“Why don’t we go for a walk, son?” his father asked.
There was a small park across from the hospital with paths among the trees.
As Conor and his father walked through it towards an empty bench,
they kept passing patients in hospital gowns, walking with their families or out on their own sneaking cigarettes.
It made the park feel like an outdoor hospital room, or a place where ghosts went to have a break.
“This is a talk, isn’t it?” Conor said, as they sat down. “Everybody always wants to have a talk lately.”
“Conor,” his father said. “This new medicine your mum’s taking–”
“It’s going to make her well,” Conor said, firmly. His father paused for a moment.
“No, Conor,” he said. “It probably isn’t.” “Yes, it is,” Conor insisted.
“It’s a last ditch effort, son. I’m sorry, but things have moved too fast.”
“It’ll heal her. I know it will.” “Conor,” his father said.
“The other reason your grandma was mad at me was because she doesn’t think me or your mum have been honest enough with you.
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