Page 67 of Book Boyfriends
She nods.
Demolished.I sigh.Guess, it’s witch or bust.
Giftbag in hand, I stride down the long hospital corridor toward Doc’s room, my kitten heels click against the vinyl floor. Tomorrow, Doc will transfer to SPN for a few days of inpatientrehab before he heads home to complete the remainder of his recovery via outpatient services. Even if I get to see him tomorrow after he’s admitted, Estelle gave the all-clear for visitors, and I jumped at the chance.
Despite the updates from both Davis and Estelle, the prick of anxiety about Doc won’t be subdued until I see him. Of course, no text came from Davis today about his grandfather. I wouldn’t expect one, or any other future messages from Davis, after last night. Seeing Doc today may smooth down my guilt about his accident, but my actions over the last six days ensure an ample supply to go around.
“Hey.” Smiling, I enter Doc’s room.
Late afternoon sunshine streams in from the open blinds, bathing the room in a soft glow. In a not hospital-issued blue checkered robe, Doc sits bolstered up in the bed by several pillows, his face crinkled in annoyance.
“Peach!” His big smile smooths down his features. “Thank god, you’re here. Estelle left on some terrible reality show, and I can’t get this remote to work to turn it off.”
Placing the gift bag on the bedside table, I grab the remote from him. I click the littleTVbutton. “Should work now. It’s a universal remote and somehow it was on satellite,” I explain and hand him the remote.
“A decorated doctor for over forty years, and I’m nearly bested by a remote.” Taking the controller, he almost scowls at it.
“Where’s Estelle?”
“She’s grabbing dinner for us.”
“They don’t feed you in this joint?” I tease
“Hospital food will kill you, and as I told her, I have no plans to meet my maker anytime soon.” He chuckles.
“Not to mention, she’d kill you if you did.” I wink.
“Yes, shewould.”
Laughter curls my lips. Just five days ago, Estelle made that same joke in this very hospital, while waiting for news about Doc. So much has happened between then and now that it almost seems a lifetime ago.
I take in the sparkle in his eyes and the upward curve of his mouth. The stiffness of his movement and small wince as he places the remote down on the bedside table is the only indication that he’s not one hundred percent.
“Is that for me?” He points at the gift bag.
“It’s just a little something to keep you busy until you come back to SPN.”
“You mean as a volunteer and not a patient?” he teases, picking up the bag and pulling out the orange tissue paper.
“Yeah—” I swallow hard “—I am so sorry, Doc.”
“Just as we thought…” he says, his face twinkling.
“Thought what?”
“That you’d bePeachabout this.” He motions at me. “We knew you’d blame yourself. It’s why Estelle didn’t clear you to visit for a few days in hopes your guilt would deplete just a bit. She mentioned that you stayed by her side the entire time I was in surgery, and how you apologized throughout. Your capacity for empathy makes you one of the best social workers I’ve ever worked with, and an even better writer, but it’s also a curse.”
“I’m sorry.” I wince. “Sorry for saying sorry, I mean.”
Shaking his head, he reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Take it from someone that’s been in the caring profession for a long time, sometimes it’s not ours to take on or fix.”
“What does that mean?”
“Things happen. Accidents—” he waves at himself. “Illnesses. Breakups. Disappointed people. Life. We can’t always control what happens, and we don’t need to take responsibility for the things that we didn’t actually do.”
“We can still be sorry they happen.”
“If thatsorry serves you, rather than you serving it.” His warm gaze meets mine.
