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Show CHAPTER TWENTY THREE Lying in bed that night, I thought about Andrew's surgery. I had asked Father about it as he was unlocking the motorcycle, and he told me that it was not very serious, just another try at building Andrew's mouth back to near normal. I thought then about the mouth in the picture his mother had shown us, the smile, the narrow lips pulled back in the grin brought on part by happiness, part by the bright sun shining into his face. His mouth could never be like that again. Andrew's surgery was to be on Wednesday so I spent all day Tuesday at the hospital. He seemed more cheerful than usual, telling funny stories and even singing a few songs from the war. When I tried to ask him about the surgery, he told me he didn't want to think about it. So I dropped it. When Father was ready to go home, I asked if I could stay longer but Andrew told me to go, that he needed to rest. So I said good-bye. He just waved to me. The next morning, Father came up to my room before he left for the hospital. I was awake, lying in the shadows and half-light. He sat on my bed and ruffled my hair. "Annie, I'll let you know as soon as Andrew's surgery is finished. Promise you'll not worry about it too much." Now he patted my hand. "It's really not serious." "Father, the other night when I mentioned your patient that was dying, Andrew asked if you had ever told me that they are all dying. Do you think he's afraid that he is? Is that why he said that?" Father shook his head. "What a thing for him to say. He's usually such a cheerful young man. Considering." Then he sighed. "I don't know what he meant, Annie. Any time someone goes in for surgery he begins to think such thoughts. Especially someone like Andrew who has had so many bouts with it all. |