“And did they send her to a specialist?” I inquired.
“Well, no. Dr. Smith checked her out, and he delivered all our babies, so we trusted him.” Gina shrugged.
“Smith…” I mumbled with a humorless chuckle. Yeah. I’m sure Dr. Smith was well respected in the Podunk town in which Sonya had grown up and no one had thought to question him.
At that moment, a fairly good-looking guy came into the room pushing a cart and I saw him smile at Sonya.
“Hi, Mrs. Griffin. I’m Grant. I’m here to do your EKG.”
“Hi, Grant,” Sonya replied giving him her pretty smile and letting my hand go as she reached for the bed control using it so she could sit up. I then watched as she smoothed her hair out, seemingly primping for the fucker.
The tech grinned as he brought the machine around to the side of her bed and plugged it in. “This won’t take long,” he explained, looking at Gina and me suggesting we leave the room I supposed.
Jesus. I was jealous of a guy doing his job, but I hadn’t seen Sonya smile that brightly in some time, especially not at me, and it pissed me off. I raised an eyebrow at the guy before leaning down and kissing my wife. “We’ll be right outside.”
In the hallway, Gina took my arm and led me to the waiting room. After we sat, she pulled her huge purse onto her lap and dug through it, pulling out a card.
“Here,” she said, handing it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at the thing to see a heart on the front with the words, “Grieving Sucks. Let Us Help.” printed underneath. I frowned. “Why do I need this?”
She raised her eyebrows and lifted a shoulder. “I thought it might help.”
“She’s not dying, Gina,” I grumbled.
“Oh! I know that, Beck! I just thought it might help you deal with some of the, uh, feelings you’re having?”
Shit. Sonya must’ve told her we’d argued.
I let out a sigh as I glanced down at the card again seeing that the group met on Thursdays on the second floor of the hospital. Looking back at Gina, who gazed at me sympathetically then patted my hand, I saw that she understood that this had all been pretty hard on me. She knew I needed some help. Smart woman.
I looked back at the card not really hyped about going to a meeting where they might expect me to share my feelings because that would not be happening. But, hell, the more I thought about it, I figured I’d probably be at the hospital anyway, so why not. Maybe they’d talk about something that would help. I nodded and Gina grinned giving me a wink.
Thirty minutes later, the tech came out, all chipper and shit, telling us we could go back in, and I still wanted to punch him.
“What’d he say?” I asked Sonya when I was back in her room watching the smile she’d reserved for the tech fade when her eyes met mine, which pissed me off yet again.
Hopefully, attending this group would be good for helping me with my anger.
“He said Dr. Schmidt would come in in a bit to let us know the results.” She frowned noticing the card in my hand. “What’s that?”
I pulled it up and flipped it around, showing her the front when Gina piped in, “It’s just something to help Beck through all this, honey.”
“Oh.”
I let out a breath and pulled the chair to her bed. “Just something I’m gonna check out.”
She nodded and her voice hitched as she whispered, “I’m s—sorry.”
Before I could give her any empty assurances, the door opened and Dr. Schmidt came in, all business now, with a laptop which he opened and placed on the portable tray near Sonya’s bed as Gina walked over behind me to where she could see.
“Well, I’ll just get to it,” he stated, a grim look on his face as he pulled up x-rays. “You have what’s called arrhythmogenic right ventricular dysplasia which is a cardiomyopathy in the right ventricle.” He pointed with a pen to the x-ray. “This is scar tissue here,” he circled several places on the photo in what I supposed was the right ventricle, “that has replaced the damaged muscle.”
My brow came down. “What does that mean?”
“It’s causing tachycardia,” he looked at me, “rapid beats, which isn’t good.”
I was still confused.
“What it ultimately means is that your wife needs a heart transplant, Mr. Griffin.”
I shook my head. “But she hasn’t had any problems until now.”
He tilted his head then looked at Sonya over his glasses. “Have you had any palpitations before?”
She nodded, her eyes shifting guiltily toward me then back to him. “Yes, but I just thought it was just stress.”
“When does she need the transplant?” I interrupted.
“As soon as possible.”
He continued pointing out places on the x-ray and while he talked my head spun.
“She’s only twenty-four!” I pointed out, breaking in again.
“It’s congenital.” He looked at Sonya. “You’ve never seen a cardiologist before?”
“Her doctor looked her over when she was a baby, but he said she was good to go,” Gina told him.
He nodded. “I’m putting her on the donor list. Hopefully, we’ll get something soon and we can get you fixed up.” He smiled at Sonya then I watched as he closed the laptop preparing to leave.
“Does she have to stay here?” I asked, having so many questions but he was behaving as if everything was a fucking wrap.
“I’d say that would be the smart thing to do.” He gave Sonya another smile. “I could send her home with a cardiac event recorder, but her condition is far too advanced. I’d feel safer if she stayed here where we could take care of her should something happen.” He glanced at me looking over the top of his glasses waiting to see if I had any more questions. When I couldn’t voice all the shit that was jumping around my head to him, he smiled telling us he’d keep us informed then picked up the laptop and left the room.
I followed him out wanting to make certain of what he’d said.
“So she can’t go home?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t advise it. Has your wife ever had fainting spells?” I shook my head. “With as much scarring as she has, I’m surprised. Mr. Griffin, this is a dire situation. The right ventricle is working harder than necessary which can lead to enlargement. Ventricular premature beats can result in ventricular tachycardia which can lead to sudden death. Again, I’d feel better if she stayed here where we can help.”
I gritted my teeth and nodded.
“We’ll take care of her,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder before turning to leave.
Chapter 9—Birdie
Thursday evening just before seven, I sat nervously in a small conference room on the second floor of the hospital. There were maybe ten other people sitting around the large table in the center of the room, a table so big there were still ten empty seats. The people talking quietly with each other hadn’t come in together, so I supposed they’d attended at least a previous session.
When I’d left work, I’d gone home to find Mason on his phone chatting up a potential client. His firm had been allowing him to work from home since his diagnosis which had worked perfectly. And damn it if something the likes of a little brain tumor was going to get in the way of his job. I hated that he’d kept working, but he’d stated he’d go crazy if all he did was sit around, and I was actually proud of him for being so strong, to be honest.
I fixed him a plate of the already-prepared lasagna I’d heated up the night before, kissed him goodbye and headed off to the counseling meeting before I chickened out.
On the cab ride to the hospital, I worried about how the session would go. The card had made it seem more upbeat, which I hoped it would be, but it was then I realized I wasn’t going there only to receive help with grief. I was a fighter and wasn’t at all ready to accept that my husband was going to die just yet. Hope was still springing eternal and all and I was going to cling to it for as long as I could. No, I figured out my reason for g
oing was purely selfish and a bit morbid: I wanted to hear how bad other people’s lives were so I’d feel better about mine. See? Totally terrible. God. I was such a bad person.
As I sat now, having returned small smiles I’d received from several women, I fidgeted, looking inside my purse, acting as if trying to find something so I didn’t have to return smiles any longer.
A moment later, a man with graying hair came through the doors coming to stand at the head of the table. He wore khaki slacks, a tucked in red plaid shirt and Nikes. I felt overdressed having kept on my business attire which was a charcoal gray pinstriped suit jacket over a white camisole and matching pinstriped slacks. I’d considered exchanging my four-inch black stilettos for flats but had completely forgotten. As I looked around the room, I saw that everyone else was dressed casually and made a note that if I returned next week, I’d make sure to change beforehand. Not that what I wore mattered to anyone else, but I felt uncomfortable enough as it was and would’ve preferred something less constricting.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Charles Denton. I’d like to start by welcoming you here. There’s coffee by the door,” he turned and pointed just as the doors opened and the man who’d comforted me in the stairwell walked in. “Oh, hey! Come on in and have a seat.”
I could tell the guy was embarrassed as he walked to the table and sat down directly across from me.
“As I was saying, I’m Charles Denton, for those who don’t know me. And, please, call me Charles. Coffee by the door and I see that someone brought cookies. That was nice. Okay, I’ll give you all a couple minutes to get yourself some refreshments before we begin.”
A few people stood and went to the small table as I watched Charles setting up materials. When I felt eyes on me, I turned to see the man from the stairs watching me. Remembering that I’d sobbed in the arms of this stranger, I felt my face get hot. I saw his brow jerk as if in confusion as to why I was embarrassed, then his eyes, the bluest I’d ever seen, crinkled at the sides as he smiled letting me know I had nothing to worry about. I silently thanked him with a small, gracious smile back.
“Let’s get started,” Charles said after everyone was seated. “I want you to know this is a place where every opinion matters. Every voice is heard. Every feeling justified. Let me begin by telling you a bit about myself.”
I learned that he’d been the CEO of a small engineering firm when his wife had been killed in a car wreck almost ten years ago. They’d been married for thirty-five years and had three children. After her death, he’d turned to drugs and alcohol to kill the pain, but after overdosing, he’d had a “come to Jesus” moment and proceeded to turn his life around.
“My wife, Virginia, was my everything,” he said, choking up. “See? Even after all this time, it still gets to me. And that’s okay. I want you to know it’s okay. But I’ve since remarried.” He paused then laughed when he saw a few people jump a bit at hearing that. “Yes. Life does go on. Eve, my wife, understands that I loved before. She’s even mixed pictures of Virginia in with all of ours telling me that she’s as much a part of our lives as our kids are. How wonderful is she?”
People nodded in approval.
“And because Eve did that, it’s actually made things easier. Helped me heal even more. Of course, at first, it was a bit unsettling as you can imagine. But seeing Virginia there amongst the photos of us now makes me appreciate the fact that I had a wonderful life before Eve. And now, Eve and I are living a wonderful life. Does that make sense?”
A woman raised her hand. “I think it does. If Eve hadn’t done that, you might’ve repressed your feelings, might not be living as well as you could.”
“Exactly. And since it’s out in the open, I don’t feel the need to hide any of the feelings I once had for Virginia.” He shrugged. “I never have.”
“Smart woman, Eve,” another woman said making a few people chuckle.
“So we’re here to talk about grieving,” Charles went on. “Some of you may have lost someone. Some may be in the process of losing someone. And some might need help with all that comes with caring for a loved one who’s ill. That’s what this group is about: Dealing with the emotions that come with all of the above. You all know about the five stages of grief, I’m sure. But part of why I’m here is to tell you there’s no order in which these stages come. Hell, I spent five years stuck in anger.”
There was general laughter at this and I relaxed a bit more as he continued talking. It actually felt good being among people who were having as hard a time as I was. Some people shared their stories but there was no pressure to do so, and I wondered if someday I’d be able to talk about Mason and what he was going through.
The hour passed quickly and before I knew it, the meeting was over. As I gathered my purse, I saw that Charles stood by the door talking to people as they left. I waited to feel apprehensive about it, but the feeling didn’t come because I knew Charles wouldn’t pry. Now as I stood in line, I watched him talking to the blue-eyed man from the stairs and briefly pondered what his story was. But as the line moved, I focused on what I would say.
Would I tell Charles about Mason? Would I just thank him? As I got closer, the nervousness returned until I was there and he took my hand.
“I’m so glad you came tonight,” Charles said.
“Thank you. I enjoyed it.”
“Same time and place next week.” He smiled.
“I’ll be here,” I said, smiling back, then made my way out the door into the hallway ducking into the restroom when I saw people standing at the elevators. Although Charles had made me comfortable by not prying, relieved, actually, I didn’t feel like having small talk with people I didn’t know.
After using the facilities then freshening my lipstick, I opened the bathroom door to see that everyone was gone. Good. I pushed the down button and waited but then the men’s room door opened and my stairway hero appeared.
Well, great.
I watched as he approached realizing he was a very good-looking man. He was several inches taller than Mason, who at six-two, I considered tall to my five-ten making it possible for me to wear heels and not tower over him. But this guy had to be at least six-four and was very muscular. His dark hair was short and spiked up a little in the front, he had a square jaw that gave him an edge which was usually only something men in Hollywood could pull off but this guy had it down, and a straight nose that went well with everything. But it was still his eyes, eyes as blue as the Caribbean Sea, that set him apart.
“Hey,” he offered when he arrived at the elevator.
“Hi,” I returned.
“I’m Beck Griffin.” He held his hand out to me.
“Birdie Chapman,” I answered, taking his hand.
“Birdie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow after letting my hand go.
I chuckled. “Bernadette but everyone calls me Birdie. Beck?” I countered.
Now he chuckled. “Mom’s maiden name.”
The doors opened and we stepped inside. He hit the ground floor button and as the doors closed, we both talked at the same time.
“I wanted to thank—” “I wanted to check—”
We laughed and he told me to go ahead.
“Well, I wanted to thank you for that day. I was having a rough time and you, well, you made me feel better,” I remarked, still a bit chagrined.
“Good. I’m glad it helped.” He smiled down at me which was different because when I had on heels, Mason and I were usually face-to-face.
“So, are you coming back next week?” I inquired.
“Yeah. I think I am.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
On the ground floor, he walked with me to the curb where a couple taxis were waiting, the crisp October breeze making me shiver a bit.
“Thank you again for that day and thanks for walking with me,” I said.
“You bet.”
We stood looking at each other for a moment and I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
/> “I just wanted to thank you too, Birdie. I was having a bad day too and you made it better.”
I couldn’t help the surprised laugh that escaped. “All I did was cry. You were the one who helped me.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I guess it was mutual. Have a good night, Birdie.” He opened the cab door.
“You too, Beck,” I replied as I got in before he shut the door.
I saw that he waited until I was safely driving away before he left the curb.
Chapter 10—Beck
After Birdie left, I went back inside the hospital and up to the seventh floor then outside Sonya’s room, I suddenly found myself angry again. Taking a deep breath, I clutched my hands into fists as I thought of how everything had gone so bad lately.
My wife was a drug addict. She’d slept with men to get the fucking drugs. I still didn’t know if she’d done so since we’d been married. She’d basically overdosed twice since I’d found out about her drug use. She had a bad heart and now needed a transplant.
Yep. That pretty much summed up the shit storm that was my life.
When I’d married Sonya, I’d wanted what my parents had. They’d been married for going on twenty-six years, and although I’m sure they’d had their ups and downs, they’d held strong. I loved my wife but I didn’t know if we could weather everything, especially if she had cheated on me. Yeah, yeah, for better, for worse, but I wasn’t sure that shit included another man sticking his dick into my wife.
As I was swallowing my pride, preparing to go back inside her room, my cell phone rang.
“Hey, man,” I answered.
“How’s it going?” Paul asked.
“About the same.”
He’d called a few times to check on Sonya since giving me the rehab information but he didn’t know about the transplant.
“I’m in town for a conference. Wanna meet for drinks?” he asked.
“Hell yes,” I answered. “Where?”
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