The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [105]
In the end, Gabby was transferred by ambulance to a nursing home run by a man named Elliot Harris, only a couple of blocks from the hospital. Harris had impressed not only Travis, but Stephanie as well, and Stephanie had filled out most of the paperwork in his office. She’d insinuated—true or not—that she knew people in the state legislature and ensured that Gabby was given a gracious private room that overlooked a courtyard. When Travis visited her, he rolled the bed toward the window and puffed up her pillows. He imagined that she enjoyed the sounds from the courtyard, where friends and families met, along with the sunlight. She’d said that to him once when he’d been flexing her legs. She’d also said that she understood his choice and that she was glad he’d made it. Or, more accurately, he’d imagined that she had.
After placing her in the home and spending most of another week with her while they both got acclimated to her new environment, he’d gone back to work. He took Stephanie’s suggestion and began working until early afternoon four days a week; his father filled in after that. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed interaction with other people, and when he had lunch with his father, he found he was able to finish nearly all of his meal. Of course, working regularly meant he had to juggle his schedule with Gabby. After seeing the girls off to school, he went to the nursing home and spent an hour there; after work, he spent another hour with Gabby before the girls got home. On Fridays, he was there most of the day, and on weekends, he usually made it in for a few hours. That depended on the girls’ schedules, which was something Gabby would have insisted on. Sometimes on the weekends they wanted to join him, but most times they didn’t want to or didn’t have the time because of soccer games or parties or roller-skating. Somehow, without the choice of whether Gabby would live or die hovering over him, their growing distance didn’t bother Travis as much as it once had. His daughters were doing what they needed to do to heal and move on, just as he was. He’d lived long enough to know that everyone handled grief in different ways, and little by little, they all seemed to accept their new lives. And then, one afternoon nine weeks after she’d been admitted to the nursing home, the pigeon appeared at Gabby’s window.
At first, Travis didn’t believe it. Truth be told, he wasn’t even positive it was the same bird. Who could tell? Gray and white and black with dark, beady eyes—and, okay, most of the time a pest—they all looked pretty much alike. And yet, staring at it . . . he knew it was the same bird. It had to be. It paced back and forth, showing no fear of Travis when he approached the glass, and it had a coo that sounded . . . familiar somehow. A million people could tell him he was crazy, and part of him would know they were right, but still . . .
It was the same pigeon, no matter how crazy it sounded.
He watched it in wonder, amazed, and the following day, he brought some Wonder Bread and scattered a few pieces on the sill. After that, he glanced at the window regularly, waiting for the pigeon to reappear, but it never did. In the days following its visit, he found himself depressed by its absence. Sometimes, in fanciful moments, he liked to think that it had simply