“Yes, he’s diabetic,” Ellie supplied. “But the doctors have his blood pH stabilized. They’ll monitor him while he’s here, which will most likely be a few days.” She swallowed a rude remark about Frank’s bullheadedness before adding, ”When he’s on his own again, he’s going to have to do a lot better at self-regulating.” Because she couldn’t hold back the suspicion, she went on. “Tell me, Ms. Greene, had he been drinking when this happened?”
“Call me Sharon, please. And no. Well, at first I thought maybe he’d been drinking. He had a hard time following our discussion and his breath smelled fruity, like a rum-punch, but I know he’s a beer man, so that didn’t really make sense. In retrospect, I’m certain he was completely sober, Dr. Swann.”
“Ellie,” she corrected. “‘Completely sober’ isn’t the way people usually describe my father.” She tried, but didn’t succeed in keeping the bitter edge out of her voice.
Sharon patted her hand. “He’s trying to change.” She sounded so reassuring and hopeful. Two more qualities Frank didn’t usually bring out in people. All in all, the woman seemed entirely too sweet and classy to have anything in common with her father. She also had a diamond-encrusted wedding ring on her left ring finger. “How did you say you knew Frank?”
“I didn’t say. I should probably let him explain—”
Just then Ellie caught Dr. Pendleton’s wave as he passed the nurses’ station on his way out. “I’ll go tell him he has a visitor.”
The older woman’s gratitude shone in her smile. “Thank you. Only if he’s feeling up to it.”
Ellie rose. “No problem. I’ll be back soon.”
Her hand shook when she reached for the door. A burning pressure swelled in her chest. Relief took many forms, she knew, including anger, but hers wouldn’t do either of them any good. Tamping down on it, she steeled herself and entered the room. Her father lay in the hospital bed, eyes closed, complexion ash gray. An IV dripped into his arm. Monitors hummed and recorded details of his heart rate, oxygen levels, and blood sugars. She stepped to the foot of his bed and checked his chart. When she glanced back at him, his eyes were open and locked on her.
“How do you feel?” Safe ground. He was, after all, in a hospital.
“Thirsty.”
She poured him a cup of water from the pitcher a nurse had left on the bedside cart and handed it to him.
While he drank, she moved on to the next obvious topic. “Your friend Sharon called me.” She didn’t know what else to say. I told you this would happen if you didn’t take care of yourself? She had, a thousand times, but Dr. Pendleton had already covered the diabetes lecture, so what was the point? “She’s in the waiting area, if you feel up to a visitor.”
“In a minute. I have something to say to you first.” He struggled to raise himself into a sitting position. She took the bed control from its coil around the bed rail and hit the button to elevate his head.
“That’s good,” he said when they were more eye-to-eye.
“What’s on your mind, Frank?” This would be short visit if he started in on her about anything. Right now she should be tracking Tyler down, explaining her whole stupid plan with Roger and begging his forgiveness. Oh, yes, and praying he wasn’t so mad or disgusted he’d tell her to get the hell out of his life.
“I guess I owe you an apology.”
She blinked. Frank, apologizing? “For what?”
“Friday night.” His eyes shifted to some point over her shoulder. “Tyler tells me I showed up at your place half-cocked, pounding on stuff and screaming at the top of my lungs. I don’t remember too well.”
“One of the things you pounded on was Tyler’s jaw, so I suggest you save your apology for him.”
“I already did. Look”—his glance bounced back to her face—“I know apologizing for the other night only touches the top of a whole big pile of crap I need to answer for where you’re concerned, but I have to start somewhere.”
Maybe her ears weren’t working right. Or her brain. “Start what?”
“Making amends.”
Who are you and what have you done with my father? she wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come. “Why?” she managed.
“The program I joined. Apologizing and making amends is step nine, so I’m not exactly there yet. But I figure you’re here now and my stunt Friday might still be on your mind.”
Her heart started beating a little faster. “Frank, what program did you join?”
“You met Sharon, right?”
“Yes.”
“She’s my sponsor—my Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor. If I’m going to deal with the diabetes, I need to sober up. Didn’t help much today, but generally speaking.”
“No, no. Generally speaking, you’re absolutely right.” She ran a hand through her hair and waited for the tightness in her throat to subside. “Quitting drinking is a really, really good idea.” One she’d suggested many times and he’d waved off just as often.