“Not that I can tell, but I’m not the doctor. It’s hard to get information from anyone. For all I know they might be useless at their jobs. You need to speak to them.”
“I called from the car. This place has one of the highest heart attack survival rates in the country. They took him straight to the cath lab for balloon inflation and stenting. They had him out of the E.R. in seventeen minutes. That’s impressive.” It came as a relief to discover that even though he was affected personally, the doctor in him was still able to detach and analyze.
Jackson glanced at Tyler, who shrugged.
“Don’t look at me. I never understand a word he says. It’s all those books he reads. Don’t suppose his patients understand him, either, but they’re probably reassured by the expensive suit and the astronomical fees he charges.”
It was a relief to relax with his brothers for five minutes. “You could wear a suit occasionally, Ty. If you tided yourself up you might even get laid.”
“The reason I’m not getting laid is because my teenage daughter is living with me. I’m a shining example of parenthood.”
Sean grinned. “It must be killing you.”
Jackson intervened before the conversation could degenerate. “Can we focus on Gramps for a moment? Explain again, and this time use plain language.”
“The artery was blocked, so they unblocked it by inflating a balloon against the artery wall and inserting a stent, like mesh, to hold it open—” Sean used his hands to demonstrate. “All the studies show that if they can do that within ninety minutes of the original attack, there is a better chance of survival and fewer complications. Time from the onset of symptoms to reperfusion is an important predictor of outcome.”
Jackson pressed a button on the elevator and the doors closed. “I asked for plain language.”
“That was plain language.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “If he ever gives us the complicated version I’m going to need a large drink.”
Jackson was frowning. “So is that good news?”
Relatively speaking.
Sean decided they didn’t need to know all the potential outcomes. “How did it start? Was Gramps sick? Did he have chest pain?”
“According to Élise, one minute he was standing up, the next minute he was on the ground.” Jackson watched as the buttons illuminated one by one, stopping at what felt like every floor to let people in and out. “He was working on the deck of the old boathouse.”
“Why?”
“We’re converting it into a café.” It was Jackson’s turn to sound irritable. “Don’t you read your emails?”
“I get a ton of emails. So why was Gramps doing the work?”
“Because there wasn’t anyone else. We’re stretched to the limit. Gramps wanted to help and I don’t have the luxury of being able to stop him, even supposing I could. Everyone has been doing what they can to keep the place afloat.”
Everyone except him.
Sean stared straight ahead, feeling the guilt cover him like sweat. He was the only one not doing anything to stop the family business from sinking.
He turned his head to speak to Jackson and wished he hadn’t because his brother was kissing Kayla. A slow, lingering kiss that had as much eye contact as lip contact.
Immediately he thought of Élise. Of that single, hot night the summer before.
The night neither of them had ever mentioned.
He looked away. “Could you put each other down just for two minutes so we can focus here?”
“You’re witnessing true love,” Tyler drawled, “and it’s a beautiful thing.”
“Sorry, but it’s been a tough day and we don’t see that much of each other.”
Kayla rested her head on Jackson’s shoulder. “But that’s going to change soon. One more week!”
Sean frowned. “You’ve given up your job in New York?”