by Layla Hagen
I’m not mentioned anywhere, which gives me some peace of mind. When I get home, I decide my funk is just about Daniel leaving, the prospect of being one week without him, and the lack of sleep from last night catching up with me.
After a quick dinner, I head straight to my bedroom. I’m about to change into my pajamas when I notice one of Daniel’s T-shirts by the bed. He must have forgotten it here. Smiling, I pick it up, sniff it tentatively. Smells worn, but in a pleasant way. It smells like Daniel, so I wear it to bed, feeling a little closer to him this way.
I wake up with a start before my alarm rings. Light is streaming from outside, so it’s morning already. Did I sleep in? Forget to set my alarm? Confused, I blink, look around the room, then realize the source of the disturbance. My phone is ringing; the caller is a number I don’t recognize.
Briefly, I consider not answering. What if it’s a reporter? Well, if it is, I can just hang up. This could be important. Keeping my fingers crossed, I answer.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss Caroline Dunne?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m calling from the San Francisco General Hospital. Your father was just brought in, and you’re listed as his emergency contact.”
I jump out of bed so fast I nearly sprain my ankle. “Is he all right? What happened to him?”
“We don’t know what happened, but he suffered a fall.”
“How—how is he?” I hold my breath, my throat clogging up.
“Nothing certain yet. We’re going to take him up for a scan shortly, do some more tests. Do you want to keep him company in between tests?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be out the door in ten minutes. Five. Tell my dad I’ll be there, okay? I’ll be there. What floor?”
I commit all the details to memory, then end the call. I’m out the door in four minutes.
At the hospital, it’s not so easy to find my dad. Turns out the details she gave me on the phone weren’t correct. Or maybe my mind’s so scattered that I memorized it wrong. That’s a possibility.
“Please check your records,” I beg the receptionist.
“Miss, our computer system is down at the moment,” she repeats for the third time. “I’ll tell you as soon as they start back up. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
I can barely hold back my frustration.
“Have you tried calling your father?”
I nearly want to slap myself because of course I haven’t thought about calling him. What an idiot I am. He’ll tell me where he is. Except if he’s too weak, or too sick, but I refuse to consider that possibility. Drawing in a deep breath, I step away from the reception desk, into a quieter corner, and dial his number. It rings, and rings, and rings, then goes to voice mail. Panic flares through me, but I dial again. This time, he answers.
“Hey, baby girl.” His voice is so weak it scares me.
“Hi, Dad. I’m at the hospital. Where are you exactly?”
“Eighth floor, don’t know the room number.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll find you. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll find you.”
Don’t panic, Caroline. Don’t panic. I repeat this mantra from the second I end the conversation as I head to the elevator. I try to concentrate on the positive aspect: he answered. It means he’s not in surgery or in a coma. Both very good things. But why did he sound so weak, then?
Stepping out of the elevator, my eyes sweep around to identify whoever is part of the personnel. Scrubs. The first two I ask aren’t any more helpful than the lady on the ground floor, but the third time’s the charm.
“Oh, Martin Dunne. Yes, follow me. He wasn’t brought in too long ago.”
I follow the nurse through the labyrinth of corridors until we reach a small room with two beds. Only one is occupied, by my dad. I bite my tongue to keep from gasping. A scratch runs at the side of his head, from his cheek right up to his temple, and he’s white as a sheet. Somehow, he looks tiny in that bed, white linen up to his chest.
“Hey, baby girl.”
“What happened?” I look at the nurse, who holds up her hands to indicate she doesn’t know.
“I’m going to leave the two of you and take him up for a scan in about twenty minutes.”
As she leaves, I sit on the edge of Dad’s bed. He brings out a hand from under the sheet, and I grasp it reassuringly. Leaning in close, I inspect his scratch. Up close, I can see they smeared a yellowish substance along it. Okay, at least they took care of this.
“I’m okay, baby girl. Don’t you worry about me.”
He sounds and looks weak, and nothing at all like my dad, so worrying doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m now actively fighting to keep the panic at bay. Little kids fall all the time, but a fall at his age is no joke.
“Did you hurt anything else besides your head?” I ask.
“Nah. Just a scratch. Doctor said I might have a concussion too.”
Oh, dear God. Again, at his age, that’s no small thing.
“What happened? You fell?”
He lifts his head, motioning to the glass of water on the small bedside table. Grabbing it, I hold it for him to drink. As he sips, I notice scratches on his left hand too, running up to his elbow. He fell on his entire left side, then?
“It was a weird morning,” he says after he’s done drinking. “Woke up earlier than usual because I had a delivery at the store. When I arrived, there were three guys out front. Never seen them in the neighborhood.” He pauses, frowns, as if he forgot his train of thought. As much as I want to know the whole story, I don’t push. “Didn’t look like they’d come to rob anything, were too relaxed. Too out in the open. One had a camera around his neck.”
I stiffen at the mention of the camera.
“They started asking me questions about Daniel. About you. Personal questions. I figured they were reporters, tried to shake them off. Kept following me around, pestering me with questions. They didn’t leave even when the delivery truck came, insisted I give them your home address.” He pauses again, this time for a longer time span. “When I didn’t, they became even pushier. Couldn’t shake them off at all, tried harder, somehow ended up on the pavement. Knocked my head hard. One of them called an ambulance. I figured it had something to do with that article about Daniel yesterday,” he continues.
“You saw it?” I ask in surprise.
“Yeah. Any truth in it?”
I shake my head, in no mood to talk about that. All I want is for a doctor to come in and tell me my daddy will be fine.
The nurse returns a few minutes later with the doctor. I immediately spring to my feet, anxious to question the hell out of him, wring out every detail. Briefly I wonder if I can take the doctor to one side, ask him without my dad overhearing. But that’s silly. Dad is not a baby, and this is his health we’re talking about.
Can’t help wanting to protect him from bad news, though. It’s a habit I formed back when Momma was sick. I used to talk to the doctors when Dad wasn’t around, because he burst into tears whenever there was bad news. She had advanced carcinoma. There was always bad news.
“Can you please walk us through everything?” I ask the doctor.
“Of course. We did a physical exam when he arrived. All signs point to a concussion, but a CT scan will remove any doubt of anything more serious, like a brain bleed or a subdural hematoma. We’re keeping him the entire day, anyway. At this age, it’ll be a big risk sending him home. A bleed can develop slowly in patients of a certain age, and it’s best if he’s here if it happens.”
“Now wait a minute,” Dad exclaims. “I just hit the pavement. What’s all that talk about staying the entire day?”
“It’s standard procedure,” the nurse says good-naturedly.
“We’ll know more after the scan,” the doctor continues. “I don’t want to alarm you if there’s nothing to be alarmed about.”
Yeah, that sounds reassuring. I bite back the retort, not wanting to worry my dad,
not wanting to look worried for his sake. I have plenty of time to freak out on my own, once they take him away. For now, I square my shoulders and paste a smile on my face.
“It’s all standard procedure, Dad. Don’t worry.”
He protests while the nurse and I help him out of bed. He’s not steady on his feet, which is why she puts him in a wheelchair, and I swear to God, the sight of him in it breaks my heart. He looks so scared and defeated, sitting in the wheelchair in that huge hospital gown. An irrational fear grips me, and all I can think about when they wheel him away is my mom.
Please, please, please, Momma, don’t take Daddy to you just yet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Caroline
Filled with too much energy to sit, I pace up and down the corridor, worry eating at me. Gathering my wits, I call the principal to let him know I won’t make it today. To be on the safe side, I take off tomorrow too, so I can dote on Dad. He’s very understanding. The man will have a batch of his favorite donuts on his desk on my first day back. What I really want to do is call Niall, but I’ll wait until they return with Dad so I can give him all the details.
God, how I wish Niall was here. I need to be next to someone who loves Dad just as much as I do. I can’t get the image of him in that wheelchair out of my mind. But I have to. Panicking would do no one any good. He’ll be back any minute now, and I can’t be in the midst of a panic attack when he does.
Fifteen minutes later, the nurse is back with Dad, a doctor on their heels.
“There are no signs of bleeding on the brain,” the doctor informs me. “But we still want to keep him under observation for a few hours, because he lost consciousness during the fall.”
Dad falls asleep almost as soon as they bring him back, so I head back to the corridor and call Niall. He doesn’t pick up, but after I text him Need to talk to you as soon as possible, he calls me right back. I tell him everything, starting with the article about Daniel and ending with Dad’s trip to the hospital.
“Jesus, how is he feeling?” Niall asks. “Is he coherent?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s sleeping right now. He looks so small and vulnerable in the hospital gown, Niall.”
“Everyone does,” he says gently. “I’m going to try to talk to a doctor I know there. Maybe they can send me the scans over, so I can look at them too.”
“You—you think they might have missed something?”
“No, but it never hurts to have a second opinion. And well, I’ll feel more at ease if I look at them myself.”
I understand the sentiment perfectly. If I could read CT scans, I’d want to see them too.
“How are you feeling?” he continues.
“Scared... guilty.”
There is a short pause, and Niall says, “You shouldn’t have talked to the reporter.”
I swallow hard. “He was there, spewing nonsense about Daniel. Trust me, if you’d been there, you wouldn’t have been able to keep your mouth shut either.”
“Is there any truth in the article about Daniel?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “Look, this will all blow over soon, and Dad is all right. No harm done.”
“What if it happens again? Daniel’s company is a revolving door for celebrities. Only a matter of time before he gets caught in the crossfire again.”
I press my lips together. I have no comeback because it’s something I fear too.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say firmly.
“How about Dad? He’s not getting any younger. What if he gets caught in the crossfire too, and next time he isn’t so lucky?”
I ball my hands into fists. “That is a low blow, Niall.”
“I’m worried for Dad, okay? For you too.” he says angrily, then exhales sharply. “Do you want me to fly to San Francisco? I can catch the next plane.”
Despite his harsh words, I appreciate the offer. “It would mean a lot of trouble for you, though, right?”
“It would, but I’ll come if you need me. If Dad needs me.”
“It’s okay, Niall. I’m handling this. Dad’s okay. Don’t worry.”
“Okay. I’m going to hang up now and try to reach my contact at the San Francisco hospital, ask for the CT scans. Call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
I’m seething after our conversation, alone with my thoughts, which are even darker after the fallout with Niall. At first, I’m mad at myself for allowing him to get to me like this. But then I have to be honest with myself: his words got to me because I’ve had those same thoughts too, the same fears.
I play with my phone in my hands, itching to talk to Daniel, to hear his voice. But the time difference to Australia is seventeen hours. It’s still nighttime there. So I call Blake instead and tell him everything.
“The fucking media. Don’t worry. Daniel and I will sort this out. Best not to take your dad back to his house today. It’s too close to the store and there’s a slight chance one of the reporters hung back.”
“Sure, I’ll take him to my apartment. They don’t seem to have my address yet.”
“Perfect. What did Daniel say?”
“Haven’t talked to him.”
“Why?”
“It’s the middle of the night in Sydney.”
“So what? He’ll get wrinkles if you wake him up from his beauty sleep? I’ll talk to him as soon as I hang up. Call if you need anything else.”
“Sure. Thanks, Blake.”
Far from easing my mind, the conversation with Blake only sets me on edge more. Now Dad can’t even go home because of me. I go back inside his room, sit next to his bed. I brought this on Dad, no questions about that. I look at his figure huddled under the sheets, struck again by how frail and old he looks, and somehow even smaller than before. What if this does happen again? Niall is right. Daniel’s company is a revolving door for celebrities.
Damn it, this is not the time to have a “dark night of the soul.” I read about that once, and didn’t quite understand what it meant. Well, now I do. I feel as if I’m literally lost in the dark, with no idea which direction is the right one, what would lead me to safety.
Not that there is ever a good time to have a breakdown, but if I have one, I would have preferred to at least have chocolate on hand. Not the type I can find in a vending machine either, but homemade chocolate cake, the kind Mom used to bake. Yeah, I’m picky even when I’m having a breakdown.
I jump in my uncomfortable seat when my phone chimes and rush straight out of the room so it doesn’t wake Dad. Then I glance at the screen, and my throat closes up a bit. Daniel is calling. Clearly Blake wasted no time.
“Hi!” I say.
“Blake told me everything. How’s your dad?”
“Sleeping. Nothing came up on the scan, but they want to keep him under observation today because he was unconscious for a few seconds after he fell.”
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Is he comfortable there? Do you want him to be transferred to a private hospital? Are you comfortable?”
I can’t help the wave of warmth spreading all the way to my fingertips. I love that he cares so much.
“No, we’re fine, but thank you.”
“When are they discharging him?”
“In the evening, I suppose. I’ll take him to my apartment, for tonight at least. Blake said it would be better if he didn’t go back to his house, because it’s too close to the store, and some reporters might be lingering there.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Not your fault. No one to blame but me and my big mouth.” I drop my flats to the floor with a thud and curl my legs under me.
“I’m sorting everything out, okay? Tomorrow he’ll be able to go back home.”
“Dan, what if all this happens again? I’m scared.”
“I can’t promise it won’t, but we’ll be better prepared. I’ll coach you about w
hat to say to the press. It’ll be easier dealing with them if you have some standard lines.”
I laugh out loud. “Oh, Dan, I think you forget who you’re talking to. When have I ever been able to stick to my lines? Wrong girlfriend for that.”
The laughter dies on my lips. I have no idea where those words came from, but now that they’re out in the open, I have to consider them. Maybe he really does need another girlfriend. One who can be coached into what to say, who wouldn’t just say what she felt, what was on her mind. One who can not only keep up with his lifestyle but also help him thrive instead of making life more complicated for him. My heart breaks a little at the mere thought that I’m not enough. “I don’t really fit into this part of your life, do I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If it’s necessary, I’ll work less with public personas, or not at all.”
Now I’m panicking. “You will not do such a thing. You run a successful business, and you won’t change a profitable strategy because of me.”
“We’ll figure it out, okay?” When I say nothing, he adds, “Why didn’t you call me, Caroline?”
“I knew you were asleep.” For the first time, though, I realize there’s more to it. I didn’t call because I didn’t want him to sense the fear and hesitation in my voice. The doubts.
“I’m getting on a plane in the morning, and—”
“No, no, no. We’re fine. Sealing the deal in Sydney is important. Look, Dad’s doctor is heading this way. We’ll talk later, okay? I have to go now.”
“Okay.”
***
Daniel
“Do you have all that down?” I bark.
“Yes, Daniel, I’m not hearing impaired,” my assistant says, displaying the first sign of impatience. I was wondering when she’d start picking on me. Truthfully, I want to pick a fight with someone. Maybe that way I’ll lose some of the frustration suffocating me.
“Okay. Keep me posted.”
“Sure thing. Want me to call Coleson and Stanhill?”
