Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  “A guest?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  “Might as well start, right? It’s just one and he seems nice.”

  “I know. He’s taken quite the liking to James, too. They’ve been in the dining room talking for hours.”

  “Really?”

  “Ever since I arrived and your dad made it downstairs. Anyway, we got dinner all prepped and ready, and your dad is biting at the bit to get started on the grill.”

  Both her and I grabbed a bag. “I can’t wait,” I said.

  “James. James!”

  Startled by Luke’s tone, I spun around just as my dad collapsed to the ground.

  “Dad!” I dropped the bag and rushed over to him, kneeling in the gravel. “Dad? Talk to me.”

  “Nancy, call 911!” Luke knelt next to my dad and began CPR. “Don’t do it, James. Don’t you dare leave this girl. Not now. Don’t do it.”

  NINETEEN

  “Hello Miss Grey.”

  “Hello Doctor Stevenson.” I adjusted my purse over my shoulder as a couple of nurses passed by us in the hallway of the waiting room.

  “James is ready to see you now,” Doctor Stevenson said, glancing at the nurses, too.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s stable, but that’s about the only good news I have for you, I’m afraid. Follow me and I’ll take you to him.”

  Down through several hallways, we veered left and then right, passing several more nurses sitting at their stations either going over charts or chatting while holding mugs of steaming coffee. Most of them smiled as I passed, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them I would get to know over the next several days—or however long my dad would be here. Would I know them by name? Would I come to learn their schedules? Would I begin to notice which ones were nice or not, which ones were good at giving medicine or taking blood?

  “So what happened to him?”

  “He suffered a mild heart attck.”

  “And how long will he have to stay?”

  “I think we should just go day by day at this point, given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances? Is he going to need surgery?”

  Doctor Stevenson glanced over his shoulder. His lips curved into a frown. “He told me he told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “His cancer is back, unfortunately.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “But did he tell you how much it’s spread? I’m afraid it is more than we thought it would be.”

  “What are you saying?” I stopped walking and so did the doctor.

  His lips thinned as he drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “It’s in his kidneys, his liver, his stomach. It’s in his lungs, and lymph nodes. It’s . . . everywhere.”

  “So, what does he need? More chemo? Surgery?”

  “Unfortunately, those would be just band-aids.”

  “Are you saying he’s dying?” Although I asked the question and part of me wanted the answer just so I could know, another part of me wished I hadn’t asked and didn’t want to know. Who would want such news? Who would take an active part in wanting to know how long they had with another person? Why would they desire such knowledge?

  The doctor blew out another breath and clutched his clipboard tight to his chest. “I don’t know how else to say it other than yes. He has . . . weeks left.”

  “Weeks?” I stumbled backwards until I hit the wall. My breath became shallow as I clutched my chest and struggled to breathe. “I thought you’d give me a year or two. I thought there would be so much time. Are you sure? Are you sure there isn’t anything you could do?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t. It’s an aggressive cancer, and given this mild heart attack he had, it just shows me how weak his body is. He could have another one or he could even have a stroke if he’s not careful. He needs to stay here and rest, even if it’s not a fix. At least we can keep him a bit more comfortable.”

  “Is there any damage to his heart?”

  “Some. But to operate . . .” He shook his head as though trying to finish his sentence without actually speaking the words. “To put him and his body through all the pain and stress of major surgery, I just don’t think I could do that to him. Not to mention, I doubt he’d live through it.”

  I ran my hands up my cheeks and into my hair as I began to pace in the hallway. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Grey. I’ve known James for many years and he’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  As the doctor left me, I stood alone in the hallway, staring at the door to my dad’s room. For a moment I wished I wasn’t here by myself, and yet, at the same time I was grateful for it. I didn’t know how I was going to react—whether I would yell and scream and throw things or drop to my knees sobbing. It could go either way, and I didn’t know if I wanted someone to witness what I was capable of. With a deep inhaled breath, I grabbed the doorknob and opened it.

  There was only one other time I’d seen my dad in a hospital bed, and this time, just like the last was still an odd sight. One doesn’t ever expect to see their parent in such a way—wearing a thin, white hospital gown while hooked up to a bunch of machines with wires going in every different direction.

  I made my way over to the bed and sat on the end instead of in one of the chairs across the room.

  “Hey Dad.”

  “Hey Rach.” His skin was pale and clammy, and he looked like although his body was here, his mind was someplace else.

  Perhaps it was, at least a little.

  “So, the doctor says you have to stay here for a bit, so you can rest and heal.”

  “I figured as much when they admitted me.”

  I let out a deep breath, glancing around the room. “He also told me about the cancer.”

  “And I figured that, too.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think you were saving me from something?” My eyes misted with tears again, this time, they brimmed and streamed down my cheeks.

  “I guess I thought I was.”

  “Well, I’m here to say it’s not saving me from anything. I would rather know than not know . . . you know?” I wiped my cheeks, running my fingertips on my pants to dry them.

  “I know, honey, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t just that I wanted to spare you from the pain. I think I didn’t because I wasn’t ready to face it myself.”

  “He said you have weeks left.”

  “Yeah, I know. He told me, too.”

  I rubbed my forehead with one hand and let out a deep breath. “I’m going to go back to the inn and get a few things for you—clothes, pictures, your brush and toothbrush, things like that. Then I’ll be back. There’s a hotel down the street, I’m going to rent a room, so I can stay close.”

  “No, you aren’t. You are going back to the inn so you can keep working on it.”

  “What do you mean no, I’m not?”

  “You have too much to do at the inn to be spending time here doing nothing but pacing the halls and sitting by this bed. Plus you have Charlie, your guest, to take care of.”

  “Dad—“

  “Dad, nothing, Rach. There is nothing you can do here. It’s bad enough I have to stay—there’s no need for you to stay too. I need the rest anyway. Might be nice to have a few days to myself without all the noise Luke makes and you and Nancy constantly coming in with food and not letting me do anything I want.” He winked.

  “Oh, and I suppose the nurses will let you just do what ever you want?”

  “They might. I can be quite charming, remember?”

  “You can also be so stubborn sometimes.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, you are too. Go home get some work done and call me tomorrow. They gave me some pretty powerful meds and I think they are starting to kick in. I’m just really tried.”

  “And what about the day after tomorrow or the day after that? I cannot not visit.”
r />   “We can play it by ear.”

  “All right. I guess I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “First thing in the morning,” I corrected, pointing at him. ”Because you know I just have to be the first person to wish you a good morning, right?” I snorted at my own attempt at a joke, trying to cheer myself up.

  It only worked a little.

  TWENTY

  “Hello?” I called out as I shut the front door of the inn. Back from a third trip to the hospital to visit my dad several days later, I trudged across the foyer, yawning. “Is anyone here?”

  “Rachel?” Luke peeked out over the desk.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  “You had a wobbly shelf. I noticed it the other day when I was helping check Charlie in, so I thought I would fix it.”

  “Oh.” I wiped my face and fell prey to another yawn.

  “Another sleepless night, huh?”

  “Yeah. You’d think I’d be so tired I’d just crash and have one full night at least. But it seems the more tired I am, the more I can’t sleep.”

  “How was the visit to the hospital?”

  “Fine, I guess. I could do without that drive, though.”

  “Any news on when they will let him come home?”

  “Not yet. He’s still really tired and he needs rest. I told him I wanted to stay again, that I was sick of just visiting for a couple of hours each time, but he keeps telling me to go home and get some work done. It’s been nearly four days, how much work does he think I can possibly get done when all I am is worried about him?”

  “Well, that sounds like James. But he’ll be home soon and everything will be fine.”

  A lump formed in my throat at the notion Luke’s prediction wouldn’t come to pass. “So,” I said, choking on it a little. “I thought I’d just try to distract myself as much as I can. I still need to repaint that one room. I don’t like the color I picked out the first time and the more I think about it, the more it drives me crazy. I want to repaint it. Plus I need to finish decorating several of the other rooms. The kitchen still needs some work, too—cabinet handles, shelf liners, just little things.”

  “I can have Bob come back to repaint if you want.”

  “No, it’s not worth it when I can paint it myself for free.” I glanced upstairs. “Has Charlie been down? Did he have breakfast? Lunch?”

  “He enjoyed breakfast on the deck and then left to look around some of the town. He’s back though, he’s in the kitchen fixing some of the cabinet handles you just mentioned.” Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know why he wants to help. Maybe he’s just bored.”

  “Well, I hope he’s not too bored. I can’t have bored guests at my inn.” I glanced down at my hands, fidgeting them. “Hey, listen. I’ve never really thanked you for all your help. I don’t know what I would have done without it and without you. You’ve been a big help, both with the inn and since my dad went into the hospital.”

  “I think you would have done just fine without me.” He cocked his head and rose to his feet, dropping the screwdriver on the desk. “Of course, I don’t think the place would have looked as nice and you would have had to kick out your guest.” He winked. “Still though, it’s coming along nicely. Just think, you could be officially opening in just a couple of weeks.”

  Weeks.

  Although the word should have caused a spur of excitement, it didn’t. Instead it was like stone to my stomach, weighing me down. I hadn’t told anyone about what Doctor Stevenson had told me. Hadn’t divulged even the slightest detail about the weeks my dad had left and why it was so hard for me not to spend every waking moment in that hospital room. Surely the sick needs time to heal, and surely the loved ones still needed to maintain a sense of routine. But this was unlike any normal situation. It wasn’t like he was going to come home and regain his life as he knew it. My time and his time were limited, and while we should be spending it together, we weren’t. I didn’t know if the weeks meant two, three, or even more—as I hoped they did. All I did know was I was headed down the road toward losing him.

  Would he even see the inn opening again? Would he be around when the reservations came in? Or while I entertained my guests? Would he see the beautiful remodel and how this building had gone from what it was to what it is?

  Or would he miss all of it?

  Without thought I moved toward Luke, wrapping my arms around him. Whether delirious from a lack of sleep or just overwhelmed, I didn’t know why I hugged him, but I did, and I couldn’t help but melt into his arms as he returned the embrace.

  I also couldn’t help but burst into tears.

  “Rachel, don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” I pulled away from him, wiping my eyes.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s really going on with James?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I know you said it was a heart attack and they were just keeping him for a little while, but I also know there is more to the story. So, what aren’t you telling me? Is there damage to his heart? Does he need surgery?”

  I brushed my fingers against my forehead, pretending to scratch an itch I didn’t have, at least not on my skin. Deep inside, however, my nerves felt like they were covered in poison ivy and I wanted to rip each one of them from my body.

  I bit my lip for a moment, hating the words I knew I had to say. However much I loathed them, I recited every one, giving Luke detail after detail of what the doctor told me. By the time I finished, Luke paced the room.

  “Okay. Okay. Well, there’s got to be something they can do.”

  “There isn’t.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I know. I can’t either.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t know if he wants too many people to know, so don’t tell anyone.”

  “You have my word, I won’t say anything.”

  Someone cleared his throat behind us, and as we both spun, Charlie stood in the doorway of the dining room, leaning on the frame. “I . . . I’m sorry for the interruption.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. Is there something you need?”

  He shook his head, holding up his hands. “I just overheard, and I just, well, I’m sorry to hear about James.” Before I could open my mouth to thank him, he continued. “And don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. Course, it’s not like I know a ton of people in town.”

  I nodded, shifting my gaze to the floor for a moment before heaving a deep sigh. “Well, I guess I better get to repainting that room. It’s not going to repaint itself, and since he kicked me out of his hospital room again . . .”

  “Do you need any help?” Charlie asked.

  “Oh, you don’t need to offer.”

  “No, I know I don’t. But I’d like to. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “Surely, you don’t want to do manual labor on your vacation.”

  “Actually, I think the work is good for me. I’ve been feeling kind of useless lately.”

  “I know how you feel,” Luke said. “After the Navy, well, if you aren’t doing something you feel like you have no purpose being on this earth.”

  “But is it legal for me to even have you help?” I asked.

  Charlie shrugged and chuckled. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  “All right. I guess I wouldn’t mind the help. It definitely would get the job done quicker,” I said, glancing between the two men.

  “I’ll help too.” Luke made his way toward the stairs, spinning around to flash me a smile before he stopped at the first step and motioned me to follow. “I already got done with what I wanted to get to today so I’m free.”

  “Done already?”

  “Yeah, I have to say, the repairs are going faster than I planned. Almost like it’s meant to be.”

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” I headed toward the s
tep, passing him.

  “You can say that again,” he whispered.

  I dipped the roller brush in the tray of paint and glided the handle back and forth in the dark maroon color. With the sponge full, I stepped up on the ladder a few rungs, leaning against the top of it as I pressed the brush onto the wall.

  “I like this color so much better than the other one. I think this is going to be my favorite room,” I said, eyeing the hue in the color of the sunlight shining through the window.

  “Even over the corner one?” Luke lifted his own brush full of paint, stroking the wall beside the window frame while Charlie worked on the wall opposite of us.

  “Well, maybe,” I said. “I do love that room too. But I just love this color. I probably should have saved it for that room instead.”

  “But the sky-blue is perfect in there.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It really is a room that needs a soft color.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the four-poster bed that looked like my parents got it from a castle somewhere in Ireland. “And this color is dreamy with the furniture in here.”

  “Dreamy? Did you just say a paint color was dreamy?” He laughed.

  I bent down and slapped at his arm, the movement jerked the ladder under me. It teetered and I clung to it, a slight scream on my breath with the notion I was about to fall or it could tip over. Luke grabbed both sides, steadying it.

  “And that’s karma,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For trying to hit me.” He laughed again, lifting up the paintbrush and pointing it at me. As he flung it, drops of paint flew though the air, landing on my arm.

  “Hey! Watch it.”

  “What? You said you loved the color.”

  “Oh, really?” I pointed the roller at him. “Care to see how it looks on you?”

  He held up his hands and backed away. “I’m good.”

  “Yeah, I bet you are.” Still pointing at him, I nodded and fought another smile.