by K A Moll
***
“Oh, honey,” Marigold whimpered as Coy gathered her in for a hug. “It was something on your daddy’s blood test. They booted me into the hall with hardly a word, did an ECG in a blink, and raced out with him, almost before I knew he was gone.”
“It was a narrow window,” Coy responded softly as she clutched her arms to her chest. “Most likely,” she continued, “they saw a change in his heart enzymes. When the ECG confirmed that a heart attack was in progress, they were off and running.” She shook her head, looking out the window to the parking lot. “Surgery was always in his cards,” she added as her gaze returned, “I just wish he’d have been a little stronger before he had to go under the knife.”
“I wish you’d have been the one to talk to ‘em about what they were gonna do to him,” Marigold said. “I listened, but I didn’t understand much of what they told me.” She reached for Coy’s hand. “I tried to get ‘em to wait until I could call you,” she added, “but they wouldn’t.”
“They didn’t have time, Mama,” Coy responded. “And you made a good decision.” She pulled her in for another hug. “Daddy has great docs, both of whom I know personally, and trust. In the same situation,” she added, “I’d have gone with their recommendation, just like you did, with very few questions asked.”
Coby stepped close, gently kissing Coy’s temple. “You think we should go on down to the surgical waiting room?” she asked, “just in case.” Coy had pointed it out on their way to the room.
“Yeah,” Coy said. “I suppose we should.” She glanced to her mama. “Did they say how long they expected his surgery to take?”
“Not really,” Marigold answered, “and I didn’t think to ask ‘em. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Coy responded with a nod. “Coronary bypass usually takes about three to six hours, depending on the number of bypasses and where they’re located.” She shook her head, looking off and sighing. “I’d guess seven to eight for daddy.” She took a long breath, allowing it to escape through her pursed lips, ever so slowly. “And that’s if everything goes well.” She settled between her mama and Coby, on the less than comfortable, vinyl sofa.
Coby gently nudged Coy’s head onto her shoulder. “I tossed your book in the car,” she said softly.
“Thanks,” Coy responded with a thin smile, “but I don’t think I could concentrate, not right now.”
“That’s okay,” Coby said, “I just wanted to have it with us in case you wanted it.”
“You’re so sweet to me,” Coy said, laying her hand on Coby’s thigh.
“You make it pretty darned easy,” Coby responded, covering her fingers with her palm.
Marigold looked over with a brief smile. It was her first since they’d arrived. “Welcome to our family, Coby Lee O’Brien,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to join us at such a difficult time.”
Coby stretched her arm behind Coy to reach for her hand. She squeezed and told her that everything would be alright.
***
Coby looked up when a slim, silver-haired gentleman came toward them. He had the look of an old doctor, but he wore blue jeans and tweed, instead of white. When he opened his arms, he reminded her of a wise old owl, landing after a long flight.
“Oh my dears,” the old gentleman soothed as he swooped in to gather Coy and her mama into his arms, “I’m so sorry.” He kissed the tops of their heads, laying his cheek against Coy’s. “I got here as soon as I could,” he continued. “We were off visiting family, with an hour drive back to town.” When he straightened, his lips were pressed together, and he had a squint to one eye. He looked to Coy. “Do we know anything yet?” he asked. His expression said that he hoped not.
“No, thank God,” Coy responded. “They’ve been in a couple of hours now.”
The gentleman nodded, looking around.
“Here, take my seat,” Coby offered as she stepped around the sofa to take a position behind Coy.
“I’ve got the manners of a toad,” Coy said with a glance upward to Coby. “Doc, this is my girlfriend.”
Coby extended her hand, shaking his with a nod. “Coby…Coby Lee O’Brien,” she said.
“Arthur Stevens,” the old gentleman responded.
“He’s been our doctor for a lot of years now,” Coy said, lighting up in his smile.
“He delivered Coy Annabelle during this big ol’ thunderstorm,” Marigold added. “He bribed her with a cheeseburger, fries, and banana split to get her to take her first grade shots, and then not too much later,” she added with a proud smile, “he made her want to grow up to be a doctor.”
“Excuse me,” Coy choked as her eyes misted over, “I’ll be right back. I want to take a look at daddy’s chart.”
“I think I’ll join you,” Doc Stevens responded.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shoulder to shoulder, they huddled over Cyrus’ chart, studying its documentation as if cramming for boards. The answer had to be in there somewhere. Would he make it or not? And if he did, what was his overall prognosis?
“I don’t know,” Coy sighed with a shake of her head. She bit down on her lower lip, looking to her lifelong friend and mentor. “Fifty, fifty maybe?” she choked.
Arthur looked to the tile, shaking his head slowly. “Maybe sixty, forty,” he responded gently. “Your daddy has a strong will, and you and I both know that plays a huge part in recovery.”
“I know,” Coy said with a slow nod, “that’s what I’m counting on.”
Arthur rested his arm around her shoulders. “Before we go back in,” he said, slowing their pace to a crawl, “I want to talk with you about something.”
Coy looked over to meet his eye.
“I know that you quit your job,” Arthur began, “and I figure that no matter what, you’ll be sticking around for a while.”
“Yeah,” Coy responded, pressing her lips together and nodding, “Mama…and daddy…will need help.”
Arthur brought them to a halt outside the door, saying, “I want you to join my practice.”
“I didn’t complete my residency, Art,” Coy responded with a swallow. “You know that.”
“I’m fully aware of your situation,” Arthur said with no hint of judgment in his voice. “Just hear me out.” He met her gaze. “I’m getting older,” he continued, “too old to keep on like I am, taking care of as many as I do, without extra help.”
“I don’t know, Art,” Coy said softly.
“This isn’t charity, Coy Annabelle,” Arthur continued. “I offered you the job because you’re the one I want, the one who’s most qualified to fill the service gap that I need to have filled.”
“You’ve never, not once in all these years, invited a physician assistant into your practice,” Coy responded. “I really appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to do this. I’m fine, really.”
“I didn’t invite one because I didn’t need one,” Arthur countered, “but now I do. I need someone I can trust with my patients, someone who has expertise in OB/GYN, and someone young enough to be up all hours of the night with mamas expecting babies.” He held her gaze. “That’s you, Coy Annabelle. Just think about it,” he added, “that’s all I ask.”
Coy nodded, saying she would.
***
Coby nodded toward the sofa on the opposite side of the waiting room. “So you like him?” she asked, “and you think he’s a good doctor?”
“Yeah, he’s the best,” Coy responded with a glance to Arthur. His eyes were closed, and his chin was tucked down, just like her mama’s. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Coby answered, glancing down to check her watch. “It’s three-thirty,” she blurted out.
“Beyond the halfway point,” Coy commented. “That’s a good sign.” With that, she returned to the previous topic. “So, why’d you ask me about Art?”
Coby looked up. “Because I think you want me to see someone,” she ans
wered with a slight shrug of her shoulders, “and he seems like an okay guy. I just wanted to be sure you thought so too; that’s all.”
“I do,” Coy responded with a slight smile, “and you’re right. I would feel better if you’d go in, if only for blood work.” She patted Coby’s thigh. “He’s got an easy way about him,” she added. “I think he’d be a good choice.”
“An easy way, like you do,” Coby responded.
Coy took a breath, opening her newspaper to change the subject. She thumbed through the pages in search of an article that might be of interest to Coby. When she found one, she folded it so that only that article was showing. “Read this for me,” she requested softly.
“I can’t,” Coby responded, meeting her eye. “Like I told you before, I don’t read so well.”
“I know,” Coy answered gently, “that’s why I want you to read for me.”
Coby shook her head, looking off for a moment. “I never realized how bad I read,” she said, “until I had this one teacher in middle school that was determined to make me read out loud. I think she did it just to embarrass me in front of the class. That was the year I skipped more than I went.” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “A couple of years later, I dropped out.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” Coy said. “I just want to see if I can help.”
“I know that,” Coby answered with a slow nod.
Coy nudged the article toward her, saying, “Read for me.”
“First my shorts,” Coby responded with a slight smile and an eye roll, “and now reading out loud.” She held her eye, prepared to try. “You’re a force to be contended with, Coy Annabelle.” She placed her finger under the first word. “One sentence, maybe two, and that’s all.”
“Okay,” Coy responded with a satisfied smile, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“In…the…1940s,” Coby read, “the…Bears…beat…the…Pack-ers 16…times.” She moved her finger along, word by word. “Their… uhh…suc…cess,” she read on, “in the…early 1990s in-clu-ded…a st-re-tch…of…uhh…eight…um…stra…uhh…”
“Straight,” Coy interjected quietly.
Coby continued, “…straight…wins…from…1985…un-til…1988.”
“Now tell me what you read,” Coy said.
Coby’s brow wrinkled. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “I couldn’t tell you the first thing, except maybe that it’s about the Bears and the Packers. That’s why reading is a waste of time for me.” She met Coy’s eye. “I love that you can do it so well. You’re so smart,” she added. “I’ve never known anyone as smart as you are.”
“You’re smart too,” Coy said softly, “you just don’t know it.” She picked up the newspaper, nudging for another try. “Now, re-read it until you can read it fast and smooth, just like you talk.”
“I can’t,” Coby responded, “I don’t know the words that well.”
“Yes, you can,” Coy countered at a whisper. “When you come to a word that you don’t know, just say the first two sounds, think about what makes sense, and go with it.”
Coby read about the Bears and the Packers—over—and—over—and—over—smiling wider with each try. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “It works! I read that like a normal person, and I can tell you all about it.”
“I know you did,” Coy responded with an equally wide smile and a warm hug. “You make me proud, Coby Lee O’Brien.” She leaned in for a kiss. “So proud.”
***
“Surgically, the problems with his heart have been addressed,” the surgeon reported, “but his body has been through considerable trauma.” He held Doc Steven’s eye for a long moment, and then Coy’s. “He’ll be in cardiac intensive care for quite a while.”
“How long?” Marigold asked. “And when can I take him home?”
Coy slipped her arm around her mama. “It’ll be a while,” she said softly.
“If all goes well,” the surgeon answered, “he’ll be in CICU for seven or eight days. We’ll see after that.” When his cell rang, he excused himself, promising to talk later.
“I’m so relieved,” Marigold sighed, stepping away. “I was so worried.”
Coy took a breath as she met Art’s gaze. They shook their heads, knowingly, to one another.
“Tell me,” Marigold said, looking to Coy, “I need to know what you’re worried about.”
“He’s not awake yet,” Coy responded quietly, “and it’s been four hours.” She slipped her arm around her, pulling her close, and kissing her temple. “Daddy’s strong, Mama,” she continued, “but I’m afraid he has a long, difficult recovery ahead of him.”
“Then we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Marigold responded as she set her jaw. She turned to make her way back to the sofa. It would be several more hours before they would be allowed a brief visit.
When Doc Stevens stood to go, Coby asked for a ride home.
“Home?” Coy asked with a tilt of her head.
“Yeah,” Coby answered, “we didn’t set anything out for the guests.”
“You’re such a sweetie,” Coy responded.
“I know,” Coby answered with a wink and a kiss. “I’ll be back as soon as I get ‘em fed.”
***
And so it continued for some time—Coy staying near her daddy’s bedside, watchful, with her mama doing the same, and Coby biking back and forth to see them. She wanted to do something helpful and made it her mission to keep the bed and breakfast running smoothly. Her days weren’t half bad—cooking, doing dishes, maintaining, and cleaning. In fact, she was enjoying herself enough that she could see herself doing it for a living. But the nights, oh God the nights, they were excruciating. Alone in bed, she missed Coy more than anything.
“Mama’s home,” Kathy Bird squawked.
“No, Bird, she isn’t,” Coby answered. “It’s just you and me.” She shook her head and turned the page of the graphic novel that she’d been reading. It hadn’t taken long for her to discover that illustration made it easier and increased her comprehension. “Now be quiet or I’ll cover you early,” she threatened gently as she slid her finger under the next word on the page.
“Mama’s home,” the parrot repeated.
“No, Bird,” Coby muttered sternly, “she isn’t. She’s at the hospital, where she’s been for days upon days.” Her eyes dropped to the page but lifted almost immediately. She’d just spoken with her but reached for her cell anyway. She needed to hear her voice one more time before trying to sleep. A smile eclipsed her face at the sound of ringing, in her ear, as well as on the stairway. She watched the door, waiting to utter her playful greeting. “Oh no,” she moaned as it opened, “I think a Packer-backer’s gonna sit next to me.”
“In just a minute she is,” Coy chirped with a smile and a wink. She shut the door, hung up her jacket, and set her purse on the dresser.
Coby laid her book aside. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home,” she said as her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips.
Coy popped over for a quick kiss. “You sounded lonesome,” she responded, untying her gym shoes, “and daddy’s doing lots better.” She glanced up and their gazes lingered. “Mama thought I’d best come home and take care of you for a bit.”
“I’m glad you did,” Coby said with a raise of her eyebrow, “because I could definitely use some takin’ care of.” She took a breath, parting her legs. “Come here, baby. Come see me.”
Coy placed her knee on the sofa between them and leaned in for a slow kiss. “Mmmm, that’s nice,” she purred, “do it again.” Her eyes passed downward. “Oh my,” she murmured as her finger trailed between Coby’s low peaks to her navel, “aren’t you sexy.”
Coby sucked in a shallow breath, strongly aware of her own heartbeat. Her black drawstring bottoms and white tank undershirt were on for comfort, but it was good to know that Coy found them attractive. Her heart raced even faster. Dear God, it was gonna happen a
nd she wasn’t ready. She swallowed hard and her pulse bolted. “I want you so much it hurts,” she choked.
“Then take me,” Coy murmured. “I’ve been yours since that first night.”
Coby pressed her lips together, looking away. Within a couple of moments, she turned back to meet her eye. “I can’t,” she choked. “It’s like I’m frozen or something.”
“You’re afraid,” Coy responded softly.
“Yeah, I am,” Coby admitted, “because I know there’s no way I’m gonna measure up.” She shook her head, adding, “And when I don’t, I know it’ll be just like before.”
“You were seventeen,” Coy countered, “and your girlfriend had the emotional age of a twelve-year-old. It’s not going to be just like before.” She took a quiet breath, as Coby struggled to maintain composure. “Come on, baby,” she cooed, extending her hand, “let’s go to bed and snuggle.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Coy closed the bathroom door with barely a click, lifting her shirt over her head with a soft sigh. She unclasped her bra and tugged off her jeans, unsure what to do next with regard to Coby. It didn’t seem right to push her, and yet she needed their relationship to move to the next level. She flashed back to her marriage, as the possibility that what they had could be more than sexual, crossed her mind. Never again, she reminded herself. If she’d learned anything from years of marriage to Fergie, it was never to put herself in a situation where she could be dominated, abused, and criticized. That wasn’t how she was raised, and she wondered what made her tolerate it so long. She slid the glass door open, adjusted the water temperature, and stepped into the steaming shower. As she lathered, she considered what she might do to help things along. God, how long had it been since her last orgasm? Antarctica, that’s how long. She lifted the showerhead, raked the pulsating stream across her nipples, and returned it to its holder. She made her way through the darkened bedroom, slipped quietly under the covers, and rolled to her side.
