Page 66 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“I…think…” I trail off as I search for the right words. “I think,” I start again, “that it’s hard for him to think about her because he misses her so much, it pains him to think about her. I think that’s why he doesn’t visit your house often because the reminders of her are everywhere, and he’s…never really coped with it.”

I see her eyes get glassy. “I guess none of us have, but how do you cope with losing a child?” she asks as she wipes the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bringing this up right now. You have enough on your plate,” I say apologetically.

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you did. I didn’t realize he felt that—”

She’s cut off when a doctor walks in.

“Mrs. Grant?” he asks.

She nods and shakes Eric’s arm. “Honey, the doctor is here.” Eric’s eyes open, and he scoots up on the bed.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” he asks. The doctor walks in, and Lincoln walks in behind him.

“Well, it’s not a heart attack. Although you do show some signs of coronary disease, so I would like to set up an appointment with the cardiologist for follow-up. It could be nothing, but if it is a condition, I’d like to get you started on treatment right away. I think the pain you were experiencing is related to a tear in your tendon, here,” he points to an X-ray of Eric’s shoulder on his tablet. “Were you lifting something heavy?”

Eric nods.

“When?” he asks.

“A few weeks ago, but I thought it was just a pulled muscle,” he says.

“Eric!” Margie scolds.

“Well, it’s likely gotten worse. You’ll definitely need to see an orthopedic surgeon about it, or it will continue to get worse,” the doctor explains.

“We will make sure he does,” Margie says.

“It also looks like you have some acid reflux going on. Do you see a gastroenterologist?” he asks.

Eric gives him a sheepish look. “I did. But I was feeling better, so I stopped going,” he admits.

“Eric Grant!” Margie nearly yells.

“Well, acid reflux should continue to be treated. I would follow up with your doctor.”

“Anything else, doc? Sounds like I’m just falling apart from old age,” Eric says with a laugh.

The doctor smiles. “I doubt that. You just need to take better care of yourself. I’ll have a nurse come in shortly to discharge you. I can write a script for some prescription ibuprofen, but I think you should not start it until you see your GI doctor, OK?” he says.

“Yep, gotcha, doc,” Eric answers.

The doctor leaves, and Lincoln sits down on the bed.

“Dad, why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?” he asks.

“Linc, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Lincoln sighs and does that nervous running of his hand through his hair. “Dad, I do worry about you guys.”

Eric smiles. “We worry about you too, son.”

Lincoln’s phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket expecting it to be another fame-hungry socialite, but instead, it’s a text from Maria with a photo of destroyed pillows and the words “I am not cleaning this mess up.”

“Uh, Lincoln,” I say.

“It can wait, Lark,” he says, looking back at his dad, whose smile broadens.

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