Leaving Normal Stef Holm (classic literature books TXT) 📖

small incisions starting to ache. Sitting up in bed, she looked down the opening of her top, pushed aside the lining of her bra and gazed at the white tape and gauze.

She'd have scars. Two of them.

The doctor said the incisions were each about an inch in width. The needle localization was something she never cared to experience ever again in her life. It had been hell on earth, the pain comparable to labor.

Emotions swirled in her head and she fought back tears of relief and upset, blaming it on the effects of the general anesthesia and drugs. She was beyond happy the procedure had turned up nothing, but the surgery left an imprint on her. Literally.

It was bad enough being in her forties with a body that wasn't what it used to be. Now she had to deal with changes that were out of her control. She had no idea what her breast would look like. But as she thought the worst, she quickly, and almost guiltily, shoved her wor-ries aside knowing what her mother had gone through with the loss of an entire breast shortly before the loss of her life. What Natalie had to deal with was nothing in comparison.

Slowing getting out of bed and going downstairs, Natalie found her father sitting on the sofa watching Oprah.

"Hey, Dad…" she said, her voice sounding scratchy.

A worried expression painted her father's face. "I thought I told you to ring the bell if you needed anything."

Fred shot up from the sofa, came to her and put his arm around her waist to walk her to the oversize chair.

"I'm fine." She hadn't needed the small bell to chime for assistance. She wasn't in that much pain, but it was a dull throb. And she was fine to walk on her own.

He brought her to the chair and she sat. He quickly picked up the afghan and covered her legs and feet. "Do you want your slippers?"

Realizing she'd left them upstairs, she nodded.

Her dad was gone and back in less than a minute, slipping her feet into warm wool slippers.

Looking attentively at her, he asked, "How about some soup?"

"Later." She gazed at Oprah, not paying attention to the program. She felt a little foggy. "How's Sarah doing at the shop?"

"Good. I talked to her about an hour ago."

Her father had been with her since she'd gone to the hospital this morning. He'd absolutely insisted. He'd had a panicked look on his face that neither sister could deny—he feared he'd lose a daughter the way he'd lost a wife. He would be damned if he wasn't the one to be by her side throughout the whole procedure.

He'd stayed with her up to the time they took her into surgery, made sure she was all right in recovery while

Sarah worked with Meagan in Hat and Garden. After school, Sarah's daughters were coming in to help, too. It was times like this Natalie was reminded how wonderful her family was.

"Dad, you don't have to stay anymore. Go home and check on your squirrels and birds."

"I'm not leaving." Fred sat down on the couch, crossed his arms on his chest. "You look pretty good."

Her hand rose, smoothed her bed head and tried to tame a piece of hair. "I'm sure."

"I'm not talking out of the side of my mouth. You've got some color in your cheeks. You look really good. I'm just so glad that—" His voice broke, cracked. "Just so damn…glad you're all right."

Grateful emotions welled in her heart. "Me, too, Dad. I hope I don't have news like that again."

"You won't." Fred wiped his eye, blustered and sat straighter. He put on a cheerful smile. "I brought you something."

"What?"

He stood, went into the kitchen and then handed her a box. "It's to vacuum the crumbs off your table when you're done eating."

Quizzically, Natalie stared at the colorful picture on the outside of the box. It looked like a small, space-age DustBuster. She read aloud, '"Great for crumbs, nuts and small messes that are too easily swept to the floor.'" Gazing up at her dad, she asked, "Do I have crumbs on my floor?"

"I've never seen any."

"Oh. Well, thanks, Dad…I'll…ah, thanks."

Fred took the box, his mouth souring. "I didn't really buy it for you, I bought it for myself and I know I'll never use it. If you don't want it, I can give it to Sarah."

"No, that's okay. I might use it. But, Dad, if you don't want it, why not take it back? Where'd you get it?"

"Target." Was that a tinge of red creeping across his cheeks, down the front of his neck? "I can't take it back. I mean, I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"All right." Natalie sensed there was more to the story, but he wasn't supplying more information so she waited, hoping he'd add something.

"I went to the new Target."

'That's nice," she responded, thinking—and what of it?

"It's a good store. But they don't sell the flavor of slushy that I like."

Her father was a Target connoisseur. Everything and anything that could be bought at Target, he bought there. Christmas presents, birthday presents, everyday household items. Dad had his little ritual, she'd seen him do it before: popcorn, slushy, the latest circular and a list of items he needed. It was an event when he went.

"I think they change the flavors, Dad."

"Good. That's what I was thinking, too. That's why I'll go back to that new one. They had a nice housewares department. Do you need anything? Some drinking glasses or silverware?"

"No, Dad. I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Natalie's mind wandered. There was something new simmering in her dad. A sort of spark, a joy, a fluster— she hadn't seen such a thing in him in a long, long time.

He'd had to contend with demons after Mom died, years spent trying to rebuild the emotions that had un-raveled upon her death. He'd taken it hard, taken it the worst of them. It took five years for him to regain his sense