She hung up and bit back a curse. Once again, she’d been an afterthought. If her dad hadn’t developed complications, if the doctor hadn’t suggested that her mother call, she might never have known he was injured in the first place. Her mom was probably already regretting having called.
She hurried down the hall to Maddie’s office and quickly explained the situation. “I can do Maxine’s treatment, but then I really need to go. Can someone call and cancel the last two appointments on the schedule?”
“I’ll do it,” Maddie said. “If you want to cancel Maxine, just tell her you have a family emergency.”
“She’s already here. She has to drive nearly an hour to get here. I can do it,” Jeanette said, then realized she was shaking and that her eyes were welling up with tears. Maddie was around her desk in a heartbeat.
“Sit down,” she ordered. “Don’t even think about going anywhere till I get back. I’ll talk to Maxine and see that those calls are made. When you’re back you can give Maxine a free facial if you want to, to make up for the inconvenience of her driving all this way.”
“Yes, please. Do that,” Jeanette said.
After Maddie left, Jeanette let the tears flow unchecked. Some were for her father. Given her mother’s tendency to downplay everything, who knew how serious his condition really was? Mostly, though, her tears were for a family that no longer seemed to exist, the one of her childhood that had been loving and close and filled with laughter.
When the door to Maddie’s office opened, she mopped her eyes with a tissue and looked up to find Tom there.
“Maddie called me,” he said. “I’m driving you to Charleston.”
“No,” she said fiercely. She could not deal with him right now.
“You’re in no condition to drive yourself. Everyone else is tied up, so I’m a last resort. Don’t argue. You know you won’t win, not against me and certainly not against Maddie.”
“Okay, fine, whatever,” she muttered, choking back a sob. “What is wrong with me? I can’t seem to stop crying.”
“You’re scared for your father,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve seen him for yourself and know exactly how he’s doing. Let’s go.”
“I’m not just scared for my father,” she said. “I’m furious with my mother. She kept this from me. She didn’t think I needed to know that he’d been in an accident, that the tractor had rolled on top of him. He could have been killed!” Her voice escalated, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “And letting me know was some kind of afterthought.”
Tom hunkered down beside her and clasped her hands in his. “He wasn’t killed. Concentrate on that. As for the infection and the pneumonia, those are setbacks, nothing more.”
She shook her head. “And here I thought your mother was terrible,” she said wearily. “Mine takes the prize.”
“Do you really want to debate about which of our mothers is more dysfunctional?” he asked. “Let’s just get to the hospital.”
“He’d better not die before I get there,” she said angrily. “If he does, I swear I’m never speaking to either one of them again.”
Tom didn’t say a word. He just met her gaze, one brow lifted. Jeanette giggled. “Okay, now you must think I’ve really lost it,” she said, her fury easing slightly.
He tugged her gently from the chair. “No, I don’t. Your reaction is understandable,” he told her, sliding a comforting arm over her shoulders and guiding her out of the spa through the back door.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said, dragging her feet.
He grinned. “Also understandable.”
He continued to propel her forward until they reached his car, a nifty little two-seater she’d never seen before except in ads in luxury magazines. It was not the car she’d ridden in before. “You really are rich, aren’t you?”
“My parents are,” he corrected. “This car was a present when I graduated from college and they still had high hopes for me.”
“Can I drive it?”
“Not in your present state of mind,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“How fast does it go?”
“Pretty fast,” he said, regarding her with amusement. “Planning on running away from home?”
She smiled again. “Could we?”
Tom grinned. “Ask me again after you’ve seen your father. I might be all for it.”
Jeanette’s smile faded. “Tom, do you think you can really run away from home, when you don’t even know where home is anymore?”
Tom’s expression sobered, too. “I honestly don’t know,” he told her. “I think that’s a discussion best left for another day.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” she said.
She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. What she really wanted was to shut off her mind, but unfortunately that seemed impossible. All the way to Charleston, a steady reel of memories played in her head. In most of them, her dad was the way she liked remembering him—doting on her, always ready to comfort her or read her a story or to make her laugh. He’d been so proud of her accomplishments and of Ben’s. He’d been steady and sure, the glue that held them all together. She’d never been able to reconcile that man with the one who’d withdrawn from everyone, from life itself after Ben’s death.
Tonight she wanted to throw her arms around the dad she remembered from her childhood. Her greatest fear, though, was that she’d find that other man, the one who barely acknowledged her, lying in that hospital bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jeanette hated the antiseptic smell of the hospital. She hated the squishy sound of the nurses’ shoes as they hurried up and down the hallways. The sounds of the machines, the steady beeping that monitored breathing and heartbeats, made her cringe. If Tom hadn’t maintained a firm grip on her hand, she might have made a run for it.
Outside the door of the intensive care unit, she hesitated. “Maybe I should find my mother first. She’s probably in the waiting room.”
“If that’s what you want to do,” Tom said. “I think it’s right down the hall.”
She stood there, wavering between two equally distasteful choices. “I’m still too mad at my mom,” she said at last. “I don’t want to start a fight with her first thing.”
“Okay, then go on in and spend a few minutes with your dad. I’ll find us some coffee.” He studied her worriedly. “Or do you want me to come in with you? I can stay in the background. Your dad wouldn’t even know I’m there.”
“The sign says family members only,” she said, pointing out the detailed list of rules posted on the door.
She watched him walk away and had to fight the urge to run after him. How had he suddenly turned into someone she knew she could count on? Someone she trusted completely to get her through this crisis? She had no idea.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath, pushed the button that allowed the doors to whoosh open and stepped into the high-tech unit with a half-dozen or so small rooms circling a central nurses’ station. She stopped a passing nurse.
“I’m looking for Michael Brioche.”
“You’re family?”
“I’m his daughter.”
“Right this way,” the nurse said, regarding her with compassion. Her name tag read Patsy Lou. “He’s having a tough time of it, but we’re hoping the antibiotics will work. Don’t be too alarmed by all the tubes or the respirator. Everything’s there to help him get well.”
Jeanette swallowed hard. “He’s not breathing on his own?”
“Don’t panic,” Patsy Lou soothed. “We’re already weaning him off it. It was just temporary while his lungs were having to struggle to get enough oxygen.”
“Is he awake?”
“From time to time, but we’re keeping him pretty heavily sedated most of the time so he do
esn’t fight the respirator.”
Jeanette walked into the small, glassed-in room and gasped. Both of her father’s legs were in casts, one to his knee, the other to his hip. His skin was pale and waxy. His thick hair, once as dark as her own, was almost completely white now. She could hardly recognize the strapping, hardy man she’d seen a year ago on her last awkward visit home.
She approached the bed slowly, then pulled a chair up beside it. She was so focused on adjusting to the sight of this immobilized man and reconciling it with the always-on-the-go man her father had once been that she was barely aware of the nurse leaving her alone in the room.
“Daddy,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his hand, which was lying on top of the sheet. It seemed like the only part of him not attached to some sort of wire or tube. It was warm and callused, the way she remembered. His forearm and hand were tan from working outside, but there was a band of white skin where his wedding band had been. The absence of that ring made him seem even more vulnerable. She linked her fingers with his.
“Oh, Daddy, what have you gone and done?” she asked, tears gathering in her eyes.
To her shock, he stirred slightly, almost as if he’d heard her.
“Don’t move,” she told him. “Just rest and get your strength back. I’m going to stay right here until you’re on the mend.”
Maybe it was only the respirator doing its job, but a sigh seemed to shudder through him at her words. She wanted to believe that he knew she was here, that he was glad she was here, but that was probably nothing more than wishful thinking.
It didn’t matter, though, because she had no intention of leaving until he was out of danger and could tell her himself to leave, if that was what he wanted. Maybe, though, maybe for once, he would ask her to stay.
* * *
When he came back from the cafeteria with three cups of coffee, Tom spotted Jeanette’s mother in the waiting room. There was no mistaking her. She had the same dark eyes, though hers were sunken and filled with worry. Her face had the same gamine shape, though on her it appeared gaunt. Her flowered cotton dress was faded from too many washings, but it had been neatly pressed and she still had the lithe figure of her daughter. She was working a rosary through her fingers, her lips moving silently.
Tom approached, but didn’t interrupt her. He took a seat nearby and waited until she looked up.
“Mrs. Brioche?”
Confusion filled her eyes, then alarm. “Is it Michael? Is he okay? Has something happened?”
“Everything’s okay, as far as I know. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m not a doctor. I’m a friend of Jeanette’s. I drove her to the hospital.”
She glanced around the waiting room. “She’s here?”
“She’s in with your husband now. I went to get coffee. Would you like some?” He offered her a take-out cup. She accepted it, but didn’t drink. Instead, she held the cup in both hands, as if absorbing the warmth.
“I’m Tom McDonald, by the way,” he told her. “I’m the town manager in Serenity.”
“I see,” she said distractedly, then stood up. “I should probably get Jeanette. They don’t want us staying in there too long.”
“I’m sure she’ll be out soon,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break while you can. Would you like something to eat? I can go down to the cafeteria again and bring back some soup or a sandwich.”
She shook her head. “You’re very kind, but no. I’m not hungry.” She glanced toward the intensive care unit. “Since Jeanette is in with her father, I believe I’ll go to the chapel. I didn’t want to be that far away when no one else was here, you know, in case something happened.”
“Then go now,” Tom encouraged. “I’ll tell Jeanette where to find you.”
“You won’t be leaving as soon as she’s visited with her father?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, then.”
Tom watched her go, then took a sip of his own coffee. It was bitter, but hot. He thought about the encounter with Mrs. Brioche, but couldn’t quite decide what to make of it. Obviously she was worried about her husband, but she’d hardly spared a thought for Jeanette and what she might be feeling. He was beginning to grasp what Jeanette had meant about her family being disconnected. By comparison, his own family was a role model. For all of the ridiculous emphasis on social stature, the frequent and volatile disagreements over the choices their son and daughters were making, and the unwelcome intrusiveness, he’d never once doubted that he and his sisters were loved. If anything, they were loved too much. When he’d had that injury playing college baseball, the entire family had gathered at the hospital within hours, driving the doctors and nurses crazy with their questions. His father had wanted to fly in specialists. His mother, predictably, had wanted to bringing in a caterer to be sure he was well-fed. Like so many Southern women of her generation, she equated food with both hospitality and crises.
He looked up and saw Jeanette walking slowly toward him, her cheeks damp with tears. He was on his feet in an instant. “You okay?”
She nodded, her eyes dull. “He’s not even breathing on his own,” she said, her voice choked. “They have him on a respirator and both legs are in casts. It’s awful.” She glanced around the waiting room. “I thought my mother would be in here.”
“She was. I spoke to her for a few minutes. She went to the chapel. She should be back shortly or you can go there if you’d like to, maybe say a prayer for your father.”
“Let me guess. She was working her rosary beads.”
“She was.”
Jeanette sighed. “Before Ben died, we hardly ever went to church except on holidays like Christmas and Easter. It wasn’t that we weren’t religious, I don’t think. It was just that most of the year, my dad worked seven days a week trying to keep the farm afloat. My mother worked the fields with him, and when we were old enough, so did Ben and I.”
She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes. A smile played across her lips. “As hard as we worked, as exhausted as we all were, those were the good days,” she said quietly. “After Ben died, everything fell apart. My dad stayed in the fields even longer. When he came inside, he ate, then went to bed without saying a word to my mother or me. My mom suddenly turned to the church. She went every single day. She baked cakes for the bazaars and for the Sunday social hour. I’m not sure if she was trying to save Ben’s soul or her own or just escape the dismal atmosphere at home.”
“If it gave her comfort...” Tom began.
“But it didn’t,” Jeanette said. “If something gives you comfort, it should uplift you, don’t you think? Instead, it was her way of withdrawing from everything. My dad worked. She went to church. Obviously she’s still doing it.” She blinked back fresh tears. “I just realized, with his injuries, my dad won’t be able to work for a long time. How will he cope without that?”
“One worry at a time,” Tom advised. “Let’s make sure he recovers first.”
As he spoke, he glanced across the waiting room and spotted Jeanette’s mother standing hesitantly in the doorway. As much as he hated the way she’d apparently shut Jeanette out of her life, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She looked so terribly lost and alone. His good manners kicked in.
“Mrs. Brioche,” he said, standing.
Jeanette’s head snapped up. “Mom!”
“Hello, Jeanette,” she said, her tone hesitant.
Tom looked from one to the other, saw the longing and anxiety in Jeanette’s face, the uncertainty in her mother’s. And something else... He leaned down and whispered into Jeanette’s ear, “She needs you as much as you need her. I’ll go for a walk and give the two of you some time.” He touched her cheek. “Okay?”
For a moment he thought she might argue, but then she nodded. “Don’t be long, though, please.”
“Just a few minutes, I promise.”
As he walked past Mrs. Brioche, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then left them. He couldn’t help wondering if a few minutes—or even a few days—would give them the time they needed to find their way back to each other.
* * *
Despite her earlier anger, Jeanette felt a stirring of sympathy for her mom. She looked so scared, so lost. It reminded her all too vividly of the way she’d looked for months after Ben’s death, as if nothing made sense anymore.
“Mom, please sit down,” she said at last, when her mother continued to hover in the doorway. “Unless you want to go right in to see Dad.”
“No, it’s too soon. You just came out. He needs to rest between visits.”
“Then sit.” She studied the exhaustion in her mother’s eyes. “Have you been getting any rest at all?”
Her mother shrugged as she took the seat next to Jeanette. “I was going home at night, but since they moved him into intensive care with the pneumonia and all, I’ve been staying right here. I manage to close my eyes off and on.”
“Why don’t you visit with Dad for a little while now and then go home for a few hours and sleep? You’ll feel better if you shower and change your clothes, too. I’ll stay right here until you get back.”
“Your friend, Mr. McDonald, said he drove you. Won’t he have to go back?”
“He can leave. Someone will pick me up whenever I’m ready to go.” Even though she knew Maddie, Helen or Dana Sue would come in an instant, she also knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Tom wasn’t going anywhere. She’d seen the stubborn set of his jaw earlier when he’d announced he was driving her over here in the first place. He was the only man she’d ever known who hadn’t taken off at the first sign of emotional upheaval. One of these days, when this crisis had passed, she’d have to think about that.
“Are you...? Is he important to you?” her mother inquired, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.
Welcome to Serenity Page 23
