Trust me, my love

by Emma Quinn

  We arrived and had to be ushered into a waiting room while the doctor stabilized Mr. Rochester. That was the most nerve-wracking two hours of my life since my mother had died. Sitting in the waiting room reminded me of the trips to the cancer center where my mother took her chemo treatments.

  Each of us were lost in our own thoughts. I was sure Daddy’s mind had turned to all the times we had taken Mama to the hospital and how with each visit she seemed more worn and less present.

  Dylan had calmed considerably, and he asked, “What’s on your mind, Em? Are you okay?”

  I nodded. If I spoke, my own tears might fall, and I didn’t want him to see them and think it was from his father’s situation. Really, I didn’t want to talk about Mama and the cancer. It was still too painful.

  “Thank you for what you did back at the office. I panicked. I froze up, but you reacted and did everything you could. I felt so useless.” He snorted in displeasure at his lack of action.

  “I’ve had a little training, you know.” I nudged him with my elbow and smiled.

  “Yeah, and I’m his only son. You’d think I would have had sense enough to call 9-1-1 at least.” He shook his head and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

  “We’ve been trained to act through the shock to keep from freezing. That’s our jobs, our duties. When someone we love collapses, it’s frightening. You did fine. Better than most, actually.”

  “Thanks.” He looked away and then back at me. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  Tired beyond belief, I nodded. “Sure. Anything.” All I was thinking of was keeping his mind occupied and at ease.

  “Is your mother’s illness why you decided to become a surgeon?”

  My breath hitched once and then I was in control again. Much better response than I had anticipated. “Yes. It is. Her cancer was inoperable at the end. After she had been decimated by the chemo with little effect on the cancer, she took cobalt treatments.” I shook my head unable to continue. Mama had literally wasted away right before our eyes. Every day she inched closer and closer to death. The treatments took energy and vitality from her and she never regained any of it.

  Dylan put his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

  I nodded and looked to Daddy. He sat with his eyes closed, chin lowered toward his chest, hands clasped in his lap. If I hadn’t known him, I would have thought he was napping, but I knew better. He was reliving the last visits to the hospital with Mama.

  Finally, a doctor and his assistant came to the room. “Family of Philip Rochester?” He looked askance at us.

  Dylan stood and offered his hand to the doctor. The doctor shook it. “You’re the son, I take it?”

  “Yes, I am. How is my father?”

  I stood and put my hand on Dylan’s arm.

  “I won’t lie, it’s not good. There’s still hope, though. By the time he arrived, he had slipped into a coma. There’s been some damage to the brain. That’s quite normal with hemorrhagic strokes. It’s too early to tell exactly how much damage has been done, though. Typically, stroke patients are out of the hospital in a week or so, but that might not be the case with Mr. Rochester.”

  “Oh my god. How long will he be in the coma?” Dylan paled.

  The doctor raised his shoulders. “There’s no way to tell. I’m sorry I can’t give you more definitive answers. Comas after a stroke can last from days to several weeks. The worst case scenarios is that he doesn’t come out of the coma. I just want you to know what we’re looking at here. He could make a full recovery with very few side effects, though. You have to keep up hope.”

  The doctor turned to me. “Are you by any chance Emily?”

  Confused, I nodded. “Yes, but how did you know?”

  The EMTs who brought Mr. Rochester filled me in. They said you were very knowledgeable and were a great help in speeding up their process.” He looked back to Dylan. “If not for Emily here, it is very likely that your father could have passed.”

  Daddy spoke up. “She’s studying to be a surgeon, you know.”

  My face heated up as the doctor gave me an indulgent smile and nodded to Daddy. He turned back to Dylan. “You can go in and see him now, but only one at a time and only for ten minutes at a time. He’s in a coma, but feel free to talk to him. We have reason to believe he can still hear you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Dylan followed him without looking back.

  Relief washed over me, and I sat heavily in a chair by Daddy, feeling the last week’s exhaustion settle into my bones.

  15

  Dylan

  T

  he day my father collapsed onto the floor was the scariest day of my life. I had no idea what had happened or what to do. To see such a strong-willed, imposing, and seemingly healthy man just hit the floor like that was terrifying. I thought I had lost my dad before we could work through the angst and problems between us. It was an eye-opening situation, and one that I never want to experience again.

  The days passed. Rochester Industries needed someone to fill Father’s position. A week after his hospitalization, with no word on how long he would be incapacitated, I took over as interim-CEO.

  It was a position I worried I was not ready to handle. Wanting to keep everything running as smoothly as possible for Father, I worked harder than ever. Evan was a huge help during the first few weeks until I got a handle on the business.

  I returned Roger and Emily to their jobs. I spent every evening at the hospital with Father, leaving little time for Emily and I to work through our own relationship. She came to the hospital every day before reporting to work just to check if I needed anything and to check Father’s progress.

  She and I chatted during her visits. She still needed time to work through everything, I guessed, so I didn’t push the issue of us being a couple right away. I missed her terribly though and felt as if I was lost without her to fall back on.

  In a way, I suppose it was her absence that ended up pushing me that last little bit to make me fully self-reliant. I changed a lot in the weeks after taking up position of CEO. For once, I could look in the mirror and be proud of what was staring back at me. Don’t get me wrong, for years I was proud of what I saw in the mirror, but it was only my cunning and good looks that I was proud of. I guess, that’s just pure vanity, actually.

  During the eighth week of my father’s hospital stay, he came out of the coma. I got the call at the office that morning, and I rushed to his side. Since the second day of his hospitalization, Father had spontaneous eye movements and some motor reflexes. Dr. Williams assured me that these were really good signs that he would come out of the coma and make a recovery, but he wouldn’t say how much of a recovery. Of course, every time Father moved his hands or moaned, or his eyes moved behind his lids, I was quick to talk to him and let him know I was there. I encouraged him to wake up. Sometimes, I retold old stories I remembered from childhood just to have something to say so he could hear my voice. A few times, I thought he responded to the sound of my voice, but each time, the doctors or staff would shoot down my hopes and tell me that it was just a reflex.

  Dr. Williams assured me that morning that it was not merely reflexes. Father’s metabolic tests and the EEG showed that he was waking. He had opened his eyes on command for the doctor, too.

  I rushed to his room and met Dr. Williams, who was still there. He had brought in one of the best neurologists weeks earlier to help with Father’s case, and he stood looking over the results of the tests he had ordered earlier that morning.

  Dr. Williams shook my hand, smiling. “I’m happy to say that it looks good for a full recovery. He’ll have to make some life changes after he recovers, but there is no serious permanent brain damage.”

  I tried to thank him, but tears of joy and relief fell as I looked to my father. He had shrunk during the eight weeks. He seemed so much smaller and frailer than before. It broke my heart to see him cut down so drastically and so ruthlessly. I
took his hand in mine, and he opened his eyes.

  “Hi, Dad. Hey, the doctors say you’re going to be okay.” I leaned over so he could focus on my face.

  The right side of his face had a slight droop still, and I knew that might be permanent. But his eyes burned with vitality again. He was scared, I could tell, but nothing like the day he collapsed. He squeezed my hand and a raspy, breathy moan escaped.

  Dr. Williams stepped to his side and put a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Mr. Rochester, don’t try to speak. You still have the ventilator tube in, and you could damage your throat. I’ll have a nurse remove that soon, we just have a few more tests to do first. Okay? Blink if you understand.”

  He blinked, and I noted that his right eyelid did not close all the way.

  I turned to the doctor. “That’s good, right? That means he’s not just responding randomly.”

  Nodding, the doctor patted my arm. “That’s right. We have to leave the tube in for a while yet, though, just to be certain. Dr. Havaland is going to order more tests over the next couple hours and then we’ll remove the tube if your father is still doing well enough.”

  “How long will he be in here still?” I glanced back to Dad, his eyes had drifted shut again.

  “That’s hard to say. He will need some serious physical therapy after being in a coma for so long. His muscles will be very weak, and we have yet to determine how much muscle use he lost during the stroke.” He walked to the door with Dr. Havaland. “We’ll know more tomorrow about all that. I’ll have someone come in to talk to you about how you should set him up at home, and of course, he cannot be alone for a while. Maybe never again. We’re just not sure yet.”

  “I understand. I’ll be there with him, and when I have to be away, he’ll have a private medical staff there. I’ll make sure of it.” I smiled and turned back to the bed as they left.

  I took the week off from work and oversaw the installation of his care suite at his house. I handpicked the staff who would be responsible for his care when I had to be away for work. I also set up the office so that I could successfully run things at Rochester Industries right from his home, thereby giving me more time to be there in case he needed me for anything.

  Another week passed, and Dr. Williams and Dr. Havaland signed the release papers. I was free to take Father home. They also approved of the staff I had chosen for his at-home recovery. A therapist was set to visit the house every day for two weeks and then the schedule would be reduced as Father progressed until he didn’t need therapy anymore.

  After four weeks, Father was moving around on his own and was much steadier. His quick wit and sarcasm were back in full swing, so I had little doubt about his full recovery. After six weeks, the doctor said it was okay to let him start looking into business matters a bit because he was stressing so badly over not being fully involved.

  He would have the slight droop in his face and the tremors and weakness on his whole right side indefinitely, I was told. The doctors gave him goals for lifestyle changes that he scoffed at openly, but I saw the worry in his eyes after the doctors left, and I knew he would abide by them. The stroke had scared him.

  At eight weeks, the therapist had finished with him, stating that she could be of no more help to his recovery, she had taken him as far as she could. He was progressing rapidly, and if we needed her, we could call her back in the future.

  Father had often called her Dungeon Mistress, Mistress of Pain and Torture, and he asked is she had received a degree in causing physical pain to her patients. She took it all in stride and with a lighthearted humor that I admired. When she left for the last time, Dad even hugged her and thanked her for putting up with him.

  Afterward, he sat in his office at the computers, admiring the job I had done with the company in his absence. Sometimes he nodded approvingly, sometimes he looked mildly shocked. I sat quietly on the small sofa, just happy that he was back to being himself.

  “Son, I must admit that you have managed the company quite well. Rochester Industries has prospered under your leadership.” He nodded. The slight slur of his slowed speech still bothered me, but whatever the residual cause, it had not affected his mind, it seemed, just his speech.

  “I did my best. I wanted to do well. Evan played a monumental part in my success. He’s a little odd but he’s an excellent employee. He knows all the ins and outs.” I smiled at Father’s admittance of my success.

  He smiled a little lopsidedly and nodded again. “That you didn’t just sit there and take all the credit is a good sign, Dylan. You’ve finally grown up, matured beyond my deepest hopes.” He sighed and held out his right hand, palm down. The tremor was quite marked that day. He let his hand drop to his lap.

  “Are you okay, Dad? Is something wrong?” An instant replay of his collapse flashed through my mind and I was on my feet, heading for the desk.

  “No, no. I’m all right. As all right as I can be, I suppose. Sit down, son. We have something to discuss. It’s a serious matter.”

  I blinked and paused, unsure if he really was all right. After a moment, I sat again. “All right, Dad. What’s on your mind?”

  He gave me a level look. “Son, I know I can’t go back to running the company the way I did before. I think it’s high time I retired. Physically, I’m unable to function in the capacity as CEO; mentally, I cannot function in the high-stress environment that is Rochester Industries. Before I retire though, there are a couple things I must do. Could you bring Roger and Emily Shandon here this afternoon?”

  Smiling, I nodded. “That should be no problem at all. What time?”

  He shrugged. “As soon as it’s convenient for them.”

  That was new. Father had never worried over whether something was convenient for anyone that I knew of.

  At three that afternoon, I brought Emily and her father to the house. They were anxious about the meeting, but they also wanted to let Dad know they were happy for his recovery.

  “Roger!” Dad motioned him into the office. “Where is that angelic daughter of yours?”

  Roger looked at him as if he had gone mad. “Um, she’s right there.” Roger pointed to the doorway just as Emily and I entered.

  “Good. Good. Both of you, come sit. I need to speak with you.”

  Roger and Emily sat in front of the desk. Emily perched nervously on the edge of her seat, while Roger looked magnificently uncomfortable. Surely, they were recalling the last time my father had wanted to speak with them.

  “Now, let’s see…” Dad looked to Emily. “You, young lady. As I understand it, you are the one who saved my life.”

  She stammered and her cheeks reddened. “Well, sir, I wouldn’t say that. I just made an assessment and—”

  Scoffing, Dad shook his head. “Modesty. You did. The doctors told me. You also came to the hospital every day for nearly eight weeks to check on my son and me, correct?”

  She glanced at me and then nodded at him.

  “I owe you a debt of eternal gratitude, dear. It’s a debt I’ll never be able to fully repay, but if you ever need anything—and I mean anything at all—do not hesitate to call on me.” His crooked smile was endearing. The true caring and kindness in his eyes was moving.

  He turned to Roger. “Now, Roger. You’ve given years of your life to my company and you’ve always been an exemplary employee. One of a kind, really. I want to apologize wholeheartedly for the way I behaved the last time we spoke. I was in the wrong. I jumped to conclusions, and they were the wrong ones. I’m sorry, Roger.”

  Roger looked even more uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat unsure how to respond. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad you’re recovered and feeling better.”

  “I hereby promote you to Chief of Operations, Roger. If you would consider working for an ass such as myself ever again. I can’t blame you if you tell me to go jump off a bridge, but in my condition, I would need help to do it.” He grinned again.

  Roger sputtered and turned to me, then to Emily, and back to Fat
her. “Sir.” He looked around again as if for confirmation he had heard correctly. “Yes, sir. I would.” He stood and offered his hand to Dad. They shook, Roger chuckling and Dad nodding. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, cut out the ‘sir’ crap. Call me Philip, or Phil. I think we’ve been through enough to be on a first-name basis, eh?”

  “Yes, sir, um…I mean, Phil.” Roger took his seat and rubbed his palms over his thighs as if drying them.

  Emily had her hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. I was sure they were tears of joy.

  Father pulled a check from under the blotter and smoothed it with his good left hand. “Now, you, young lady. I want you to take this money and further your medical education.” He held it out to her.

  She didn’t move, just shook her head and looked to me. I shrugged and then nodded for her to take it.

  “Sir, I can’t accept that. You don’t owe me—”

  “Take the money, Emily. Do not argue with me. I insist.” He flapped the check at her.

  She shook her head and stood tentatively. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rochester, I just can’t.”

  “Oh, you are going to cause me to have another stroke, young lady.” He looked to Roger and held the check out to him. “Take this money and put it in her account, Roger. See that she has anything she needs between now and her graduation. Would you?”

  Roger nodded and took the check.

  “Daddy!” She shook her head. “No.” She reached for it and I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Emily, really. Father wants you to have it. It’s fine. Accept it, please. We’re both so grateful for what you did.” I guided her back to her seat.

  “Thank you, Mr. Rochester, but I didn’t do what I did in the hopes of a payment.” She sounded disheartened.

  “And, that’s all the more reason you should have it,” Father said in his slow and partially slurred voice.

  Father tired out easily, and Emily noticed. “We should really be going so you can rest, Mr. Rochester. You don’t want to overdo it so soon.”