Page 34 of Book Boyfriends
“Your grandson is just like Doc?”
“Always doing something. His brain never stops. It’s what makes him brilliant at his work. Just like his grandfather.” Affection curls her lips into a broad smile. “They’re so close. They even play in a weekly cornhole league at a local bar…” she sighs. “But Henry will be out of commission for a bit.”
“We’ll figure out how to keep those things, even if they may need to be done a little differently during his recovery.”
While this is a simple surgery, the recovery will take several months. As long as there aren’t any complications, he’ll spend a few days at the hospital before he’s transferred to SPN. Both the admissions coordinator and Pilar are already aware that Doc will start his rehabilitation with us before transferring to outpatient therapy after a few days.
“Thank you for coordinating that.” She threads our fingers and squeezes. “Knowing Henry, he’ll not let this stop him from our Friday night readings or his Sunday board game tournaments.”
“Probably not.”
“Thank you for staying with me, even though you don’t need to.”
“I didn’t want you to be alone.” I shift in my seat.
Doc and Estelle’s daughter, Deanna, and her wife, Mimi, live in Boston. Their grandson Kenny is the only family in the area, but he’d gotten on a plane this morning to fly to the Bay Area for work. Despite her assurance that it was okay, he booked a new flight to come home today.
If I am honest, even if Doc and Estelle’s family were here, I may have still stuck around. The gnarled knot in my stomach may not unspool until I know he’s okay. The truth that Doc is strong may pulse inside me, but so does the worry that I could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time my gut instinct failed me.
She arches a sculpted eyebrow. “Plus, you feel guilty.”
“I amsosorry.”
“As I said in the E.R., you have nothing to apologize for.” She shakes her head, a silent laugh lights her face. “You’re just like our Kenny… Always taking responsibility for things that aren’t your fault. Henry’s accident was brought on because he is a stubborn old goat who refuses to accept help, even thoughhe’sthe first to give it.”
Nodding, I just swallow thickly.
“If you feel like you need to atone, maybe you can go find us something to munch on after all. It’s been hours since either of us ate.”
It had been closer to nine a.m. when I’d shared a muffin with my mom. Slipping my cell phone out, I check the time. It’s just seven in the evening. Somehow, the knowledge that it’s been ten hours since I last ate wakes up my stomach, forcing out a low growl of hunger.
“I’ll go grab something.” I stand up and head to the cafeteria.
Just like SPN, the hospital is quiet on Sundays. Outside of a few staff, the halls are deserted. This isn’t unheard of for most hospitals. This also means that the cafeteria offers limited hours on the weekends. By the time I reach it, the doors are shut. Thankfully, there’s a small alcove down the hall with vending machines full of to-go premade meals.
“Naturally,” I almost whine, perusing the mix of premade salads and sandwiches lining the machine’s shelves
None of which are gluten free. Even if they are, they aren’t trustworthy. I’ve been burned before by these grab-and-go situations. At least, I’m smart enough to have some nuts in my purse that I can snack on until I can grab something on the way home. It may be a few hours still. I’m not sure how much longer Doc will be in surgery or what Estelle plans once he’s out. What I do know is that I won’t be leaving until I know both are okay.
“My car,” I groan, remembering that my car is still at SPN. Those nuts may have to tide me over longer than I thought. A frown pulls down my lips as my stomach unleashes a gurgling hunger pang.
Sighing, I grab a salad and a sandwich for Estelle and two bottles of water for us. I slip both bottles into my purse and head back to the waiting room with the plastic containers balanced in my left hand. Rounding the corner, I enter the long corridor that leads to the surgical waiting area. A loudbeepsnags myattention, causing me to look up just as an old man on a scooter speeds towards me.
“Look out!” someone shouts, grabbing me and spinning me into a firm chest, the plastic containers of food flying out of my hands and skittering to the ground.
“Crap,” I draw out the word with a long breath, my face buried against my rescuer’s chest, a minty fresh scent wafting off him.
“Sorry!” The old man calls, whizzing past us.
“Are you okay?” my rescuer asks, gripping my biceps. His touch soothes the frazzled nerves buzzing inside me.
“Yes.” I nod, my head still pressed against him, the cadence of his heartbeat hums like a lullaby.
This is the second time in twenty-four hours that I find myself in someone’s strong arms. Tension drains from my body with the warmth of this stranger’s embrace. Not just the rigidity from almost being run down by a scooter, but from everything that’s transpired since Friday night. The bad date. The argument with Rem. My book boyfriends. Doc.
“Are you sure?” His hands move from my arms to my back, offering calming strokes along my spine.
“Yes. Thank you…” Tipping my head up, my breath catches.
