Window on the Bay

by Debbie Macomber

  Maureen shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her, offering as much of a smile as I could manage. “Honestly, I am.” Maureen was scheduled to work in the morning. Luckily, I was off on Monday. I worked three twelve-hour days on and then I had three days off.

  I finally managed to convince her I’d be okay. I walked her to the door and we hugged before she headed toward the hospital exit.

  Not twenty minutes after she’d left, a surgeon stepped into the waiting area. He briefly talked with the other two in the room, and after a few minutes they departed.

  I was left alone.

  I’d spent a good majority of my adult life alone, so it didn’t bother me. I was strong and independent—I’d learned by necessity. Being alone had been harder for my mom since Dad had passed. She’d always had him by her side, and consequently, navigating the turbulent waters of widowhood had been especially difficult for her. She’d never had to fill the car with gas or take the garbage out to the street or deal with a thousand other tasks that my father had always done for her. At first, simple tasks had felt daunting to her. I was convinced part of her unwillingness to venture out alone had to do with her anxiety over pumping her own gas at a self-service gas station.

  As much as possible, I’d tried to be there for her, but I couldn’t allow myself to become a crutch. Like I had once been forced to do, Mom would need to find her own inner strength. I had faith in her. But I worried that this hip surgery would undermine Mom’s confidence even more.

  The minutes passed slowly. I scanned nearly every magazine in the room, and wandered around, moving from one section to another. A few staff members I knew stopped off to chat and offer their concerns. Between worrying about Mom and waiting to hear about her condition, I stewed about everything that could go wrong and prayed for good results and quick healing for my wonderful mother.

  When Dr. Rowan Lancaster finally appeared in the waiting room, it was close to four hours from the start of the surgery. He was dressed in the typical blue surgical gown. The cap on his head was soaked from hours in the operating room.

  His eyes immediately met mine, as I was the only one in the surgical waiting area. He nodded, acknowledging me. I guessed that we were about the same age; he might be a few years older. His hair, what I could see of it, was salt and pepper, with more salt. His eyes were a deep shade of brown and told me nothing about what had transpired in surgery. I noted he was taller than me by several inches, with a wide, muscular torso. Orthopedic surgeons needed strong upper-body strength for the demanding physical work required in the operating room. As far as looks went, he wasn’t especially handsome; he had sharp, well-defined features.

  I was on my feet before I realized I was even standing. My mouth was dry as sandpaper. Worry instantly gripped me and I clenched my hands into tight fists, afraid of what he was about to say. My immediate thought was that something had gone wrong. I knew Mom took medication for high blood pressure and was unsure how her heart would do following a lengthy surgery.

  For an awkward moment, he didn’t say anything.

  “Did everything go okay?” I blurted out.

  “It went as well as could be expected. The break was complicated; I needed to reinforce the hip with screws. Your mother’s in recovery. She’ll be fine.”

  Again, that skimpy amount of information wasn’t enough for me. He seemed to sense my frustration, and lowered himself into a chair, indicating that I should take a seat across from him.

  “What do you mean by ‘complicated’? I’m a nurse, Dr. Lancaster. I want to know the extent of the injury, the details of the repairs, and how long the recovery process will be. Mom’s a widow, and she hasn’t adjusted well to life without my dad.”

  Dr. Lancaster held my look and didn’t comment.

  His lack of response flustered me. As a result, I started talking more. “Mom and Dad were married over fifty years, and she’s lost without him. Now this. I don’t know how she’s going to deal with being immobilized for several weeks.”

  I couldn’t seem to stop talking. It felt as if the words had been jammed inside of me and I couldn’t get them out fast enough.

  “I know Mom is going to want to go home, but she can’t. She’ll be sent to a rehab center and it could be weeks, maybe months, before she’s able to return to the house. She has a garden and she’ll be upset that her tomatoes won’t get canned, but she lives alone, so I don’t know why she needs to can thirty quarts of tomatoes.”

  I kept jabbering, which wasn’t like me at all. Even while consciously realizing what I was doing, I kept going.

  “Mom loves her garden. She had one zucchini plant that produced fifty zucchinis. It was crazy. No one would take them anymore, so Mom pickled them. Have you ever tasted pickled zucchini? Don’t bother; they’re not that great.”

  Dr. Lancaster remained silent. He couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise even if he had tried.

  “I—” I stopped abruptly and felt my face heat up. I couldn’t have embarrassed myself any more than I had already. I nervously twisted my hands together. Silence filled the room until I spoke again. “I’m sorry…I don’t know where all that came from; I didn’t realize how wound up and worried I was.”

  “As I was saying, your mother’s surgery went well.” To his credit, he proceeded to patiently respond to all my pressing questions and assured me that her heart was as strong after surgery as it had been going in. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate fully. My mind was going in ten different directions, and I couldn’t get over the way I’d embarrassed myself in front of him.

  I didn’t notice that he’d stopped speaking for several more uncomfortable seconds. It was then that I realized he was waiting for me to say something, and that he had an inquisitive look on his face. Could I have made an even bigger fool of myself?

  “Thank you,” I managed, “for everything.”

  He continued to intently stare at me. “You were at the hospital Christmas event last year,” he said.

  “Was I?” His observation was out of left field. “Yes, I guess I was.”

  “You work in the ICU here, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood, as if he’d said all that was necessary.

  I rose to my feet at the same time and grabbed hold of his hand, shaking it several times, as if we’d completed a long and hard negotiation. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded, turned, and walked out of the room. Relieved, I sank back down to stop the trembling in my knees.

  A few moments after he left the room, a young nurse entered. “Jenna?”

  I looked up. “Yes?”

  “I’m Katie. I work with Dr. Lancaster as part of his surgical team. He thought you might like to see your mother in recovery before you head home.”

  It registered that I’d met Katie when she did a rotation in ICU. She was young—a warm and caring nurse—and I’d liked her immediately. “I remember you, Katie.”

  “I remember you, too. Would you like me to take you to your mom now?”

  “Please,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “Follow me.”

  I silently trailed after her down the hallway that led to the wide double doors into the surgical recovery area. As soon as I saw Mom, I walked to her bedside and gently took her hand.

  Tears gathered in my eyes. I wasn’t a woman who gave way to emotion easily. Seeing my mother like this did it to me, though. I raised her hand and held it in mine, pressing it against my heart.

  “Love you, Mom,” I whispered. “The doctor said you did great. You’re a real trooper.”

  I doubted that she heard me. The thing was, I needed to hear myself. She was at the start of her long recovery process, and I had no idea where that path would take her.

  * * *

  —

 
By the time I left the hospital it was after midnight. I’d waited until Mom was awake and had been wheeled to her room on the surgical floor. She’d fallen asleep within minutes. I quietly promised her that I’d be back to check on her in the morning.

  Before I left, I’d connected with my brother and Mrs. Torres to reassure them that the surgery went well. Both Paul and Allie were night owls, so I waited until I arrived home to tell them about their grandmother. I’d purposely put off calling my children until Mom was safely out of surgery, knowing they’d be worried.

  I called Paul first. He was the oldest and my rock in times like these. Allie would get upset, and seeing that I was pretty much an emotional wreck myself, it made sense to contact Paul before calling his sister.

  “Mom, it’s late. Everything okay?”

  I explained to him what had happened, reviewing Mom’s recovery time and what it would mean for her.

  “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” Paul had been close to my dad, who’d been a father figure to him.

  “Yes, she’ll be fine; your grandmother is at an age when these kinds of accidents can easily happen.”

  “I’m glad to hear Grams will be fine. But are you okay?”

  I smiled to myself. Paul had always been the more insightful of my children. “I think so. I was more shaken than I realized.” I didn’t mention that I’d made a complete idiot of myself in front of the surgeon.

  “You call Allie yet?” Paul asked.

  “No, I wanted to speak to you first.”

  “You know she’s going to freak out.”

  I did. “Why do you think I called you first?” Talking to Paul always calmed me. I could already feel the tense muscles in the back of my neck relaxing.

  “You want me to reach out to her?” Paul asked.

  “No. Even if you do, she’ll want to talk to me.”

  We said our good-byes and ended the call. I was now better prepared to speak to my daughter. I took a deep breath and called her.

  Not even thirty seconds into our conversation, my daughter started to sob. “Grams is going to die!”

  “Sweetheart, your grandmother came through the surgery like a pro. She’s going to be fine.” I didn’t tell her about the long recovery process. No need to add to Allie’s fears.

  “I’m heading to the hospital right now.”

  “Allie, no,” I said as sternly as I could. “Grams is sound asleep and comfortable. She needs her rest.”

  “Then I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

  “Allie,” I said, pleading with her, “you’ve got a lot on your plate already. Grams would be happy to see you, but I don’t want you to skip any of your freshman orientation events, understand?”

  “But Grams needs me,” Allie protested.

  “I’ll be there for her,” I said. “I’ll check in on her regularly throughout the day. Grams would rather have you making new friends at college than sitting with her at the hospital. Call her in the morning; that would mean more to her than you rushing to the hospital like she’s on her deathbed.”

  “Mom,” Allie squealed. “Don’t even say that.”

  My choice of words had been a mistake. “Grams is going to be fine. I’ll keep you updated, and you’ll be able to see her yourself tomorrow evening. That way she’ll be able to reassure you herself, which she can’t do now because she’s sleeping.”

  The line went silent and Allie seemed to be having an internal debate. “All right,” she said, finally agreeing. She hesitated and added, “I finally got ahold of Dad today. He assumed I wanted money for textbooks.”

  I kept quiet, refusing to let my attitude show. Kyle did only what was required of him in the divorce papers, and not a penny more. When Allie needed braces early in her teen years, Kyle had quoted chapter and verse of our settlement agreement. From that point on, I’d never asked for anything more from the man, and he’d never volunteered. Somehow I’d managed to find room in our tight budget to afford braces for both kids.

  “I assured him I didn’t need anything,” Allie continued. “I wanted him to know what classes I was taking. You know what he said? He told me they sounded pretty basic and that he thought I was smarter than that.”

  “You’re a freshman, Allie. There are certain requirements. Don’t let your father discourage you.”

  “I was going to explain, but he said he had to go because there were people waiting to talk to him.”

  Clearly other people were more important than his own daughter. I didn’t want to discourage Allie from a relationship with her father—she seemed to need his acceptance. I didn’t want to see Allie get hurt, though, and was afraid of what would happen once she realized her father didn’t give two hoots about her, or, in my opinion, anyone other than himself.

  “I’m glad you called, Mom,” Allie said, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Have fun meeting new people tomorrow and be sure to give your grams lots of love when you see her.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Maureen

  Logan was back in the library. As soon as I saw him, I realized that I’d been waiting for him to show, even though in my mind he was a definite red light. Okay, a yellow light, but a very bright yellow. Why I would even be thinking of him as a potential date was ridiculous. The man was a constant irritation. Furthermore, he’d never shown any interest in dating me, and even if he did, I’d refuse.

  When he first started showing up on Mondays, I wasn’t sure what to think. Dressed for his job on a construction site, he looked nothing like a normal library patron. He’d come directly to my desk and asked me what people were reading these days. It was a broad question. I asked if he was interested in fiction or nonfiction. He said both. And that was how it all began.

  “Afternoon, Marian the Librarian.”

  I forced a smile. That was an old nickname, and one I’d grown tired of hearing over the years. “My name is Maureen,” I said, pointing to my name badge. Saying it with a smile proved to be difficult. “How may I assist you?”

  “Oh, so formal. Come on, I’m a regular. The least you can do is act like you’re happy to see me.”

  I wasn’t about to do that, although I reluctantly admitted to myself how much I looked forward to his visits. I wished I knew what it was about him that got to me. Normally, I was friendly with patrons who stopped by my desk. Perhaps it was the familiarity with which he approached me the first time I’d met him, and every time since. He acted as if we’d known each other our entire lives. He’d been oblivious to the looks he’d generated with his hard hat and work clothes. His self-confidence caught me off guard. The way he talked, you’d have thought we were the best of friends, which sent rumors circulating all through the library. More than once I’d had to assure a coworker that Logan and I weren’t romantically involved.

  I guessed he was about my age. With men, it was more difficult to tell. His dark hair, which he wore a bit longer than I personally liked, showed streaks of gray. It was tied into a small ponytail at the base of his neck. He wasn’t tall or buff—an average-looking man, I’d say. I was drawn, however, to his blue eyes. The color reminded me of robins’ eggs.

  “I finished the Michael Connelly book,” Logan said, placing it on my desk. “It was as good as you claimed. What do you recommend next?”

  I’d given up telling him where the book return was located. “What are you in the mood for?” I asked, mentally reviewing the books he’d read in the last few weeks. “You’ve been reading a lot of fiction, so perhaps you’d like to try nonfiction this week?”

  “Sure, whatever you think will interest me. To date, you’ve chosen well.”

  Hearing him say so was a nice compliment. Unwilling to let him see how much it pleased me, I walked toward the nonfiction section.

  “Hillbilly Elegy has been a popular choice,” I suggested, handing him the book. It
was on display, and the book club at the library had it on its list. I’d read it myself recently and felt Logan might enjoy the enlightening book.

  Logan looked at the cover, turning it over to quickly scan the quotes listed on the back. “I don’t want to appear ignorant. Can you tell me what an elegy is?”

  “It’s like a poem or a speech or a commentary,” I said.

  “Have you read it?”

  “I have,” I told him. “That’s why I’m recommending it.”

  He started to read the description written on the flap. “An analysis of a culture in crisis”—his voice faded out and then regained strength—“the social, regional, and class decline.” He didn’t look overly enthusiastic. “You enjoyed it?”

  “Very much. But in case you don’t like it, I’ll throw in a spy thriller I finished that’s back at my desk.”

  “All right, if you say they’re good reads, I’ll give them a try. You haven’t steered me wrong yet. Thanks, Marian.”

  “It’s Maureen.”

  He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with barely restrained amusement. “I know. I like to call you Marian to ruffle your feathers.”

  “It gets old.”

  “Ah, but you take the bait every time.” He took the book and grinned at me again. “See you next week.” And with that, he promptly headed to the checkout desk, then out the main doors.

  I’d have another week of peace before he returned. Yet, I watched for him, even studied the clock on Mondays. He most likely came on his lunch break from the construction site near the library. When the project was finished, I was sure he’d move to a new site and a new library, and Mondays would return to what they’d always been. I felt an immediate sense of disappointment thinking about it.

  He hadn’t been gone even five minutes and I found myself reviewing new arrivals for a book I would recommend to him next week. I instantly made myself stop thinking about Logan and glanced at my watch. It was time for my own lunch.