Read I Thought You Were Dead for Free Online

Insurance would cover most of the expenses. Paul said he wanted to pay an equal share of whatever it cost, but the fact was that Carl’s annual income was easily ten times Paul’s, so that an equal share and a fair share were two different numbers, and both of them knew it.
    Carl had also made plans to buy their parents a computerafter the woman he’d spoken to advised him that there were rehabilitation programs available where patients with only the partial use of one hand could click a mouse to solve simple puzzles to sharpen their minds and could even communicate with others by clicking to answer yes-or-no questions on their computer screens. If greater motor control returned, patients could eventually click on icons or letters to spell out words. Any stimulation of the speech centers of Harrold’s brain would be therapeutic, promoting neurogenesis and simply helping Harrold relearn how to pay attention.
    â€œMaybe you and Dad could instant-message each other,” Carl suggested to Paul. He turned to Beverly. “It’s time you guys got online anyway.”
    Paul agreed that he could do that. Beverly seemed hesitant. Carl asked her why.
    â€œI just don’t think I want to be on the Internet,” she said.
    â€œBecause?” Carl asked.
    â€œWell,” she said, “I don’t know much about it, but I don’t want those hacker people using my credit cards. I know they can get into things and steal your information.”
    She agreed only after Carl assured her that there was nothing to worry about and that if it made her more comfortable, he’d be happy to put the AOL account in his name and use his own credit card to pay for it.
    Paul ate. He thought of all the family meals they’d eaten together, sitting at the kitchen table, Harrold reading the paper but lowering it occasionally to participate, Carl cleaning his plate clockwise and chewing loudly, albeit with his mouth closed, Bits kicking Paul in the shin under the table, Beverly rising every few minutes to fetch refills and seconds from the stove (and always finishing her own meal last), saying, “Don’t be afraid of the potatoes,” or “Help yourself — don’t be afraid of the asparagus,” until her children mocked her, pretending to be frightened by thepotatoes or terrified by the asparagus, and then everyone would laugh. He remembered the fights too. In the hospital lounge, someone was conspicuously absent. It was all wrong.
    Beverly said Pastor Rolander had called to say there was going to be a special prayer offered in church tomorrow for Harrold’s recovery. Carl said they’d decided they were still going to go ahead with the birthday party for his son, Howard, which they’d planned long before Harrold’s stroke, after church at Carl’s house, just family and cousins. Bits agreed that the children would be too disappointed if they canceled.
    â€œLife goes on, right?” Carl said. “I was going to stop in to see Dad before church, and then maybe after the party we can bring the kids back here to see Grandpa. Unless you think that would be too much.”
    â€œHe’d love that,” Beverly agreed.
    When it came time for everyone to grab a fortune cookie from the carton in the middle of the table, Paul declined. He’d decided, somewhere in the course of the day, pondering his father’s current situation, that he needed to start thinking about his own health and how to improve it. Turning down desserts occasionally might be a good first step. He’d never cared that much for fortune cookies anyway. Half the time, they were stale or soggy. His brother looked up.
    â€œAren’t you going to eat your cookie?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Paul said.
    â€œYou at least have to read your fortune.” Maybe it was Carl’s imperious tone, but suddenly Paul remembered all the old wars. They kept their voices down, but the