept up since he was 18 years old. Make a point that would look fucking fantastic on the news when the old man died of heat stroke.
Wilford opened the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Jun-su moved like he didn’t know what to do. Wilford stepped away before he could figure it out, waving him inside and out of the sun. He sure picked a hell of a day to show up, when Wilford had to absolutely be on his A-game. He wondered what the statue of limitations on abandonment was, but now was not the time to bring it up. Besides, he wanted to get some answers out of the old man before he chased him away.
He opened the door to his dressing room and walked in, assuming Jun-su would follow.
“You must be friends with the director,” Jun-su said as he stepped into the room. He looked around, gawking like a tourist.
“She’s all right,” Wilford said. He shut the door and started walking to his desk. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you.”
Jun-su stopped gawking and got serious. “I got your letter around Christmas time. Your mother doesn’t know about it. I thought it was a joke. Someone looking for money.”
Money. It’s what was on Wilford’s mind too. “Is that so?” With his back to his father, Wilford pulled his chequebook out of his inventory and started writing one out for $1000.
“I asked your brother if he knew anything. He told me you have a son?” Jun-su said, not quite asking, but not really stating either.
Wilford tore the cheque out of the the book and handed it over. “Michael. He’s three,” he said.
Jun-su took the cheque, but didn’t look at it. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
Wilford couldn’t do this right now. It was too much stress, and he needed to be doing his job. “Did you?” he asked.
Jun-su didn’t have an answer. He looked down at the cheque instead. “What is this?” he asked.
“Repaying a debt.” Wilford didn’t know what to do with him. He just wanted to run screaming.
“You should use this on your son,” Jun-su said, trying to hand it back.
Did he somehow not know? Did Walter tell him nothing useful or relevant? Could he not fucking read? Wilford opened the door back to the hall. “We’ll survive,” he said. “I have to get back to my meeting. Stay… here. Whatever. I don’t care.”
Wilford left him there, gawping like a fish as the door closed between them. He wasn’t exactly eager to get back to the meeting, but anything was better than dealing with a man who thought he could just walk back into everything without a second of thought. As he opened the door, Nichola was continuing on as strongly as she’d been before he left.
“Currently CBN’s budget covers all operating costs, while Black Light covers the cost of production. Black Light would like to absorb all costs, as well as all employment rights currently covered by CBN, including the ability to subcontract employees and set our own wages.”
Wilford sat back and let Nichola do all the talking. The talk had been going nowhere for an hour straight, but it would have gone less than nowhere with with Wilford’s ‘fuck you’ negotiation tactics, and they both knew it. He was only there because it was his name on all the paperwork and his signature on the payroll cheques.
“CBN would still retain their market share and all distro rights. We just want better control over who’s on our set, and how they’re paid,” Nichola said, reiterating her point for the fifth time.
“Ms Stevens,” one of the men on the television said. There were three of them, with their $1000 suits and spray-on tans looking worn down, but not in the right way. “If we do this for you, we have to do this for everybody, and that’s bad for the network.
Nichola sighed and glanced up at the other side of the table, behind the camera. “Then let’s go back to the pay scheme we talked about,” she said. “Our average single subcontracted employee has three hundred dollars left at the end of the month. These people work in Vinewood, and they still—”
“Ms Stevens,” the exec said again. “You’re not hearing us. If we raise your salaries, we have to raise them for everybody, and that hurts the network.”
Wilford couldn’t remain silent any longer. “You’re telling me Centennial Broadcasting — worth sixty billion — can’t afford salary adjustments for cost of living?” he asked.
“If your employees can’t pay their bills, then maybe they need to learn to budget,” the irritating man on the television said.
The execs weren’t aware of the other three in the room with Wilford and Nichola. They sat quietly, taking notes on everything being said. Billy was amongst the three, along with two reps from his union. Wilford was done with small dreams for the network. They were all complicit. Every single one of them. This was no longer about Jay Norris. It was about an evilness that had been allowed to run unchecked for far too long. He was going to take down the entire industry, and that started with letting these people sit in on their argument so they heard firsthand what was happening.
While Nichola launched into a tirade at them, the door behind Wilford opened again. He turned around, seeing one of the girls from HR beckoning him out to the hall. Without a word of excuse, he got up to see what he was needed for this time. Along with the girl, Andy was out in the hall, holding onto a very fussy Michael. Wilford checked his watch. It was only noon.
“What’s up?” he asked, taking Michael. As soon as Michael was in Wilford’s arms, he quieted down and buried his face in Wilford’s shirt.
“He hasn’t stopped crying all day,” Andy said. He looked exhausted. “He didn’t eat breakfast, and he threw up as soon as I gave him lunch, so I figured I’d bring him in.”
Wilford nodded. “All right.” He craned to look down at Michael, but he couldn’t see much from the awkward angle. “He probably picked something up around here. I’ll try stay home tomorrow.”
Andy nodded. “All right. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that’s the case.”
Wilford hoisted Michael up a little higher and took him back into the conference room. Nichola was still ranting at their employers, not giving them any time at all to even try to speak. Wilford ignored the one-sided argument and tried to get Michael settled. He was already whining again, and didn’t seem to want to be calmed down. Hoping it might help, Wilford pulled a box of animal crackers from his inventory and tried to convince Michael to take it.
“Come on, man. What’s the deal?” he asked as Michael shook his head.
“Is this necessary?” one of the men on the TV asked over Nichola.
Wilford ignored him, letting Nichola continue on her tirade. He got Michael to take the cracker, and take a bite, which seemed like an abnormally large victory.
For about twenty seconds. That feeling went away as soon as his shirt was covered in child puke.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Wilford said, getting up awkwardly as Michael’s fussing turned to full-blown crying again. Damn the meeting. Wilford took Michael to the men’s room, struggling to figure out how to juggle the kid and get cleaned up at the same moment. His dilemma was a short one though, thanks to Billy following him in. Wilford immediately handed the kid over and took off his shirt and threw it into the sink under running water.
“He’s burning up,” Billy said.
Wilford shook the water off his hands and felt Michael’s forehead. He hadn’t been that warm the night before, but it was definitely a problem now.
“Where’s the nearest urgent care?” he asked.
“Uh. Mount Zonah?” Billy guessed.
Wilford looked at his shirt in the sink. It wasn’t going home with him in that state. “Get that to laundry,” he said, taking Michael back. “Tell Nick I had to get out of here.”
Billy nodded. “Yeah. Go. I’m on it.”
Wilford rushed back to his dressing room, having forgotten all about Jun-su until he stepped inside and found the man sitting awkwardly on the sofa still holding the cheque in both hands. Michael was still crying, and Wilford didn’t want to put him down and risk making it worse somehow. Unfortunately there was only one option left.
“Here. Hold him,” he said, dropping the kid in Jun-su’s lap. He let his father continue to do an impression of a goldfish while he pulled a wardrobe shirt off the rack in the corner and put it on.
“Are they going to be angry about that?” Jun-su asked.
Wilford was done playing this game. “It’s my fucking show,” he said, all the patience for this stupid situation evaporated. He buttoned enough of the shirt to be decent and picked Michael up again. “Fuck, you might as well come with. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
He could go the the moon for all Wilford cared. But he wasn’t exactly surprised when Jun-su awkwardly got up to follow him out of the building and to the parking lot. Whether or not he heard, Jun-su didn’t quite seem to grasp exactly what Wilford had said on their way out until he got to his car and unlocked it. He just stood there, still gawping as Wilford strapped the kid into his seat. Michael fussed the entire time, not wanting to be tied up in all those straps. Wilford couldn’t blame him.
“Get in the damn car,” Wilford said as he closed the back door and opened the front. Finally Jun-su reacted and opened the door as well. He looked around the car, holding himself like he was afraid to touch anything, lest he break it.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, turning to look at Michael in the back.
“Don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” Wilford said. He might have been able to cope with the situation better if he hadn’t been risking his entire company all day. He might have been able to cope with the situation better if Jun-su hadn’t picked that exact day to show up in Los Santos. He tried to ignore all of it and pulled out of his spot and headed toward the street.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, feeling like he never really got an answer.
“I told you. I got your letter,” Jun-su said.
“That’s not an answer. You didn’t have to come here, five months later.” Walter was still going to lose his face over this, if it meant Wilford had to hunt him down to do it.
Jun-su didn’t answer right away. For a long moment, the only sound in the car was Michael’s low whining from the back seat. “Your brother was worried about the boy,” he said finally.
Wilford squeezed the steering wheel, if only to keep from throwing a punch. “My brother, the pathological shit-stirrer, was worried?” he asked. He breathed very slowly, keeping his glare on the road ahead of him. He could see his father squirm awkwardly in his seat, but he didn’t care. Let him be scared. He was never scared before, when he was bigger than Wilford. It was a different story now. Wilford wished he could enjoy it. Instead, he tilted his rear view mirror to see into the back seat. He was worried Michael might puke again in his seat, but it didn’t seem like he was going to, but he was clearly uncomfortable.
“Shout about it, pal,” Wilford said. “Tell me all about it.”
Michael didn’t shout. He just kept right on whining quietly to himself. Wilford ignored his father for the rest of the drive, focusing instead on getting to Mt Zonah, and trying to distract Michael from himself. Once they were there, he found a spot near the urgent car building and parked as quickly as he could, barely paying attention to the lines on the pavement.
“Come on, pal,” Wilford said as he freed Michael from his seat. He looked up to see Jun-su awkwardly getting out of the car, still looking like a lost goldfish. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.” Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t yoghurt. He threw a glare at his father as he walked past, into the reception.
Still having nothing better to do, Jun-su followed him in, saying nothing as Wilford got them checked in. Apparently the way to beat the waiting list was to come in with a screaming toddler who was running a fever and reeking of vomit. Wilford had barely given his insurance information before a nurse rushed out to see them to an exam room. Again, Jun-su followed, and Wilford didn’t have the energy to tell him to leave.
“When did this start?” the nurse asked, sitting Wilford down in a chair so he could hold Michael while she checked him.
Wilford shrugged and shook his head. “Last night,” he said. “I didn’t get home until after midnight.” He remembered something suddenly. Something Andy had said. “The nanny said he went to bed easier than normal. We try to get him to bed between nine and ten, so before then I guess.”
The nurse was already taking his temperature and giving him a quick check. “What other symptoms?” she asked.
“He got up right after I got home, with a stomach ache,” Wilford said, watching whatever she was doing. “He can’t have dairy. I thought he’d got into something from the fridge, so I gave him a little bit of ginger ale and took him back to my room. Don’t know when the fever started. Nanny said he puked after lunch, and then I tried to feed him some crackers and he did it again.”
The nurse nodded and typed something into the computer. “A doctor will be right in,” she said, rushing out.
With Michael still fussing in his lap, Wilford bounced him up and down, hoping it might calm him. It didn’t.
“You’re a fucking jinx,” he said stiffly.
Jun-su had nothing to say.
The nurse wasn’t wrong about about the doctor. The door opened again, and an older woman stepped in, crouching down in front of Wilford.
“Hey, Michael. How are we feeling?” she asked, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck.
Michael’s only response was more fussing. Wilford shook his head. “He’s got a delay,” he said. “Talking’s not his thing.”
The doctor nodded and pulled the computer cart closer so she could read it. “This started last night?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Wilford said. He watched as the doctor checked over Michael as well. When she pressed her fingers against his stomach, his whining turned into screaming. She frowned and checked the notes again. “Let’s get him into an ultrasound,” she said slowly.
“Why?” Wilford asked. He thought it was some kind of awful flu. He’d never had an ultrasound for a flu.
The doctor looked straight at him, and he did not like the look on her face. “To rule out appendicitis.”
“He’s three!” Wilford said.
The doctor nodded and stood up. “It’s rare, but it can happen this young,” she said. “We’ll get him in right away.”
Twenty minutes later, Wilford was in the parking lot inhaling his second cigarette and trying to get Nichola to answer her phone. She was probably still in that damn meeting. He gave up, angry that he couldn’t slap his phone shut, instead having to angrily tap a button on the screen to end the call. Jun-su stood awkwardly against a wall in the shade, watching the whole thing. He hadn’t said anything since they’d first walked into the building. He needed to leave. Wilford pulled up Google and tried to look up Walter, but he couldn’t find a single search result. No matter how many pages deep he went, he couldn’t find a single page that actually had to do with his brother, and not himself.
Suddenly, he remembered something. Abe had said something weird months earlier, when Wilford was trying to find anyone else who’d want to talk the kid. He tried searching for Walter Jung, and found his brother on the first result. He owned a farm out in Flint County, and had a public phone number listed right on his site. For some reason, Wilford was still surprised when Walter answered.
“Come get this fucking jinx out of my face,” he demanded. He threw his cigarette butt onto the pavement, and pulled a third one out of the pack. It was almost empty.
“What?” Walter asked, sounding just as uselessly confused as ever.
“Mount Zonah. You sent him here. You come pick him up,” Wilford said.
He could hear Walter demanding more information as he hung up. Maybe if he was in enough of a panic, he’d actually do what he was told. Wilford took a deep drag from his cigarette, trying to just calm down. It wasn’t working, but he tried to pretend it was.
When he finished with that cigarette, he held his phone up again and scrolled through his contacts to find Celine’s number. He wasn’t supposed to call. It was too dangerous, but he didn’t want to text. It didn’t feel right.
He called her. He half expected the phone to ring out to voice mail, but she picked up right away.
“You’re lucky. I’m not home,” Celine said. “How’s Mikey?”
Now that Wilford had her on the line, he couldn’t think of a single word to say. He looked back at his father and shook his head. “In the fucking ER,” he said. “We’re at Mount Zonah.”
“Oh my god, what? What’s wrong?”
Wilford didn’t even know where to start.
Wilford didn’t know why he was so nervous when he saw the doctor walk outside. He stood up quickly, throwing his cigarette to the ground.
“Good news,” the doctor said in a tone that didn’t sound fake. “Everything went well. They’re just starting to bring him around, and will take him back up to your room in a few minutes.”
Wilford nodded. He didn’t know what the procedure for this was. “Can we go up there?” he asked.
“Of course,” the doctor said. “You’ll probably beat him up there.”
“Good. Uh. Thank you,” Wilford said, still feeling lost. He turned to Celine, vaguely aware of the doctor going back inside. He leaned his head against her shoulder, just taking a moment to breathe for the first time all day. After a moment, he stood up straight and started to head back inside.
“Don’t fucking come near me again,” he said to Jun-su. “Don’t ever come back here.”
He shouldn’t have listened to Walter. He should never have sent that letter.
Celine tugged on his hand, and Wilford followed. As they walked through the halls, Celine pulled out her phone and frowned at the screen. “God, he’s already calling me,” she said. She stuffed her phone back into her purse and kept walking.
“Should you go home?” Wilford asked. He didn’t want her to, but she was spending a dangerous amount of time with him as it was.
“Probably,” she said. “But I don’t want to.”
They walked together to the elevator, taking it up to the sixth floor. Wilford could barely remember the way, even with all the signs on the walls, but they eventually found the right room and slipped inside. It was still empty, so they both sat down on the bench beneath the window.
“Babe, I hate to say it,” Celine said. “But you reek.”
Wilford laughed weakly. “Like you’ve never been puked on,” he said.
Celine took both his hands in her and smiled at him. “I don’t think I want to be.”
“I got some bad news for you if you plan on hanging around,” Wilford said.
The door opened and a couple of nurses angled a bed into the room. Wilford watched, not sure if he was meant to get up or not.
“He’ll probably be out for a little bit,” one of the nurses said. “The surgeon will be up soon to talk to you.”
Wilford nodded. “Right,” he said. He didn’t know why he was still nervous, but he hated it.
They wanted to keep him overnight, which meant Wilford was staying overnight. Nichola had come and gone, bringing him and Celine dinner along with his medication. She didn’t stay long, giving Wilford the feeling she didn’t want to be in the way. He let her leave without saying as much, still trying to figure out why he couldn’t get his head on straight.
Celine stayed with him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it. When Michael was awake for brief moments, he wasn’t fussy. That was good. That finally made Wilford start to feel better. The kid obviously wasn’t feeling well, even with whatever drugs they were giving him, but not constantly crying was a definite improvement. He still didn’t want to eat anything, but Wilford didn’t remember having much of an appetite after the last time he’d been in the hospital either.
By mid morning, everyone seemed happy enough with how things had gone that they were sending him home. As soon as Celine heard that, she started to put herself together.
“I’m going to go home and pick some things up,” she said. “I’ll meet you at your place.” She kissed him on the forehead and left, giving Wilford some time alone he hadn’t realised he’d wanted.
