by Kristi Rose
“One minute we were talking about planning a holiday. Doing something different this year and the next he’s on the ground.”
Thankfully the pub is close to a firehouse and in minutes we’re surrounded by a blur of people: emergency workers, staff, and friends. We get Mum and Dad off to hospital. Josie, a natural leader, has already mapped out the plan. She stays behind to help and has already called Jeff, Mum’s part-time assistant. Paisley drives Pippa and I to hospital in my car.
Once there we’re forced to wait with Mum as Dad’s rushed back for tests.
“He’ll be fine, Mum,” I say hoping my words don’t sound as hollow as I feel.
“Daft man,” she says, popping up from her seat. “Said he wasn’t feeling well. Told him to go to the doctor, I did. But he said he wouldn’t take a day off unless I did. As if seeing a doctor is a holiday.”
“Mum.”
“I will have that man raised from the dead so I can give him a piece of my mind, I swear to you I will.” She’s pacing the short length of our waiting room, clenching and unclenching her fist, and I know I shouldn’t smile but this is not the reaction I expected from her, given her past experience.
Of course I realize Dad’s not lost yet. The awful could happen and Mum might then truly lose the plot. As anyone would.
“Mrs. Grandberry?” A young man steps into the room, wearing scrubs, a longish white lab coat, and a stethoscope around his neck. It’s Joe, the doctor Amit suggested setting me up with.
“Yes,” Mum pauses her rant and pacing, her hands going to her chest.
“I’m Doctor Lynch. I was assigned your husband’s case.”
“Is he alive?” she whispers.
“Yes, ma’am. Very much so.” Dr. Lynch gestures to the seat. “Why don’t you rest a moment while I discuss your husband’s condition?”
“Oh, dear Lord. He’s going to die, isn’t he?” She collapses in the chair next to me.
“Auntie Millie, perhaps you should let the good doctor speak,” Pippa suggests.
I pick up Mum’s hand and hold it between mine, hoping it gives her some comfort.
“Please continue,” I say.
He squats in front of Mum, a lovely gesture to be sure, but undoubtedly causes her anxiety to rise as she’s now clutching my hand in a vise grip.
“Your husband appears to have fainted—”
“Crikey, that’s all?” Mum’s voice rises.
“Mrs. Grandberry,” says Doctor Soothing Tones. “We’d like to rule out possible heart problems as the culprit, if you will. Your husband’s blood pressure is low, which normally isn’t a concern, but...the best way I can describe it is to say that it’s not pumping as well as it should be.”
“You think there’s something more,” I say, and squeeze Mum’s hand, choking back the tears of fear that threaten to escape.
“We’re keeping him overnight for observation. He took a knock to the head when he fell, but we’d like to do a stress test tomorrow and go from there.” He nods, waiting for Mum to respond.
“Might we see him?” Pippa asks.
“Of course. He’s getting a room as we speak. But he’s a bit agitated and well, frankly, I need you to take him in hand. If you can?”
Challenge extended.
Brother, this doctor has Mum’s number right off. He’s good. No one can bring Dad around better than Mum and nothing gives her more motivation than being in charge. I’d laugh and congratulate him on his astute observations if the mood wasn’t so serious.
“I most certainly can. Take me to him.” Mum leaps up from the plastic chair, nearly knocking over Dr. Lynch.
“He’s going to be difficult. He’s a little confused and says he’s hungry—”
“I’ll straighten him out,” Mum says.
We follow the doctor to the door that separates the doers from the wait-ers and Dr. Lynch pulls it open for us.
“You single, Dr. Lynch?” Mum says.
I nearly faint myself. “Mum, seriously?” I glance at Pippa.
“I am.” He faces us.
“Jayne here is a business owner, savvy and responsible. Good genes. Oh, don’t think she has her father’s genes because Thomas isn’t her real father. Her real father comes from very strong stock.”
Dr. Lynch looks at me. Or, up at me, as I’m easily three inches taller than him in flat feet. Today I’m wearing a modest heel and feel as if I could cuddle him in my arms like a wee babe, as he’s likely forty pounds lighter than me as well.
Either I look like the hearty stock Mum alluded to or he’s frail. I’m going with frail. In a healthy, only-eats-lettuce sort of way.
“Er... Just ignore her, Dr. Lynch. Shall we go see Dad? Eh, Mum?” If I knew where I was going, I’d push past them all and lead the way.
But alas.
Paisley elbows me and when our gaze meets, she rolls her eyes. She totally gets it. When she and Hank started dating her mother sent her a list of baby names that went well with Lancaster, Hank’s surname.
But this is a first for Mum. She’s always been the opposite.
“If your father has heart problems it might come in handy to have a doctor in the family,” Mum whispers.
Without further embarrassment, we follow Dr. Lynch to a different floor marked Cardiology and Mum fairly swoons when she sees the sign, gripping the nearest person, Pippa, to hold her steady.
But when we walk into Dad’s room, he’s sitting up in bed, a bandage near his right temple and a cross expression on his face.
“Christ on the cross, Millie, tell these people to let me go.” He wags a finger at a nurse who’s messing with a machine that subtly beeps Dad’s heart rate. I’m thankful for that line and try not to guess what it might indicate.
“We’re happy to see you looking well, Uncle Thomas,” Pippa says, effortlessly skirting the force field of anger around Dad as she drops a kiss on his cheek.
“You look lovely, Dad,” I say, ignoring the wires that run to his arm and chest.
“For a stubborn ass of a man,” Mum adds and steps closer to his bed. “You listen here, Thomas Grandberry. You gave me the scare of a lifetime earlier and I will not have that again. I burned the fish.”
Looking chagrined, Dad says, “I’m sorry, dear.”
“You will be staying overnight. I will be staying with you. You will do as these people say because this cannot happen again,” Mum demands as she sits herself on the corner of his bed. She takes his hand and clutches it within hers.
“All right, dear. If you say so.” He leans his head against the pillow. Before my eyes, time speeds up and I no longer see him as the young man, a sudden father, who embraced me as his own. Gave me his last name when my own biological father wanted nothing to do with me anymore. Now, I see a loving face that’s aged with wisdom, life, and laughter.
I step next to the nurse and quietly ask, “Can she stay?”
“Yes, ma’am. The chair opens out into a sleeper. She’ll need linens and a pillow is all.” The nurse finishes whatever it is she was doing and steps from the room.
I turn to Paisley but before I can ask she says, “Just tell me what to do. Of course I’ll do it.” She rubs a hand down my arm.
“Can you take Pippa home—”
My cousin swings around to face me, saying vehemently, “No, I’m staying to help. I’m family.”
I lower my tone like Dr. Dulcet the Master and say calmly, “You’ll need to go by the pub first and check on Josie. Make sure all is well and that Jeff has it under control.” I hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting and glance at Paisley. “Then go to my place, get some linens and a pillow so Mum can stay overnight.”
Pippa shakes her head. “We’ll go by their house and get them both a change of clothes. Something Auntie can be comfortable in. I’ll get some linens there.”
I nod. Pippa has a key, so that’s taken care of, and my only obstacle is Pippa not knowing how to drive. It’
s times like this where it would come in handy. “Can you bring my car back?” I ask Paisley.
Paisley nods. “Can we bring anything else?”
Pippa stifles a yawn.
I shake my head. “But, Pip, it’s okay to stay home. You and I’ll be running the show for a bit, so maybe being well rested should be high priority?” I shrug my shoulder as if to say I’ll understand if she doesn’t want to stay away.
“We’ll be in touch through text, okay?” Paisley wraps me in a hug. I nod, as there’s a lump in my throat, a buildup of fear and relief blocking out the words.
Pippa hugs Mum and Dad, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. When she passes me, we reach for each other’s hand, tangle our fingers, and squeeze. To do more than that would reduce us to tears.
While waiting for someone to return with my car and Mum’s clothes, I run errands. Coffee and light food for Mum, step out to ring Dad’s sister, Auntie Sheila. I field a few texts from Josie about the pub and make a call to Heather about my own shop, thankful more now than ever I have her. The value of a good employee (though she is my friend first) is essential in times such as these.
I’m sitting outside Dad’s room, giving my parents privacy, and staring down at my chipped nail polish, named Pinking about You, a lovely light color more appropriate for spring, when my mind wanders to Stacy. I can no longer look at my nail polish and not think of the first time we met.
As if conjured from my mind he slides into the plastic chair next to me and tucks a large overnight duffle on the ground between our feet.
Stupidly, I ask, “Are you really here?” I’m awfully knackered and wouldn’t doubt for a moment if my mind were playing a trick on me.
He looks over his shoulder then back at me. “I think so. Do you not see me?”
I touch him, stroke his cheek. It’s warm, my fingers caressing the bristle of his five o’clock shadow.
“I’ve brought both your car and the items requested. Though you’re gonna have to give me a ride home.” His blue eyes are gentle and soft and fill me with warmth that escaped the moment Mum screamed.
“Where’s Cordie?” I try to soak in his heat.
“Josie’s with her.”
“I can’t leave.” I desperately want to lay my head on his shoulder. Instead, I drop my hands to my lap.
“Where are you going to sleep? Out here?” He scoots closer in the chair, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“I hadn’t thought about it.” I’m surprised to find my voice quivering only to then notice my legs are trembling as well.
“Hey,” he says in that husky voice I’ve come to dream about. “It’s okay. He’s okay.”
I nod, only I’m not so sure if it is because I am agreeing or the trembling that has taken over my body forces me to do so. The lump in my throat rises up and pushes out tears, one escaping down my face.
He folds me in his arms, hauling me close and says, “Aw, babe. I gotcha. Hold tight to me.”
Chapter 25
Hold tight to him, he said.
And I did.
I let him wipe my tears, hold my hand on the drive home, and tuck me into bed where I fell into a deep sleep before he pulled the covers over me.
The next day, Stacy was there, standing quietly behind me, his hand on my shoulder when the doctor came in to give the results of the stress test and Dad was scheduled for some serious work: a stent, a pacemaker, and a valve replacement. They said his heart had the wear and tear of a much older man. It explains the fatigue he’d been complaining of. It might also explain the fall that broke his leg. There was hope that the first two procedures might do the trick and Dad could avoid the valve replacement. I crossed my fingers and toes. Though he will need a new valve in the future, undergoing three separate procedures puts him at risk for several other issues. I lost focus after the doctor began listing them.
The day after, Stacy sat next to me while Dad had his first of three procedures—the stent put in—and we encountered our first complication. Initially, they couldn’t get Dad’s bleeding under control and he required a blood transfusion. This pushed out the pacemaker procedure and only increased our anxiety.
On the third day, Mum lost the plot and cried all over me when I popped by the pub to help her sort out the schedule, only to find out they were still delinquent on bills. I tabled the conversation as Mum was in no state for a discussion and I paid the invoices from my own accounts.
Afterward, I found myself seeking Stacy out, calling him, needing his strength as reinforcement. When I drove home, I went to his house before mine. He pulled me inside and I had my first solid night’s sleep on his oversized couch, wrapped in his arms.
There’s something about Stacy that balances me. When my brain is cluttered from everything, when the weight of what I want to accomplish staggers me, it’s talking with Stacy that breathes in the calming oxygen I need. Everything gets all sorted or, at least, my plan of action does.
It’s astounding really. How it seems as if he’s always been around, helping me keep it together. I wouldn’t have made it without him. With back-to-back meetings himself, he’s insanely busy, yet each night he works on my books, feeds me takeaway, and holds me until I fall asleep.
The last two weeks have passed in a flash and feel more like forty-eight hours than days stacked on end. Pippa’s been running the pub; I’ve been personal assistant to both Mum and Dad while going by the shop every chance. Thank heavens for Heather.
Now, sitting next to Josie’s fire pit, the afternoon sun is warm enough that Cordie and Tyler are splashing, knee deep, in the ocean. I want nothing to do with work, only to put Dad’s impending heart surgery, their life after said surgery in regards to the pub, and Pippa’s ever-increasing broodiness about the job loss out of mind, if only for a few hours.
One last bit of work and I’m going to shut down. Everything but being here can sod off. Even today’s fortune from a new cookie can get stuffed. It read: Life will be happy until the end when you’ll pee yourself a lot.
Responding to Davis’s reminder email about the investor packet is last on my list.
I answer it with a brief one of my own, hoping he’ll let the matter rest, but when my phone rings and his number pops up I groan loud enough that the others look at me.
“Hello, Davis,” I say, unable to disguise my annoyance.
“I do apologize for calling you, Jayne. I’m sorry that your dad is sick. I hope the situation gets better soon.”
“Thanks,” I murmur while watching the kids splash about.
“I hope you’ll forgive my interruption but one of my investors—I sent you his profile—is very interested in your store. He has an opportunity to invest in something else but would prefer to go in your direction, and while I don’t enjoy rushing these things, I was wondering if you might be interested. I’d hate for you to miss out on this. You’ll have to make a decision in forty-eight hours.” He poses the question in his light, airy voice.
It’s magic really. How he keeps from sounding pushy. He’s a marketing marvel because at the mention of losing out on this opportunity I’m sucked in. I don’t want to miss out on something that could change my life. Desperation to push the red of my thermometer to the top clouds my judgment.
I school myself.
Mum has always told me to not let need come before sense. I try to apply that here. “I’m not sure I can make a decision that quickly.”
“But you can try? Give it some thought. Spend some time mulling it around. I could come down and be a sounding board if you’d like. It would be a shame to lose this opportunity because you didn’t give it a glance rather than deciding it’s not for you.”
I sigh. The dossier is in my messenger bag in the car and, to be honest, with covering some of the pub’s expenses, I’m even more in need of an investor than before if I want to launch this shop.
“Want me to come down?” he offers again.
“No, there’s no ne
ed.” I press my hand to my temple and close my eyes.
“So you’ll give it a look?” His tone is a mixture of excitement and hope and who can say no to that rich sweetness? Certainly not I.
“Yes, I’ll give it a proper look.”
He tells me which investor it is. “Call me with any questions. There’s no limit to how many times either. I’m here to guide you.”
I nod. “Okay. I’ll get back to you.” Hopefully, Josie still has extra chocolate around. I might require a brick or three.
“Thank you, Jayne. Thank you.”
As if I’ve just made him the happiest man in the world. And damned if I don’t feel like rushing right to my car to get my bag.
“I’ll be in touch,” I say, hoping I sound as compelling as he does.
“I’ll be waiting. The offer stands for me to come down. I could take you to dinner—”
“Thanks anyway. But I doubt I could get away for a quick cup of tea much less a meal.” It’s not really a lie, as sitting here with my friends is not “getting away.” I’m in standby mode.
We disconnect and I press the end of my phone to my forehead while taking in deep breaths as Pippa taught me, trying to push back the panic that comes with being overwhelmed.
“Here,” Josie says, nudging my arm.
I open my eyes to find she’s holding a bottle of lemon-flavored seltzer water, my favorite, two aspirin, and a bar of chocolate.
“Bless you,” I say and work my way through the gifts.
“Was that smooth-talking Davis?” She plops onto the bench next to me.
I glance at the men, who are overly engrossed in a football game on the telly, before I answer. “Yes. He really is that, isn’t he?” I shared my impressions with her one morning when we met for breakfast. “He wants me to look at an investor who has a timeline.” I break off a one corner of the chocolate and offer her the other.
She shakes her head. “You know I’ll invest. I’ve said it before. If your instincts tell you to run from him then run.”
I truly have the best friends in the entire world. And I plan on keeping it that way. Borrowing from her could end all that.
