(Sebastian)
I drove up to the house the next morning and found my grandfather in his own bed, sent home from the hospital with a folder of instructions he'd already ignored.
They'd wanted to keep him longer. He'd refused. A man who'd built a company out of refusing did not stop refusing because a monitor beeped in a way a stranger in scrubs didn't like. So they'd sent him home with a nurse, a list of things he wasn't to do, and a warning I could see he'd filed under noise.
He was propped against the pillows when I came in, smaller than he'd been the week before, which frightened me more than any machine could have.
"You didn't have to come," he said. "It was nothing. A flutter. The heart complaining about the mileage."
"The nurse called it more than a flutter."
"The nurse is paid to
