Not the Rebound Guy

by Abby Knox

  “Baby, you gotta calm down and just let it flow.”

  “Sorry, I’m not a sleepy small-town zen master like you.”

  “Garth Buddha flies to the rescue for every existential crisis.”

  No sooner do I hear him say the word “crisis” when a car roars around the corner and screeches to a halt next to us.

  “Watch out,” he says, pushing me up onto the grass, as far from the street as possible. But the driver isn’t drunk. Linda leans out of the driver side window. “There you are!”

  As soon as I see her, I know something has gone terribly wrong.

  “Linda. Where’s Grams?” My voice trembles in anticipation of bad news.

  “Sweetie, your Grams had a stroke. I’ve been looking for you all over town, and you’re not answering your phone, neither of you.”

  I don’t have time for guilt because panic suffuses my entire being. “Where is she, Linda?”

  “Get in; she’s at Memorial.”

  I turn to Garrett, “You can go home and wait for us there.”

  Fortunately, he sees right through my crazy talk. “Absolutely not. I’m coming with you.”

  He gets into the back of the Jeep with me, and Linda floors it across town. He holds my hand for the short drive. Although I’m floating through a dark, menacing dream for the next several minutes until I’m able to see Grams, I feel him every step of the way. He’s right next to me.

  At the hospital, Garrett signs papers, helping me do what needs to be done. He tethers me as I float to Grams’ room like I’m outside of my body, and holds the door as I go inside.

  It’s only then that I grip his hand tight for comfort. Grams’ eyes are closed, she’s hooked up to several machines, and most distressingly, a ventilator helps her breathe. She looks so helpless.

  “Oh my god, Grams. I’m so sorry.”

  I look up to ask Linda a question, and I see half a dozen other women there. It must be the entire Bunco group.

  “One minute, she was fine, rolling the dice and talking smack like she always does. She said she wasn’t feeling great, so she only drank one gin and tonic. Everyone thought that was weird because, you know, she usually gets pretty tipsy on Bunco nights. Suddenly, she started talking gibberish, and one side of her face looked a little funny. Then, Martha, who used to be a nurse, said, ‘Linda, Betty’s having a stroke,’ and so I called 9-1-1, and they came and got her. She was talking the whole time, just really quiet, not at all like her normal self. She looked confused like she didn’t recognize me.”

  I put my hand up because I can’t hear anymore.

  Garrett sees my distress, and I hear him say something about finding me a chair to sit in, but then a woman in a white coat comes in out of nowhere and starts asking me questions.

  “Are you her daughter?”

  “Granddaughter.”

  The woman in the white coat introduces herself as Dr. Palmer.

  “Why don’t we go and talk in the hallway.”

  “It’s okay; you can say whatever it is in front of her friends.”

  The doctor places her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry to tell you, your grandmother has had a stroke. We’re still assessing the situation, but she may need surgery.”

  Dr. Palmer explains what the next steps are and assures me she’s in good hands.

  “I want her transferred to…where’s the nearest city…Northwestern. Chicago. Right away.”

  The doctor nods. “I understand that, but I’m afraid a transfer under these circumstances would be too hard on her.”

  Linda approaches me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sweetie, she’s gonna be okay. My mom had the same thing happen, and she did just fine here. Go home and get some rest, huh?”

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not; I’m staying here.”

  Garrett pulls a recliner over to Grams’ bedside and asks the group if there’s anything they need.

  “Actually,” the doctor cuts in, “We only allow two visitors at a time, so we, unfortunately, will have to ask some of you to go home. No visitors at all after 10 p.m. except for family.”

  One by one, Grams’ friends hug me and offer encouraging words, but I feel numb. I thank them and then sit next to Grams and hold her hand. There’s an IV, and I can already see a bruise forming.

  “I’m staying here tonight, don’t even try to talk me out of it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Garrett says quietly.

  “You can go home; there’s no reason for you to stay.”

  Garrett doesn’t reply to this except to ask if there’s anything I need. “No, nothing I need. Thank you.”

  He leaves, and I fully expect him to not come back until morning. But he’s back in 20 minutes with a blanket, a pillow, bottled water, and my toiletry bag.

  When I see him lay everything out, I can’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling. Impressed that he found my toiletry bag. Touched that, he thought to bring a blanket and a pillow. Slightly curious how he got past the nurse’s station since he’s not family.

  “How’d you get back in?”

  He lifts one shoulder. “I’m cute. And they all get free raw honey from me.”

  A laugh escapes me. It’s an exhausted laugh, but it’s something. I am surprised at how good that feels even though my Grams is fighting for her life right in front of me.

  “And there’s something else,” he says. “She asked me to be her emergency contact. My name is on some of the forms. It’s not a big deal, but it has its perks.”

  I smile at him in wonder, thinking there must be an end to all the kind things he does. If there is an end, I don’t see it. “Thank you, Garrett. You didn’t have to come back, but thank you.”

  He scrapes a heavy, cushioned chair up next to the recliner where I sit. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you company.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is. Oh, I almost forgot.” He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out my planner and my favorite pen. I gasp.

  “What?”

  “I figure we can work on Grams’ business plan while we wait for her to improve. It can’t hurt, and it’ll keep you focused on her recovery and keep your mind off waiting to hear more from the doctor.”

  I nod my head and open my mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a sob.

  “Hey,” he says. “Did I shock you?”

  I try to answer, but I have no words. I think the panic has settled down, and now I’m just worried and sad and grateful. I nod my head, then shake my head as he hands me a tissue. I blow my nose. He pulls me into his lap.

  “Hey. It’s okay. It’s scary stuff. Come here.”

  I don’t want Grams to hear me cry; I have no idea if she’s in there and can hear us. I have to get it under control.

  But something about being in Garrett’s arms makes me let all control go. I throw my arms around his shoulders and sob into his flannel shirt, my tissue already having disintegrated with use.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say when I finally let all the crying out. The tears still come, but I’m at least able to speak.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he says, stroking my back.

  The last thing I remember before surrendering to sleep is Garrett lifting me up and moving me over to the recliner, never making me let go of Grams’ hand.

  I didn’t say it then, but that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew I loved this man.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Garrett

  I sit across from my two favorite women in case one of them wakes up and needs anything. Watching Eliza, I notice how her forehead is tense even in her sleep. I wish I could take all this stress away from her to let her sleep.

  Grams is going to be okay. Not because I’ve been through this before and not because I have any knowledge of medicine, but I just believe it. I’m a believer. She’s a fighter, and Eliza is a fighter, and I would die for both of them. If I did, I’m sure Eliza would r
evive me just to kill me again for putting myself in harm’s way, but that’s the way it is.

  I love this woman with all my heart. In such a short time, I’ve come to know her so well so fast. There’s still a lot more to learn and a lot more to explore with her. I want to take her away and explore the whole world with her. I want to wake up with her in my arms and make love to her every night. I want to be with her through the rough patches, and I want to love her through all of it.

  I just have to pick the right time to tell her. Of course, I can’t tell her these things while her Grams is sick in the hospital. Right now, we have to focus on helping Grams in any way we can.

  I leave shortly before sunrise to go home and tend to the animals. I come back with breakfast biscuits and a jar of my own honey, and my guitar.

  While they sleep, I strum out a new song.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eliza

  I wake to the smell of coffee, fresh bread, and the gentle sounds of strumming.

  My eyes open, and Garrett is right there, facing me, picking quietly on his guitar, waiting for me to wake up.

  “Good morning,” he says solemnly, making a move to set down his guitar.

  “Good morning. No, don’t,” I say. “It’s nice to hear instead of these awful machines.”

  He gently plays a song I don’t recognize, and I take a look at Grams. I could be mistaken, but I feel a gentle squeeze.

  “Keep playing. I think she hears you,” I say. She squeezes again.

  “Grams, do you hear me? Do you hear the music?”

  Nothing, then. Just quiet breathing.

  The nurse comes in then with the doctor and tells me they believe she can breathe on her own now, which is the good news. The bad news is, they’ve gotten tests back and determined that she’ll need surgery today. They also advise us to step outside while they remove the oxygen tube.

  Garret brings the coffee and food into the waiting area outside after the doctor finishes explaining things to me.

  “Don’t you have a job to get to?” I ask Garrett, weakly teasing.

  “It’s Sunday,” he says. “And anyway, this is my job. You’re my job right now.”

  I look at him. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I appreciate you so much.”

  “Believe it or not, the animals and you are all I need.”

  He lets me finish eating half a biscuit, which is all I can stomach at the moment, then asks if I’ve called my mom yet.

  I take a deep breath. “I knew that was coming. I should probably do that now.”

  “You want me to call her for you?”

  I puff out a laugh, feeling fortified by the biscuits and coffee. “No. If some guy randomly calls her on my phone, she’s just going to have more questions, and I’m already tired. I’ll call her.”

  Garrett holds my hand while I make the call.

  To my surprise, Mom answers right away. “Eliza, it’s 7 a.m. on a Sunday.”

  “Yes, it is. Mom, listen. Grams had a stroke.”

  “What!? Where is she? What hospital? Oh my god. Are you there? What happened? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything, what is that supposed to…wait. No.”

  I literally stop myself from rising to whatever accusations she might be making right now. She might just be speaking off the cuff in a panic.

  “Mom, can you come?”

  “How serious is it? I mean, of course, I’ll come. What kind of a daughter do you think I am? You think I wouldn’t come to be with my mother when she’s sick?”

  “That’s not what I said. Calm down.”

  Garrett squeezes my hand, and I press his back.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “Grams went to Bunco, and then Linda came to find me and said she had one drink and then started saying she wasn’t feeling great and decided to sit down. Then she had a stroke.”

  Mom asks more medical-related questions—deeply technical ones I can’t answer. “I don’t know how to answer that, Mom; you’ll have to ask Dr. Palmer.”

  “That’s right, I keep forgetting you dropped out of medical school.”

  “Seriously? That’s what you’re reminding me of right now?”

  “And drinking! At her age?”

  “Last time I checked, there was no reason for her not to do the things she likes to do.”

  She mumbles something about another doctor being able to take her orthopedic surgeries for the rest of the week and then hangs up.

  I sit there for a few seconds, my phone in my hand, my eyes on the floor, going over this conversation in my head.

  “Hey,” says a familiar voice. I look over, and Garrett is there, holding out my unfinished coffee. “Here.”

  I take it and inhale the aroma.

  “That sounded like a kind of harsh conversation,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You think?”

  “Come here,” he says, wrapping me up in his strong arms. I’m so drained just from that one conversation with my mother that I couldn’t escape from Garrett’s embrace even if I wanted to.

  I look up at him. “Prepare yourself, my mom be here in about an hour, and she’s kind of a handful.”

  He’s silent for a moment, and I know what he’s thinking. “I know you’re stopping yourself from asking why she never visits.”

  “Maybe,” he admits.

  “She and my mom have a complicated relationship. Grams always spoiled me, and that’s why I dropped out of medical school. When I did that, I went to live with Grams, which was the beginning of the strain between mom and me. But looking back on it, there was always something off about our relationship.”

  “You want to sit and tell me more about it?”

  “I’ve been sitting all night; I feel like walking.”

  The ward is laid out in a circle around the nurses’ station, and we walk a loop as I tell him the whole story.

  “Mom and Dad divorced when I was a teen. He and I still have a decent relationship, but he has a whole new family now. Mom never remarried, which was fine by me. She pushed me to go to medical school and looking back on it, I think it was the one way she saw me being able to support myself if I ever found myself in her shoes.

  “But halfway through medical school, I realized I never enjoyed studying that stuff, but I loved getting the syllabus at the beginning of the year. I loved plotting out every semester, every week, every day. It made me happy. I did really well in college not because I liked studying, but because I was really good at time management and planning ahead.”

  I’m deciding whether to try to press him on his family history when we’ve made our way back in a circle to Grams’ room. The nurse is waiting for us with a smile on her face.

  My heart lifts as she says, “She’s asking for you.”

  I run into Grams’ room, and she waves at me.

  “I guess it’s not as bad as we thought!”

  “They can’t keep me under control. They said I’m supposed to stay sedated until the surgery, but I don’t follow the rules.”

  I grab her hand. “Grams, don’t you dare scare me like that ever again.”

  “I promise,” she says, and weakly squeezes my hand. “When can I go home?”

  Just then, Dr. Palmer walks in and gives us the breakdown of what happens next. “After surgery, we’re going to keep you here for a few days, maybe a week, then we’ll make sure you’re ready to go into a rehab facility,” she says.

  “Why do I gotta go to a rehab facility? I’m fine! I can recover at home.”

  The doctor patiently nods and says, “We’re going to make sure, okay?”

  “Yes, Grams. And I’m staying for as long as I need to. I can do my business anywhere. I just texted Debbie that I won’t be back for another couple of weeks, maybe months, because of a family emergency.”

  “Oh boy, I’m sure that drip is excited about that,” Grams says.

  “She’ll hav
e to learn to do things on her own,” I say. “And I can use the time to build up my planner business. I have lots of ideas, and I can do them anywhere as long as I have my laptop.”

  “You’re so good to me. I’m not going to stop you from staying. I’m sure Garrett isn’t going to stop you from staying either.”

  He places his arm around my waist and nods to Grams. “No, ma’am. I learned pretty quickly there’s no sense in arguing with Eliza. Or you. And I would be happy if she stayed a little longer.”

  “I always told you she’s a nice girl.”

  I feel myself blushing from head to toe. “Laid up in a hospital bed and still matchmaking.”

  “Oh no,” she says, spying how close Garrett is standing next to me and how he has his hand on my waist. “Looks like my job here is done.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Garrett

  If I thought Eliza and Grams were their own forces of nature, Karen is ten times the whirlwind of both. But not in an endearing way.

  She walks in wearing a trench coat over her business suit and immediately starts asking questions. “Mom. How long were you alone before the EMTs found you?”

  “What?” Grams looks confused.

  She turns to Dr. Palmer, who has popped in for an update, and rattles off a long list of questions and requests to see Grams’ chart.

  The nurse looks at Grams’ file on her clipboard. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re not authorized to look at her chart.”

  “I’m her daughter and a surgeon. I think I’m entitled.” She snatches the chart away, and everyone gasps.

  This nurse may be tiny, but she’s not to be trifled with. “Great!” she says to my mother with a vicious smile, snatching the chat back. “Then you are aware of confidentiality laws. Your name has to be on the release forms, and it’s not.”

  Karen places a hand on her hip and scoffs. “Whose names are on there? I mean, besides my daughter’s. What little good that does, she couldn’t tell me a damn thing.”

  Grams speaks up. “Listen, Karen. My emergency contacts are Eliza and Garrett.”