Page 33 of Book Boyfriends
“You toss a coin in to make the wish.”
“The coin isn’t to make the wish, but to pay for the wish being made. All wishes have prices that someone must pay,” Doc says.
Like three men ripped from their stories with guaranteed happy endings. They’re paying the price for my wish. Guilt sloshes inside me. Even if one of them turns out to be my happy ending, what happens to the other two? To the three women they’ve left behind? Real or not, their happy endings are gone.Because of me.
“Peach, are you okay?” Concern furrows his brow.
“Yeah,” I breathe, stepping back. “Just being silly.”
“You know what cures silly?” He rises. “Cookies. I believe I know where there are some gluten free Oreos around here.”
“Yeah. My office.” I chuckle. “Doesn’t Estelle have you on a no-sugar diet?”
He grabs the stack of boxes. “What she doesn’t know.”
“Let me take those, at least.” I reach for them.
But he backs away, chuckling. “I’ve got this. You’re as bad as my Kenny thinking he’s got to come over a few times a week to do chores. See what kind of man you’re passing up?” he teases, continuing to move backwards until he hits a discarded chair. Jolting, he lurches forward, letting go of the boxes, his body tumbling forward and crashing into the table. The boxes skitter to the hard stone ground just as his body slams into it.
“Doc!” I fall to my knees beside him.
He landed on his side. A pained expression pinches his face, and a groan falls from his lips.
“Oh, my god!” One of the men at the table shoots up. “Is he okay?”
“I think he’s hurt.” With a shaky breath, I take in the agonizing twist of Doc’s features.
“I’ll get help,” the other man says, standing and shuffling out of the courtyard.
Groaning, he tips his head up, eyes glossy and face pinched. “Peach…”
“Don’t move,” I order, stopping his attempted movement. “It’s going to be alright.” I’m not sure who I’m assuring: Him or myself.
CHAPTER NINE
YOU’RE PEACH?
My joints are stiff and achy from spending the last several hours in hard plastic chairs. After SPN’s nurses rushed to help Doc, an ambulance was called. Since Estelle wasn’t there, I rode with him, then posed as his granddaughter to sit beside his gurney in the ER until she arrived.
Now, we sit in the surgical waiting room. Doc’s tumble resulted in a fractured hip. Thankfully, the orthopedic surgeon said he’d only need a simple surgery to repair it and took him to the OR a few hours ago. Despite Doc’s eighty-fifth birthday next month, he and Estelle are in good health. Besides the head cold he had two years ago, this is the first medical scare I’ve witnessed for him or Estelle.
Still, worry blends with the guilt swirling inside me. Its acidic mix causes a burn in my stomach. This is all my fault. If only I hadn’t reached for the games. Doc and Estelle would be at home enjoying Sunday dinner, instead of here. One in surgery for the last two hours and the other in the waiting room, a tense expression on her face.
“Do you want food? I could go to the cafeteria,” I ask, nibbling on my lip, wanting to do something—anything—to help.
A wilted hospital cafeteria salad would not absolve me from this. Moments before Doc fell, he talked about wishes needing to be paid for. Is this the price? As if the three happy endings I stole weren’t enough, I’d somehow caused Doc’s injury.
“I’m okay.” Despite the hint of a smile flexing the corners of Estelle’s mouth, concern swims in her expression.
“It will be okay. He’s so strong. He may be in better shape than me,” I say.
I’m not sure if the statement is to assure her or myself. Doc and Estelle are like no octogenarians I’ve met. Outside of Jackson, they aren’t like most people of any age that I know. An exuberance radiates from both, causing me to almost forget that they are just as vulnerable to breaking as anyone else.
“He knows better than to die on me,” she says.
I let out a soft snort of laughter.
“I know he’ll be okay. I just worry how he’ll handle being laid up for a bit. Henry’s not one to slow down. Always doing something. It’s why I sent him back to work after he retired. Three days into retirement, he’d fixed every squeaky door and replaced all the light fixtures in our house. The moment he started talking about renovating the kitchen, I shooed him away.” A soft chuckle smooths her worried features. “Some souls are at peace with stillness, and others die because of it. Our Kenny’s the same way. They both are in constant motion.”
