“No. She was still passed out when they took her away.”
“How did you know who to…”
“Your telephone number was in her purse.”
Annie asks a few more questions, but there are no answers. By the time the call ends, her hands are trembling. She turns to Oliver and says, “Ophelia’s at Mercy Hospital.”
He cuts across the line of traffic and makes a sharp turn onto Begonia Boulevard.
“We’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” he says.
When they arrive at the hospital, Oliver pulls up to the emergency entrance.
“Go ahead,” he says. “I’ll park the car and be right behind you.”
Annie pushes through the double doors, hurries to the desk and asks for Ophelia Browne.
A young nurse with the expression of someone whose feet hurt glances up. “What name?” she asks.
“Ophelia Browne. She was in an automobile accident. An elderly woman, silver hair, slender—”
“Are you family?” the nurse asks.
Annie nods. “Yes. I’m her…” She hesitates for a moment as she decides whether to be the granddaughter or daughter.
“Granddaughter,” she finally says. “Can you tell me how she’s doing?”
“They’ve taken her to the O-R. Have a seat and the doctor will be down to talk to you when the procedure is over.”
“But can’t anyone tell me anything now?”
“Have a seat,” the nurse repeats. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”
When Oliver comes in, he scans the room. He spies Annie sitting in the waiting area and joins her.
“Have they told you anything yet?” he asks.
She shakes her head.
Annie and Oliver spend the first day of their honeymoon sitting side by side in the waiting room. It is filled with little snippets of tragedy: a boy with an arm that appears broken, a young mother trying to comfort a crying baby, a fearful-looking old man clutching a woman’s purse to his chest.
As the hours drag on, Annie’s hope grows thinner. She drops her head onto Oliver’s shoulder and cries. He wraps his arm around her and tries to find the right words. There are none.
It is almost six o’clock before the doctor comes to the waiting room. He introduces himself as Alex Milburn and says Ophelia is stable now.
“Your grandmother had a massive heart attack,” he tells Annie. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
“Will she be okay?” Oliver asks.
Doctor Milburn gives a solemn shrug. “Because of her age there’s no guarantee. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.” He adds that Ophelia is now being moved to the Coronary Care Unit where skilled nurses will watch her every breath.
Annie’s knees go weak as she grabs hold of Oliver’s arm. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Pray,” he answers. “If there is no further damage and she makes it through the night, her chances of recovery are fairly good. But the probability is she’ll need therapy and ongoing care.”
“Whatever it costs,” Oliver says. “Just do what you have to do.”
The silver-haired doctor gives an understanding nod. “It’s not a question of money. She’s already getting the best possible care.” He says the angioplasty went well, and it appears the blockage has been cleared. His words end there. He speaks only of what is, not what will be.
After Ophelia is settled in the CCU, Annie is permitted a short visit.
“Ten minutes,” a stern-faced nurse says. “The patient needs her rest.”
Annie hates to hear Ophelia called “the patient.” She is so much more.
When she enters the room Ophelia’s eyes are open, but she looks dazed. She has the look of a woman who remembers nothing. Annie leans over the bed and kisses her wrinkled cheek.
“You gave us quite a scare,” she says.
Ophelia offers a weak smile. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“The doctor said you’re going to be just fine,” Annie lies. “But you’ve got to get lots of rest and take it easy for a while.”
“Okay.” Ophelia closes her eyes.
For the remainder of the allotted ten minutes Annie stands beside the bed holding Ophelia’s hand in hers. “It’s going to be all right,” she repeats over and over, but beneath the bravado of those words there is the sound of a frightened little girl.
After what seems like only moments the nurse comes into the room, gives Annie a nod and taps the face of her watch. She turns and leaves without speaking.
Annie leans down and kisses Ophelia again.
“I have to go now,” she says in a low voice, “but I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” She stands, starts toward the door then reverses herself and turns back.
Leaning over the bed with her mouth next to Ophelia’s ear she whispers, “I love you, Ophelia. I love you just as much as Edward did. Please don’t leave me.”
Ophelia’s eyes are closed, and she appears to be sleeping.
Annie doesn’t know whether Ophelia has heard what she said. She crosses the cavernous outer room and steps into the hallway where Oliver is waiting. There she gives way to a flood of tears.
Oliver feels the tremble of her shoulders as she sobs into his chest.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He places his hand in the hollow of her back and gently massages it.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says softly. “Ophelia’s getting the best of care, and she’s strong. By tomorrow she’ll probably be sitting up and asking to go home.”
He lies to Annie just as she has lied to Ophelia. It is what you do to comfort the fears of someone you love.
That night they do not return to Wyattsville. Instead they go to Memory House and stay in Annie’s old room. Here they are closer to the hospital, and they plan to come back early.
Although she has done little but sit and wait, Annie is tired to the bone. It is an exhaustion borne of sorrow, an exhaustion not appeased by rest. Sleep is impossible to come by, so she brews a pot of dandelion tea and moves to the screened back porch. Dandelion tea is usually sweet but this tea is not; it is filled with the bitterness of her tears.
Oliver Doyle
It’s not two full days since we stood in front of the pastor and I swore I’d protect Annie for the rest of her life. Now here I am, helpless as a baby. I see her pain and feel it in my own heart, but all I can do is hold her in my arms and wipe her tears.
I promise her things that are not in my power to give. Ophelia is going to make it, I say, but only God knows if that’s the truth.
Last night we sat on the back porch for a long time, and Annie talked about the things she and Ophelia had shared. She drank four mugs of dandelion tea claiming it would help her sleep. It didn’t. She was up most of the night. She tried to be quiet, but I heard her moving around.
Near dawn I heard the door to the apothecary click open. Because I was worried about her, I got up and went to check. She was behind the counter mulling a dish of crushed leaves. Supposedly it was a healing tea she was going to brew for Ophelia.
Annie believes in that stuff; I don’t. I was tempted to say the doctors are already giving her the medication she needs but thought better of it and kept my doubts to myself. I figure if Annie really believes in these things, who am I to argue?
I asked if this was like the dandelion tea she drinks, but she shook her head.
“No, this one has evening primrose, astragalus root, and hawthorn,” she said. “Ophelia says it brings back a person’s good memories and heals their heart.”
Even though I doubted any tea could do such a thing, I was glad it made Annie feel like she’s doing something to help. Let me tell you, that’s a lot better than sitting around feeling as helpless as I am.
Healing Tea
On Monday morning Annie is back at Mercy Hospital at 7:45. Oliver comes with her, and he carries a bouquet of hyacinth clipped from Ophelia’s garden.
The duty nurse looks up and shakes her head. “Sorry, no
flowers, and only one visitor at a time.”
“You go,” Oliver says and steps back with the bouquet still in his hand.
Annie hesitates a moment, then pulls her cell phone from her pocket and snaps a picture of him holding the flowers. She checks that it is good then gives a pleased nod. “I’ll show it to Ophelia. That way she’ll get to see the flowers and know we’re both here.”
When Annie enters the room Ophelia’s eyes are open, and she is propped in an almost upright position.
“You look much better today,” Annie says cheerfully; then she crosses over and kisses the wrinkled cheek.
This is partially true. Ophelia’s color is better, but she appears almost frail lying in the bed. Today she looks her age because the feistiness is missing.
Annie waits until the nurse’s back is turned, then pulls the jar of tea from her purse, slips a straw into it and holds it to Ophelia’s lips.
“This is the healing blend,” Annie whispers. “Take a few sips; it’ll make you feel better.”
Ophelia smiles.
She knows the blend well. She mixed it for Tom Kelly after Claudia died. In the weeks after Claudia was laid to rest, his sorrow gave him the look of a walking ghost. He came into the apothecary asking for a headache remedy, but Ophelia could see a headache was not his problem. Heartache was.
“What you need is a tonic,” she told him.
That’s when she created the healing mix. Tom Kelly drank that tea morning, noon and night, and within the year he was chipper enough to marry Alice Marie Higgins, the widow who lived two blocks over.
Ophelia tilts her head forward and drinks from the straw that is offered. After a few sips, she looks up and smiles.
“Good,” she says.
Annie stands beside the bed and takes Ophelia’s hand in hers. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
For a moment Ophelia’s expression is one of puzzlement; then she nods. “I heard the bells and decided to go to church.”
She hesitates a bit, and Annie knows she is trying to remember.
“Do you recall getting in the car?” she asks.
“Yes.” Ophelia’s lips curl on one side, and she again nods. “At first the car wouldn’t start, but after a few tries it did. Sometimes you’ve just got to—”
Annie cuts in. “Why?”
“I don’t know why. I suppose it was because I pumped the gas pedal a few times, and then—”
“I’m not asking why the car started,” Annie says. “I’m asking why you were behind the wheel.”
Ophelia pinches her eyebrows together in an expression of disbelief. “Well, I would think that’s obvious. To drive to church.”
Annie gives an exasperated sigh. “But you haven’t driven in over a year; why would you decide to do it now?”
“Because I wanted to go to church,” Ophelia repeats. She pulls the tray closer and takes a few more sips of the tea. “This is quite tasty. Bring some more next time you come.”
Before she can pursue their argument about the car, Annie spies the nurse headed for Ophelia’s room. She grabs the jar of tea, slaps the lid on it and stuffs it back in her bag.
By the end of the day Annie has visited Ophelia seven times, and each time she has smuggled in the healing tea. When one jar is emptied, she produces another and ultimately even a third.
At dinnertime a volunteer carries in a tray and asks if Ophelia is up to trying a few bites.
“Actually I’m quite hungry,” Ophelia replies.
She finishes everything on the tray except the beets.
“I never did like beets,” she says. “But I could go for a bit more of that vanilla pudding.”
That evening Annie stays for over a half-hour before the CCU guardian shoos her out.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” she promises.
~ ~ ~
When Annie returns Tuesday morning, she goes directly to Ophelia’s room. The bed is empty with clean sheets tucked tight around the edges.
She feels her heart slam against her chest, and her knees buckle. As she grabs for the foot of the bed, the watch-tapping nurse steps into the room.
“Looking for someone?” the nurse asks. For the first time she is smiling.
“Please don’t tell me…” Annie can’t get the rest of the words out.
“You don’t want me to tell you that your grandma has been moved to the recovery unit on the second floor?”
Annie’s face is flooded with relief. Without stopping to think about it, she grabs the nurse and hugs her.
“Thank you,” she gushes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
On the second floor visiting hours are far more relaxed. Guests are permitted to come and go throughout the day. All day. Annie remains beside Ophelia for the entire afternoon. She is there when Doctor Milburn makes his rounds and stops in Ophelia’s room.
He smiles. “Well, you’re looking a lot better.”
“I’m feeling better too,” Ophelia replies.
“Good.” He nods. “With this kind of progress, you’ll be out of here before the end of the week.”
She grins. “I can’t wait. It’ll be good to get home.”
He glances up from the chart. “You’re not going home. You’re going to the Kipling Rehabilitation Center for a minimum of six and possibly eight weeks.”
“What?” Ophelia exclaims. “I certainly am not!”
“You don’t have a choice,” he says. “You had a close call, and before I’m ready to let you go home I’m going to make sure your heart’s strong enough to handle it.”
“My heart is fine,” Ophelia argues. “I had an episode, one small episode, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Doctor Milburn corrects her. “It is something to worry about. You had a major heart attack.” The deadpan look on his face leaves no opening for an argument.
Annie slips him a sly smile. She knows this is one Ophelia will lose, and she is thankful for that.
Ophelia doesn’t give up easily. “I have a business to run, a garden to—”
He stops her before she goes any further. “No, you don’t. When you finish with rehab, you’ll still have certain restrictions. No strenuous exercise, no lifting, no climbing stairs and definitely no driving!”
Ophelia folds her arms across her chest and glares at the doctor. “I told you, I have a business to run and a garden to take care of!”
“Well, you’ll just have to get someone else to handle it for you.”
“There is no one else!”
Doctor Milburn rubs his chin as if he is thinking this over. “I can’t be absolutely certain,” he says with a chuckle, “but I’ll bet this pretty granddaughter of yours would be willing to help out.”
“No,” Ophelia says flatly. “She’s a newlywed, and they’re ready to go off on their honeymoon in—”
“Oh, pshaw,” Annie says, laughing. “Oliver and I can go on a honeymoon anytime.”
Ophelia glares over at Annie. “Hush up.”
In the end, nothing Ophelia says sways Doctor Milburn’s opinion. When she leaves the hospital she is going to the rehab center, and that’s that.
Annie’s Plan
The moment Doctor Milburn is out of the room, Ophelia looks at Annie and says, “You shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe I could have convinced him to let me go home.”
Annie laughs again. “You were never going to convince him. Anyway, I want you back at Memory House as much as you want to be there, but right now it really isn’t the best thing.”
“Who’s to say what’s best?” Ophelia grumbles.
“In this case the doctor. He wants to make sure you get well.” Annie smiles. “And so do I.”
“Oliver’s not going to like this,” Ophelia warns.
“He’s fine with it. We’ve already discussed it.”
“What about the library?”
“Giselle is back to full time now. I’ll ask her to let me take a leave of absence.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know,” Ophelia says mournfully. “I still think you and Oliver need to settle in a place of your own and have time to yourself.” She hesitates a moment, and a smile slides onto her face. “I remember how it was when Edward and I were first married…”
Annie leans into the conversation as Ophelia tells of those first years with Edward.
“On lazy mornings we’d lie in bed for hours,” she says. “We weren’t doing a thing but enjoying the closeness of one another.”
She continues, telling of Sunday afternoon picnics, evenings of lying beneath the stars and dreaming of all the places they would one day visit.
“Edward was a dreamer,” she says, “and the wonder of it was that he took me to all those places with his words.”
A smile lights Ophelia’s face as she tells of how she could close her eyes and see the bookstalls of Paris or the brilliance of spring tulips stretching across the countryside of Holland.
In the middle of hearing about the bazaars of Morocco, Annie gives a nostalgic sigh. “Imagine, Edward traveling to all those places.”
Ophelia chuckles. “He didn’t travel to any of those places. He read books about them.”
“Books?”
Ophelia nods. “He’d go to the library and check out a book on some place like Egypt. Then he’d come home and say, ‘Opie, put on your dreaming cap, because this weekend we’re off to visit the pyramids.’”
Ophelia’s eyes sparkle as she laughs. “Opie. Edward was the only one who ever called me that.”
“The two of you created such beautiful memories,” Annie says wistfully.
Ophelia turns, and the magic is gone from her face.
“You’re absolutely right,” she says sternly, “and we wouldn’t have had any of them if my mama had moved in with us.”
Before Annie can challenge such a thought, Ophelia adds, “Not that I didn’t love Mama. I loved her dearly. But if she’d have been there I would have been seeing to her every need instead of allowing myself time to dream alongside Edward.”
The Loft Page 3
