“That’s half an hour away. She needs to see someone now,” Brian said.
“We’re understaffed and overrun with this flu epidemic. The waiting room is full of patients, triage is stacked up, and we’re minutes from having to close the ER to non-trauma patients. She’ll be seen faster at PSMC even with the drive. Especially since I’ll call ahead and see what I can do to fast-track the process.”
When Brian would have argued, Jacy pulled her feet back inside and told him to get back in the car. “There are actual sick people in there. Stop wasting this man’s time and let him get back to work. You’re being ridiculous. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Well, you’re gonna.” When Brian makes a decision, he’s a hard man to sway.
“Do you want me to call Momma Wade?” Since I’d run tame in her house from the age of five on, Jacy’s mother insisted I use the same title her kids used.
“No.” Jacy barely took the time to consider. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious, and having her show up to burn sage over me won’t solve anything. If something’s actually wrong, and I know it isn’t, then you can call her.”
While she had a deft hand with brewing up effective herbal remedies, Leandra did tend to go overboard with the smudge stick at times.
By the time we were halfway there, Jacy was no longer in a frame of mind to argue about anything. The pain had gone from intermittent to constant, and every wince or moan made Brian put on a little more speed. He shaved some time off the trip, and once the car rocked to a stop, even the unflappable Patrea had to pry her fingers off the spot she’d been clutching.
“We probably should have come in separate vehicles,” Neena said, lines of worry etched into her forehead.
Brian helped Jacy out of the car, and when, after a few steps, she bent over double in pain, simply scooped her into his arms and strode through the sliding doors calling for someone to come and help. Following closely behind him, I thought I recognized one of the faces we passed, but it was only a fleeting thought at the time.
Between Jacy’s moaning and Brian’s loud insistence that his wife needed help now, and that someone should have called ahead about her, we got enough attention to skip triage and be sent straight back to a cubicle.
Just as Brian leaned to settle his wife down on the gurney-style bed, she made a strangled sound, stiffened, and, as my Grammie Dupree used to put it most delicately, Jacy broke wind.
It was long and loud, and in Jacy’s case, highly embarrassing because that was the moment the doctor walked through the door.
“Oh,” Jacy sounded surprised when the gas had all passed. “I feel better.”
Silence held for a beat.
The doctor’s lips twitched at the corners, just a little before she controlled her face and said, “I should hope so. Since you’re here, let’s just check a couple of things, though.”
“We’ll be in the waiting room.” Neena, Patrea, and I beat a hasty retreat, and to our credit, I think 90 percent of the fit of laughter came from stress relief and wasn’t at Jacy’s expense. Okay, half, but that’s my final offer.
A poker-faced nurse buzzed us out of the treatment area and into the waiting room shared by the ER and the imaging department, and her dour expression did nothing to contain the hilarity. What did put a lid on it for me, though, was seeing grief and fear on that familiar face in the waiting room.
“You’re Alicia, right? Albert Runyon’s daughter.” Her name finally popped into my head.
Alicia nodded. “You’re Everly Hastings.”
“Dupree,” I corrected automatically, but I don’t think she heard me as she sobbed and launched herself into my arms. Knocked the giggles right out of my companions, too.
Dread settled into the pit of my stomach. “Alicia, honey, what happened?” I couldn’t remember if there was a Mrs. Runyon still in the picture, but it didn’t seem like Alicia had anyone else with her.
“It’s my dad. I know it’s bad, and they won’t tell me anything.”
I gave her a squeeze, then pulled back to look into eyes dark with fear in a face gone chalk white. “What happened?”
“He’s been in a coma since just after school let out. A mugging gone bad. That’s what the police officer said who came to my door. Someone beat my daddy with a bat or a tire iron, emptied his wallet, and left him to die in the street. Who does that?”
The security guard at the office where I had also worked for my ex-husband's family, Albert had treated me with kindness on the worst day of my life. I felt bad now that he'd spend the last few months fighting for his.
“I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Alicia shook her head. “No, but thank you. My aunt Denise has been staying with me, but she had to go back to St. Louis to take care of some stuff. She’s only been gone a couple of days.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I called as soon as they brought him down here for scans, and she’s trying to get a flight out. She’ll be here as soon as she can.” She looked toward the doors we’d just come through. “I’ve been waiting for three hours. He’s still in there, and they won’t tell me anything.”
Over the girl’s shoulder, I saw Patrea put on her lawyer face—jaw set, eyes no-nonsense flat. “Excuse me,” she said to the nurse. “We need some information on a patient.”
She looked to me, and I supplied the name. “Albert Runyon.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not allowed to give patient information to non-family members.”
“That’s his daughter,” Patrea said, her tone ringing with scathing authority. “I assume she’s considered a family member.”
Nurse Cranky changed her tack. “She’s a minor, and I’m not sure if I should—”
“Well, then, let’s get some clarification on that.” Patrea pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her contacts list. “From the Chief of Medicine.” Her finger hovered over the call button. I felt a little sorry for exposing the nurse to Patrea in scary-lawyer mode, but not that much. She’d put Alicia through hours of agony, so my sympathies were in short supply.
“Let me just get someone for you.” She paged someone from imaging who gave us at least a tidbit of information, and whatever she said to whoever called her right back had Dr. Maron swinging down the hallway only minutes later.
“Miss Runyon. We can talk in here.” He indicated a small room marked private on the door and stepped back to let her proceed ahead of him.
“Is it okay if … Everly, would you come in with me?”
“You’ll let Jacy know if she comes out?” I glanced back at Neena, who nodded, then followed Alicia into the room.
“If he’s gone, could you just please say it fast and get it over with? I can’t take any more waiting.” If Alicia went any paler, she’d turn translucent.
“Your father is showing significant changes in brain activity. These are positive signs, and he has gained several points on the Glasgow coma scale,” he said, and I heard the but coming. Alicia probably did, too. “But he’s still only showing localized cognitive response.”
Alicia started to ask the question most on her mind, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I can’t tell you if or when he will regain full consciousness because I don’t like putting limits on patients. My job is to give him the best care I can, his is to have the will to heal.”
“This is good, though, right?” Alicia said, hope coloring her features. “It sounds like he’s getting better.”
“With traumatic brain injury, we can repair a lot of the immediate damage. Then it’s up to the patient. I don’t want to hold out false hope because I’ve seen patients show signs of recovery, and then relapse or die. I don’t think that will be the case this time, but you should be prepared for every eventuality. If and when he wakes up, he’ll have a period of rehab ahead of him. We just won’t know until we know.”
Taking pity, though, Dr. Maron offered, “This is only an educated guess, but I�
��d say two or three days at most, and we’ll have more answers.”
I reached for Alicia’s hand, gave it a squeeze to stop the trembling. She said, “Thank you.”
We both watched Dr. Maron’s face as he opened the chart he carried and made a notation.
“We’ve done a CT, and based on what I saw, I’ve ordered an MRI. I’ll talk to you again as soon as I’ve had a chance to look at the results. Meanwhile, he’s being transported back upstairs. Are you ready to go up? Or did you have more questions?”
“No. I need to see him. I can stay in the room, right? For the next few days like I did when he first arrived.”
“Yes, of course.” Dr. Maron’s gaze landed on me. “Too many visitors at once might be too much stimulation.”
I hugged Alicia, and we exchanged numbers. “I know people say this all the time, but I really do mean it. Call me if you need anything and keep me posted on your father’s condition. I’ll be praying for him.”
“Is that the same Albert who worked for Paul?” Patrea practically pounced on me when I returned to the waiting area.
“It is. He’s been in a coma since the summer. Traumatic brain injury. Someone attacked him with a baseball bat not too long after I left the foundation. I guess it was a little while before someone found him and got help.” Picturing Albert lying hurt and alone broke my heart. “The doctor basically said it could go either way. He’s showing increased brain activity, but that sometimes happens right before coma patients pass away.”
“If it helps,” Neena said, patting my hand, “if the doctor didn’t mention transferring him to Eastern or Southern Maine, that means a lot. They’d have him in a ‘copter right now if they thought they couldn’t handle it here. That’s a good thing.”
The sliding doors opened to disgorge Jacy and Brian from the treatment area. She took one look at our solemn faces and said, “What’s up?”
I filled her while we waited for Brian to pull up with the car, and because Jacy was … well, Jacy, she decided we’d put together a care package for Alicia and bring it by the hospital the next day.
Considering the average wait in an emergency room situation, we’d managed to pull off a miracle and would be back at my place a couple of hours ahead of the new year. The ER doc hadn’t done anything except ask a few questions. She’d warned against eating too many spicy foods and performed a New Year’s miracle by releasing Jacy without even sending her to registration.
“Look,” Jacy pointed out, “there’s Taco Bell. Babe, can we hit the drive-up? Peanut is dying for a burrito.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Brian glanced over at his wife. “You just scared two years off my life and almost gave me a heart attack because Peanut wanted chili.” His next question was directed at me. “What was in that stuff anyway? Industrial strength beans fortified to produce extra gas?”
Crammed in the back seat like sardines, I could feel Neena shaking with the effort to hold in her laughter because Brian had been truly upset by the whole ordeal.
“No, just regular beans.” I realized a moment too late the question had been rhetorical.
“There will be,” Brian said in a tone that suggested finality, “no more beans for peanut. Taco Bell is off the menu.” Ignoring Jacy’s longing look, he passed the entrance and pointed the car toward Mooselick River. And if Jacy hadn’t chosen that moment to let out a final, very quiet, but still audible toot, Neena might have kept herself in check.
Even then, she gave it a heroic try, only to be undone by Patrea’s snort. And then it was on.
“Turn around, I think I’m gonna die.” Tears streamed down Neena’s face as she clutched her middle. “And I didn’t even try the chili.”
When we got back to my place, amid half-hearted protest mostly from Jacy, Brian poured the pot of chili into the trash. Neena and Patrea regaled Chris with the story of Jacy’s not-quite emergency while, under the watchful eye of her husband, the mother-to-be gorged herself on veggies. He allowed her one of the chicken wings—Chris had turned the oven down to just keep them warm and added a little water so they wouldn’t dry out—and a single meatball. He slapped her hand away when she went back for another.
“See how that one settles first. Then you can have more.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, then leaned over to plant a loud kiss on his lips. “You’re going to be a good daddy. Ridiculously annoying and overprotective, but a good one.”
He let her have the second meatball.
CHAPTER FIVE
WE FIT IN a few rounds of Win, Lose or Draw, laughed a lot, and when the ball dropped at midnight, I silently marked its descent as a moment of acceptance that my life was changed—in most ways, for the better. I hadn’t gone into my marriage looking for a man to control my life. But I’d let Paul take me over so slowly, so skillfully, that I hadn’t noticed the reins slipping from my fingers. Taking them back hadn’t been easy, but I’d done it, and with at least—depending on who you asked—a modicum of dignity.
Every ending carries with it the seed of a new beginning. Or, as my Grammie Dupree used to say when one door closes, another one opens, but if it doesn’t, you just go throw a brick through the window.
Grammie was wise, but carried a certain disregard for the rules that I admired, envied, and in my youth, emulated. Not to the point of being wild, mind you. At least not by her standards.
Interrupting my moment of introspection, Neena pressed a glass of champagne into my hand and kissed me soundly on the mouth.
“There. I figure you’re my date for the night, and since the New Year’s kiss is a thing,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the two couples lip-locking. “I didn’t want us to miss out.”
“I know it’s only been six months, but have you considered dating again?” Neena and I had become single at roughly the same time, though in different ways.
As soon as I saw the sadness wash over her face, I regretted asking, but she considered carefully before answering.
“In the abstract, yes, I have. But not seriously. Like, I’m not looking for anyone now, but I’m open to thinking about the possibility if it comes up later. Of course, I expect the whole town will call me a Jezebel given the situation we were in when Hudson died.”
Temporarily separated at the time of his murder, Hudson had been staying at the Bide-A-Way Motel until he could prove to Neena that his gambling days were behind him.
“Don’t let the gossip-mongers get in your head. You’re the only one who can truly know when you’re ready to date again. I think—no, I know—Hudson would want you to be happy.” He’d told me as much before he went into the light. “Whenever that time comes.”
“What about you? If the timing works out, we could be dating buddies. Or is that not a thing?”
Champagne bubbles tickled my nose as I slugged down half the glass. “Misery loves company, I suppose. And since I'm looking at the idea of dating as misery and not an adventure, I’d say I’m not ready.”
“To living our best life," Neena toasted. “On our own terms.”
I drank to that.
The party wound down fairly early by New Year’s standards. Before she left, Patrea pulled me aside for a private word. “If anything changes with Albert before we do Jacy’s care package run tomorrow, I want you to let me know, and I don’t want you going back to the hospital alone.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Patrea narrowed her eyes mockingly. “I’m not that much older than you.” Still, she waited for me to agree to her request.
“I’ll call if anything happens so you can come along.”
“Make sure you do.” She hugged me and followed Chris out the door.
I was just about to collapse into bed when my phone bonged out a text alert from Alicia.
No change. He’s moving his arms more, and mumbling sometimes. I’m afraid to close my eyes.
Alicia couldn’t be much more than sixteen or seventeen since she’d taken the SATs a few days before the last
time I’d talked to her father. She’d be partway through her senior year, and college-bound the next fall. Albert wanted an education for his daughter badly enough to work two jobs to keep her from being saddled with a ton of student loan debt.
Any word on your aunt’s arrival? You shouldn’t be alone, I sent back.
She’s at the airport on standby for the next flight out, but it won’t leave until six, and it lands in Portland. She’ll rent a car and drive the rest of the way. We’re looking at tomorrow afternoon earliest.
Just hang in there, honey, he’s got you to fight for, and he’s a strong man. Try and get some sleep. You’ll feel better for it.
I will. Thanks for being there. It helps. Dad was right. You are a nice person.
I sent up a little prayer for the family, thanked her, and said nice things about Albert until after a few minutes more, she thought she might be able to sleep a little. It took me a long time to do the same.
Six hours down was all I managed before the dogs wanted breakfast. The second thing I did after letting them out was to check in with Alicia. Still hanging out at the airport, her aunt had booked a flight for the next day but was still hoping a seat would open up before then. Albert’s condition hadn’t changed.
To make my morning more of a challenge, Amber popped in to give me the weather report while I drank my first cup of coffee. As she prattled on, I gathered there was no chance the storm hovering over the Midwest would blow itself out before sliding north and east. We were in for, as Amber termed it, a significant snow event that could be upgraded to a bomb cyclone storm if it dipped far enough south to hit the Atlantic before drifting north.
“Another cold one today, and you’ll note the dogs were already up, so you can’t blame your foul mood on me.”
“I'm not in a foul mood.” Distracted would be the better term since I’d been fielding texts from Jacy about what should go in the care package for Alicia.
Amber raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should tell your face. It thinks you’re in a bad mood. I was with my dad, thank you for asking.”
Ghost Haste Page 3
