The Man She Knew

by Loree Lough

  Weeks of hobbling around the apartment helped build his strength enough to endure the fifteen-minute drive up Broadway to Hopkins, where time on the treadmill, climbing up and down a short set of mobile stairs, and stretching workouts rounded out his on-site physical therapy. Most frustrating were exercises designed to regain control over his fine motor skills. According to the staff, he’d progressed at twice the usual pace...not nearly fast enough for Ian.

  “Gladys had some errands to run,” Brady said. “That’s why I’m here.” He folded the newspaper. “What time is your session this morning?”

  Ian would have bet his remaining crutch that Gladys spelled things out: Today’s therapy had been postponed because of the after-New Year’s holiday. What important activity, he wondered, had so preoccupied Brady that he hadn’t heard her?

  “Think I’ll fix myself some cereal,” he said, shuffling to the pantry. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “Yeah, dunked some cookies in coffee.”

  Ian’s go-to breakfast...before the accident. He made his way around the kitchen, filling his bowl, grabbing a spoon, then pouring milk over the puffed flakes. Impatience, he’d discovered, was his worst enemy. In his rush to complete simple tasks as he had before, he only succeeded in creating a mess that he couldn’t clean up by himself, doubling his frustration.

  “What’s bothering you, son?”

  “Nothing really. Just annoyed at how long it takes to get things done.”

  “Looks like more than that to me.”

  “Is that so.”

  “You’re still hung up on Maleah, aren’t you?”

  Hung up didn’t even begin to cover it.

  “Gladys tells me she stopped by.”

  Ian slid onto a stool, wincing when he bumped his arm on the counter.

  “Phone works both ways, y’know...”

  “Gets a little tiresome,” Ian began, “reaching out only to have your hand smacked all the time.”

  “How many times has that happened?”

  It hadn’t, technically. But knowing that it might was reason enough to sidestep the possibility of rejection.

  “Your aunt seems to think the girl still has feelings for you.”

  “Gladys is a dreamy-eyed romantic.”

  Brady smirked. “So you disagree.”

  “If Maleah has feelings for me, she sure has a funny way of showing it.”

  Brady pointed at the cactus garden that sat in the center of the island, the mostly empty box of chocolates, and deflating balloons that bobbed in the breeze whooshing from the ceiling vent.

  “I read the card...”

  “Hey, don’t read between the lines. Besides, all this stuff is just...stuff. Thoughtful enough, I guess, but way easier to give than self.”

  “Whoa, that’s deep. Real deep. Been reading the old philosophers again, have you?”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Guess that means you haven’t thanked her for all this, ah, stuff?”

  “No, but I will.”

  He’d considered calling, texting, asking Gladys to invite her over again.

  “The longer you wait, the tougher it’ll get.”

  “Maybe I won’t bother. She’ll add ‘ungrateful pig’ to the list of reasons she dislikes me, and we’ll both be off the hook.”

  “Hmpf. Sounds like self-pity to me. And if anybody oughta know about that, it’s me.” Ancient history had never been his best subject, so Ian hoped his dad wasn’t planning to dredge up the past. He’d spent years saying things like “It’s all right; you did the best you could under the circumstances.” It seemed to Ian that his dad had grown far too comfortable, living with his defeatist mind-set.

  Brady glanced at the clock. “Gladys should be back in an hour or so. Will you be all right on your own until then?”

  Time to head for the office, Ian realized. Another way his father hid from reality.

  “Sure. I’ll be fine.”

  “Leave the dishes. I’ll get to them after work, if Gladys doesn’t beat me to it.” He grabbed his coat. “Tell her I’ll pick up a pizza on the way home, save her having to cook supper.”

  “Sounds good.” Ian grinned. “But no black olives.”

  “Speaking of food...have you been down to the bistro yet?”

  “No,” he said again, “but I’ll go soon.”

  “Why not go now? I know your regulars are eager to see you.”

  One at a time, his staff had come upstairs to ask for advice about private parties, ask his approval on menu changes, to get him to sign paychecks. Without exception, they’d stressed how much they’d missed him and his leadership. Could he make it down the stairs and up again, unassisted? Only one way to find out... If he succeeded, could he return not only to Sur Les Quais, but to his SAR activities?

  Cash ambled over, used his nose to nudge Ian’s hand. “Guess you’re ready to get back to work, too, aren’t you, buddy?”

  The dog dashed into the foyer and, after some huffing and tugging, loosed his leash from the hook beside the door.

  “Okay, I get the hint,” he said. “Give me a minute and I’ll grab my jacket.” Cash would provide an excuse to avoid the bistro, at least for now; how would it look if he violated his own set-in-stone rule about animals—except service dogs—on the premises?

  It felt good to get outside longer than the amount of time it took to stagger into Gladys’s ancient black Caddy. Not a horrible day, for this time of year. A frosty wind rippled harbor waters and blew a briny scent across the sidewalk. Ian took his time, passing the Oyster House, the Waterfront Kitchen and The Horse You Rode in On Saloon.

  A water taxi putted by, filled with tourists that huddled deep into down parkas and faux fur coats. He didn’t realize just how far he’d walked.

  “Sorry buddy,” he said, “but the leg is giving me a fit. Time to get back.”

  Cash slowed his pace.

  “We’ll do it again tomorrow.” He glanced at the sooty, cloud-streaked sky. “Weather permitting, that is.”

  Back home, he hung up his jacket and Cash’s leash, and shuffled into the kitchen. After refilling the dog’s water bowl, he placed a cup of water into the microwave. Hot chocolate sure would hit the spot right about now. And when he finished it, he’d make his way downstairs just in time for the lunch rush. Ian popped the last chocolate into his mouth, a chewy caramel-vanilla cream combo, and tossed the empty box into the trash can. If he survived the visit, ego intact, he’d call Maleah and thank her for stopping by the other day.

  Who was he kidding? He’d call even if his self-esteem took a slight hit.

  He missed hearing her sweet-yet-sultry voice. Missed those big glittery blue eyes, too. Once, that cheery smile had the power to light every dark corner of his life and make him forget that his mother had chosen another man over him and his dad.

  His mother had left a message a few weeks ago to give him her new phone number. He looked at the kitchen clock. Nearly eleven o’clock London time. If he called now, he might wake her new baby boy...

  That wasn’t fair, and he knew it. The kid wasn’t to blame for what his parents had done, and Ian had understood that, right from the start. It’s why he’d made a point to send birthday and Christmas cards every year. He’d decided to start the new year with a clean slate, and that included touching base with his mother. He envied people who had families, and considering the fact that the estrangement had been his doing... When he finally worked up the nerve to make the call, Ian would ask her about his half brother’s likes and dislikes, and send something more personal than a gift card for a change.

  Cash flopped down on his thick corduroy bed, staring at Ian as if to say, Well? Aren’t you going to keep me company?

  Admittedly, it had been a while since they’d walked that far, and the walk h
ad taken its toll on his sore muscles and healing bones.

  Ian decided to pay a visit to the bistro after physical therapy tomorrow.

  The cactus garden caught his eye and he decided Brady was right: the longer he waited to thank Maleah for the gifts, the harder it would be.

  He got settled in the recliner, hands shaking as he picked up the closest phone within reach—his dad’s—and dialed.

  * * *

  “NO WAY TO know yet whether or not it’s serious,” said Pat Turner. “We’re following the ambulance to Howard County General, right now.”

  A familiar ping sounded in her ear, and she ignored the incoming call.

  “Want me to call Joe and Eliot?”

  “Thanks, honey. That’d be great.”

  “I’ll leave just as soon as I get hold of them. You guys drive safely, and if they’ll let you see Grampa, give him a hug for me.”

  It was almost a relief that he hung up before saying more; hearing the tremor in her dad’s voice had been almost as upsetting as the word ambulance. Her grandfather would be all right.

  He had to be!

  “...and we’re expecting a relatively minor storm,” the radio announcer said. No surprise there. Historically, Baltimore’s biggest snowfalls happened at the end of the month, and into February.

  “But be careful out there,” the reporter continued. “This one snuck up on us, and the roadways haven’t been treated...”

  Great, she thought, turning off the radio, just what we need during a family emergency. Maleah left a message for Eliot, then dialed Joe’s cell number and left one there, too. Her brothers were on duty. If the weather forecast was accurate, the department might assign officers extra hours, to rescue stranded drivers, direct motorists onto safer roadways, even escort accident victims to the ER. She’d try them again, just as soon as she checked on Grampa.

  She found her parents in the waiting room outside the cath lab, talking with a doctor. She sat beside her dad and took his hand in hers.

  “Is Grams in with Grampa?”

  “Yes,” her dad said. He turned to the doctor. “This is our daughter, Maleah. Maleah, Dr. Peters.”

  “Where’s Dr. Valenti?”

  Her mother said, “In Europe.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Peters said, “I promise to take good care of your grandfather.”

  Maleah’s cell phone buzzed...a number she didn’t recognize, and once again, she ignored it.

  “We’re prepping Mr. Turner for surgery now,” Dr. Peters continued. “His type of cardiomyopathy makes him a good candidate for a pacemaker. It’s a routine procedure that only takes a couple of hours and doesn’t even require anesthesia.”

  Pat exhaled a relieved sigh. “And afterward?”

  “We’ll monitor him here for a day or two, and as long as things look good—and I expect they will—we’ll send him home.” The doctor explained how easy it would be to monitor the function of Frank’s pacemaker, thanks to wireless technology.

  “Will he need special medications?” Ann asked.

  “If tests determine he needs a blood thinner, we’ll prescribe one. But from what I’ve seen, he probably won’t need anything. Once he’s home, though, if he experiences discomfort at the implant site, an over-the-counter pain reliever like acetaminophen is fine.”

  Eliot joined them, and Ann said, “This is our eldest son.”

  Dr. Peters nodded. “They’ll fill you in soon, I’m sure.”

  He seemed to take the hint and sat beside Maleah. “I’ve heard that cell phones interfere with pacemakers,” she said.

  “Only if they’re carried in a pocket directly over the device.”

  “And security systems, like those at the airport?”

  “It could sound the alarm, but if it does, he’ll have a wallet card to explain things to agents. Might not be a bad idea to get him one of those medic-alert bracelets.”

  Her cell phone buzzed. “They’re ready for me,” she said after reading the text message. “I’ll send your mom out to wait with you.” Standing, she shook each relative’s hand.

  “Thanks, doc,” Pat said.

  “I’ll find you when it’s over.”

  Joe approached, pink-cheeked and breathless. “What’s going on?” He’d clearly rushed from the parking lot to the waiting room.

  Pat repeated what Dr. Peters had told them, and just as he finished, Teresa walked into the waiting area.

  “Did the doctor explain things to all of you?”

  “She did,” Ann said, guiding her to the three-seater couch. “And did a thorough job, too.”

  “Snowing like a son of a gun out there,” Joe said. “An inch deep and counting.”

  Pat frowned. “Thought they said it wouldn’t accumulate?”

  “Shouldn’t last long,” Eliot said, “with these warm temperatures.”

  “Warm!” Ann rolled her eyes. “Last I heard, it wasn’t even thirty degrees!” Typical Turner nervous small talk, Maleah thought. She wouldn’t put it past her brothers to start reciting every knock-knock joke they knew.

  “So as long as we’re all together,” Joe said, “I have something to tell you guys.”

  Everyone turned toward him.

  “I, ah, I met this girl, see, and I think maybe, maybe this is the one.”

  Teresa giggled. “Let us be the judge of that.”

  “You’re gonna love her, Grams. She’s amazing. A kindergarten teacher. Never married, no kids, owns a town house in Columbia, loves to cook, and drives—get this—a pickup truck.”

  Eliot elbowed him. “Sounds too good to be true. Can she go out in public without a bag over her face?”

  Joe held out his cell phone, showed his brother a picture.

  “Man. Some guys have all the luck,” Eliot said, passing the phone to his mom.

  “She’s lovely.” Ann handed it to Pat, who gave an approving nod before giving it to Maleah.

  Joe’s dark-haired, dark-eyed girlfriend could have been related to Ian. “She’s gorgeous, Joe. What’s her name?”

  He smiled at the picture before sliding the phone back into his uniform shirt pocket.

  “Molly. Molly Mucchino.”

  “When are we going to meet Miss Perfect?” Eliot asked.

  “I was hoping this weekend, but with Grampa out of commission, that isn’t a good idea.”

  “He should be home by Saturday,” Teresa said, “and the doctor told us he can get back to his usual activities...within reason.”

  “Yeah, but Molly teaches five-year-olds, and he’ll be tired. Wouldn’t want to take the chance she might carry some germ home from school.”

  “Good point, son,” Pat said.

  Eliot elbowed him. “Nice to see you use that noggin for somethin’ more than a hat rack.”

  Maleah checked her watch. It had only been ten minutes since the doctor left them. Could the Turners keep up with the one-liners for another hour...perhaps two?

  Shortly after midnight, the doctor appeared in the waiting room, a surgical mask hanging around her neck.

  “He’s doing great,” she announced. “Give the nurses half an hour or so to get him settled in his room, and you can see him.”

  “All of us?” Eliot asked.

  “As long as you’re quiet.”

  “Soon as we’ve seen him,” Maleah said, “I’ll go to your house and bring you some toiletries and a change of clothes.” She turned to Dr. Peters. “It’s all right if she stays, right?”

  “Of course it is. There are lounge chairs in the rooms. Tell the duty nurse you’d like a pillow and a blanket.”

  “Wonderful,” Teresa said. “But I’d stay even if I had to sleep standing up, like a horse!”

  Maleah laughed and squeezed her forea
rm as Joe said, “Eliot and I will drive you, Maleah.”

  Joe said. “The roads are pretty dicey.”

  Teresa’s eyes filled with tears. “You kids are wonderful.” She hugged them both. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’ll never have to find out,” Eliot said. He faced the doctor. “So, no complications at all? Everything went exactly as planned?”

  “If you don’t have any more questions,” the doctor said, “I’ll be on my way. I make rounds any time after nine, so if you think of anything between now and then...”

  The Turners looked at one another but no one spoke.

  “I hope you won’t all feel the need to stay,” Dr. Peters said, backpedaling toward the OR.

  “Sheesh, sis, what’s up with your cell phone?” Eliot frowned. “It’s been buzzing all night.”

  “Only three times,” she corrected. “Caller ID says ‘unknown.’ At this hour, it has to be a wrong number. I’ll take care of it later, once we’ve seen for ourselves that Grampa is all right.”

  Twenty minutes passed before a nurse appeared. “Are you the Turner family?”

  Everyone stood at once.

  Grinning, she said, “I’ll take that as a yes. If you’ll follow me...”

  Frank was sitting up in bed, pink-cheeked and smiling when they entered his room.

  “Relax, you guys. I’m not dead yet.”

  “Frank!” his wife scolded. “That isn’t even remotely funny!”

  “Just trying to turn those frowns into smiles, that’s all,” he said as she hugged him.

  “You’re amazing,” Maleah said, patting his hand. Bending to press a kiss to his forehead, she added, “You look great.”

  Situations like this were precisely why she’d avoided the topic of Ian. The family had enough to contend with, and didn’t need anything more upsetting them.

  “All right. You’ve all had your eyeful, now skedaddle. This old goat is pooped.”

  Teresa rolled her eyes. “He must be fine.”

  Pat and Ann said their goodbyes to Teresa and promised to return first thing in the morning. And after they left, Maleah drew her brothers into the hall.