“But I can pay my bills. I don’t have much, but I really am happy. Why is that so hard to believe?”
Mom slowly shakes her head. “I don’t want to watch you throw your life away.”
I clench my fists. “Then don’t.”Chapter 26LoganDanielle is sitting in the waiting room. Her legs are curled up under her and her head is resting against the wall. She’s wearing black leggings and my sweatshirt, and my heart swells in my chest when I see her through the glass doors. I have to get buzzed into the ICU waiting area, and Danielle gets up as soon as she sees me.
I take her in my arms, hugging her tight and holding her close.
“How is he?”
“Um,” she starts, letting out a shaky breath. “Stable for now. He was in really bad shape, and he’s so lucky the paramedics got him here in time.”
“That sounds promising.”
She nods. “I thought so too, but the doctor isn’t as optimistic.”
“And how are you?”
“I’m…shaken but okay. And I’m still just shocked to hear that he was so sick. I had no idea. I mean…I saw some changes but wrote it off as him aging. You slow down when you get old.”
“He was acting just fine before we left.”
“I know, and that’s what scares me.” Danielle rubs her forehead. “The doctor said he’s at risk for another heart attack or even a stroke. His blood pressure was out of control and still needs to be closely monitored. He’s leaving in just two days.” She shakes her head. “It seems soon, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be good for him to get out of here. He’ll be able to move around, which is important.”
She nods, and her eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out, voice tight.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I take her in my arms again, cradling her against my chest. We sit on a bench, and Danielle wraps her arms around me as she cries. I rub her back, wishing I could make her better.
“I hope so.” I reach over and grab a tissue for her. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose. “I must look so gross.”
“No. You look like someone who’s been through a lot in the last few hours. Do you need anything? Coffee? Food?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you something.”
“I’ll come with you.”
We get up and go to the vending machine in the hall outside the waiting area. Danielle has to be so exhausted, and I’m sure she’s going to stay here for the rest of the day. She gets a water and we go back into the waiting room. Danielle rests her head against my shoulder, and I put my arm around her.
She puts the water bottle down and hooks one arm around my waist, getting as comfortable as she can on this couch. I run my fingers through her hair. She’s right about to fall asleep when there’s a commotion inside the ICU. Danielle jerks up and then gasps when she sees the nurses rushing into a room.
“That’s my grandpa’s room.”
Holding her hand in mine, we go through another set of doors and to her grandpa’s room. Her mother is standing in the corner, out of the way of the nurses who are working on her grandpa.
“What’s happening?” Danielle’s eyes fill with tears, and her mother comes over.
“We were talking, and he just…he just…stopped breathing.”
“No.” Danielle shakes her head back and forth. “No, no, no!”
She turns to me, tears streaming down her face. The nurses start doing CPR, and we stand there, watching in horror as the heart monitor starts to flatline. I wrap Danielle in my arms, turning her away. She doesn’t need to see this. She doesn’t need this to be the last memory she has of her grandpa.* * *
“Danielle?” I say softly, turning the car off. We just pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse. We left the hospital, and Danielle said she wanted to go home. Her mother is in the backseat, and no one said a word on the drive here.
But what do you say after something like this?
Carol and I get out, and she heads up to the house. Danielle hasn’t moved. I open the door and reach in, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Do you want to go to my house instead?” I ask, knowing it’s going to be hard for her to step foot inside the house.
She blinks, and fat tears roll down her face. “No. I…I…I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I extend my hand. “Take your time.”
Nodding, she wipes her eyes and takes my hand. We walk up the front porch steps together. Her mom already went inside. Danielle hesitates before she crosses the threshold. More tears spill from her eyes, and I hate seeing her hurt like this.
If I could take it all away, I would.
“I want to lie down,” she tells me.