God is in the Pancakes by Robin Epstein Page B

doing, I’d make it a point to stop in on Isabelle and her husband.
    â€œAnyway, ask one of the nurses and I’m sure they’ll know the room number,” she replies. “Just ask for Frank Sands.”
    â€œMr. Sands?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNot Mr. Sands , Mister Sands ?” I repeat, wanting to add, My Mr. Sands? The man who never even once told me he had a wife?! Yes, okay, he’d spoken of having a wife, just like I’d spoken of having a father. But I’d assumed she was out of the picture too. Where has she been all this time?
    â€œUnless there’s someone else here by the same name,” she replies with a laugh. “You seem surprised. Did Frank tell you he was single so he could woo you?”
    â€œNo! He just doesn’t talk about you a lot.” This gets an even bigger laugh from the woman standing in front of me. “I mean—”
    â€œDon’t apologize, this sounds very much like my Frank. You know what, Grace? I was just on my way out, but I think you and I should walk into his room together and we’ll let him explain himself. Come,” she commands, wriggling her arm through mine and leading me down the hall.
    When we’re a few feet from Mr. Sands’s room, Mrs. Sands stops. “Grace, you know Frank hasn’t been doing well recently,” she says, and I nod. “I don’t know when you last saw him, but I just don’t want his condition to come as a shock to you when we go inside.”
    â€œThanks,” I reply, realizing Mrs. Sands must have no idea how frequently I visit her husband. “But I don’t think I’ll be too surprised.”
    And yet when we walk in and I see Mr. Sands lying on his bed in his pj’s, his eyes closed, an oxygen tank pumping air through a tube connected to his nose, the wind gets knocked out of me yet again.
    â€œFrank Sands, are you sleeping or are you just playing possum?” Mrs. Sands says in a loud, clear voice.
    The muscles of Mr. Sands’s cheeks pull slightly in the direction of a smile as his eyelids slowly open. Mrs. Sands moves us both closer to the bed, and when Mr. Sands registers that she and I are standing there together, he’s the one who looks surprised.
    â€œOh boy,” he says, his reply actually sounding somewhat boyish despite the hoarseness of his voice.
    â€œThat’s right,” she replies. “Grace and I had to meet in the bathroom, no thanks to you. And do you know what this lovely young lady told me? She said you’d told her you didn’t have a wife.”
    â€œNo! I never said that!” I answer, not knowing whom I’m supposed to address. “I just said you never mentioned her.” I look between Mr. and Mrs. Sands and realize that didn’t come out exactly as intended either. “Tell her!” I say to Mr. Sands pleadingly.
    â€œOkay, okay,” he replies slowly, accompanied by a half chuckle, half wheeze. “This is hard for me to say, but Isabelle, Gracie and I are running away together. We would have told you sooner, but we needed to secure the passports first.”
    I turn to Mrs. Sands, who doesn’t look entirely amused. “That’s not true.”
    â€œWell,” she replies, “I’m on to you both now. And if I weren’t so distracted by all the attention I’m getting from Victor, the young handyman who comes to help me change lightbulbs, I might be very upset.”
    â€œOh, there, there, Iz,” Mr. Sands interjects. “I’m sure Grace would be willing to share me.”
    I nod, knowing they’re joking with each other, but feeling a bizarre tension in the room nonetheless.
    â€œWell then, Grace, I’ll leave him to you now since I’ve already had my time with our man here,” she says, keeping her eyes on Mr. Sands. “You’ll be okay, Frank?”
    â€œThank you, honey,” he replies, and strains to reach out to her.