I was at the 24-hour pharmacy counter at 2 AM because my wife's back went out and the heating pad burned through.
Audrey was there too. My son's girlfriend. Counting out change for a pregnancy test. Fourteen cents short.
I handed the cashier a five and said keep it. Didn't look at her. Didn't say a word.
The parking validation ticket in my pocket was stamped from the hospital. I remembered the feel of that cold machine twenty years ago, when my wife and I stood in the same fluorescent light, not knowing what came next.
Audrey's hands were shaking. Same way mine did. Same way my son's will, if he ever knows.
I walked out with my heating pad and left her standing there. Some things you don't need to say. Some things you just hand over and walk away from.
The family dentist of twenty years retired last spring. Funny what you think about at 2 AM when you're the one who knows the secret.
When no one's watching, we're all just people trying to get through the next five minutes. That's who we are. That's all we've ever been.