Page 105 of Strictly Pretend

My face crumples.

“Go sit down,” the clerk urges, pulling up a packet of tissues from beneath the counter. “And take one of these.”

“Thank you,” I sniffle.

Another ten minutes passes before the doors open and Rita runs in. Or rather, she hobbles because she’s wearing anamazing pair of vintage Mary Janes that I know for a fact are half a size too small for her. As soon as she spots me she heads straight to where I’m sitting and envelops me in a bear hug.

“Everything’s fine in the shop,” she tells me. “All locked up and the closed sign is up. I told Mark to call if there are any problems.”

“Did you get served after we left?” I ask her. It had taken too long for the EMTs to arrive. The lawyer actually knew a little about medical emergencies and put Granddad into the recovery position while I sat on the floor and held his hand.

After that it’s all a blur. But I assume Mr. Smith already left for Manhattan.

“Yep,” she says, her nose wrinkling. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Our eyes catch and when she sees how full of tears mine are she hugs me again. “He called Mark, by the way.”

“Who did?”

“Your man. Brooks Salinger.”

Just hearing his name makes my heart do a little leap. And I don’t want it to. I don’t have the energy for leaps, or to think about him at all. I’m confused and I’m frightened and I’m mostly blaming myself.

“What did he want?”

Rita rolls her eyes. “You know what Mark’s like. For a therapist he’s terrible at talking. The gist of it is that Brooks was trying to find you because you’re not picking up his calls.”

“I just…” I look at her and shake my head.

“I know, honey.” She pats my hand. “Mark told him you were at the hospital. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing but he did it anyway.”

“He’s been calling my phone nonstop,” I say. “I turned it off.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “You don’t need to talk to him now. We’re here for Walt. Speaking of Walt, is there any update?”

“Nothing yet. I went to the desk to make sure they hadn’t forgotten about me.”

She slides her arm around me. “I’m sure they’ll update us soon. Your granddad’s a fighter. Remember that time somebody tried to walk out with a first edition without paying? I’ve never seen somebody run so fast. He tackled him to the ground.” She smiles softly. “He could have been a rugby player in another life.”

“The book was the only thing that didn’t get scraped,” I say, an almost-smile pulling at my lips. And then I start to cry, because I need him too much. I already miss him and he’s still here.

“He’s gonna be okay, honey.” She takes the tissue from my hand and wipes my tears away. “Have faith.”

It’s another fifteen minutes before my name is called and I’m not sure how I get through those minutes without losing it. A doctor is standing next to the desk, and when I walk over she gives me a soft smile.

“Miss Robbins?”

I nod. “Is he okay?” I say quickly, because that’s what I need to know.

“Let’s go somewhere a little quieter to chat,” she says, leading me and Rita to a little room off to the side. My hands are shaking. “Let’s take a seat,” she says, pointing at two upholstered chairs that look way more comfortable than the plastic ones I’ve been sitting on. And of course now I’m panicking again because is this the room they give bad news to people in?

Have they run experiments and found that people grieve better when their ass isn’t stuck to a hard seat?

“Your granddad is stable,” she tells me. “He had a tachycardic arrhythmia.”

“An arrhythmia?” I repeat. “What does that mean? Did he have a heart attack?”

She shakes her head. “No, he didn’t have a heart attack. The reason he collapsed is because his heart rate went up too fast and caused him to black out for a moment.”

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