"Dad," she said, startled.
"Was it Brewster again? Gail, he's no damned good."
"I like him, Dad; that's what matters. If you're afraid I'm gonna leave you alone in your sickness, I'm not. But I'm eighteen and I'll see whoever I please!"
She turned, fled up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door. I pulled myself out of my wheelchair, slid onto the sofa bed and began thinking about tomorrow and dreading another sleepless night.