Page 98 of Make it Real
Maybe she’d been right to hold onto me. Kind of wanted to bolt, just wasn’t sure where to. My instinct had me mentally checking out and heading for the hills…but my heart wanted to sprint straight to Callie. Being with her wasn’t the ambush, it was the safe haven.
“Damn, Junebug, you didn’t have to go that hard with the love talk.” I touched a fingertip to the outside corner of one eye, begging it not to get all leaky on me. It’d be hard enough to see Pop in a few minutes, I didn’t need a pre-game cry.
She squeezed my arm and let it go. “Just trying to look out for my big brother.”
Marilyn walked out of the ICU hallway, and June and I went to her. She still looked a little wrung out, but she seemed encouraged by the visit.
“Your dad’s doing really well,” she said. “His color’s good, and his spirits are up.”
“Can we see him, or should he rest?” June asked.
“Oh no, one of you should get on in there. He wants to see you, and you know how stubborn he can get. Seeing you will help him get better.”
June turned to me. “You go. I’ll head in after.”
“You sure?” I knew she was as eager to see him as I was.
“Yeah. Build up the anticipation for the favorite child.” She flashed a teasing grin.
“Wade’s got you beat there. He gave Pop grandchildren.”
June conceded defeat, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before she joined him in those ranks.
I followed Marilyn through the double doors and down a hallway.
“This one’s his.” She nodded, squeezed my arm, and turned to go back to the waiting room.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Pop sat propped up in the big hospital bed looking better than I’d expected. Marilyn was right, he looked good for what he’d been through, a little pale maybe, and more tired than I’d ever seen him, but still himself.
He stretched a hand out. “Come sit with me, son.”
I did as he said and sat beside his legs to take his hand up in mine. Machines and monitors beeped around his bed, and tubes snaked out from the back of his hand and the openings in his gown. But I focused on how big he smiled and how tightly he gripped my hand. Both good signs.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“Better every hour. The event itself was frightening, I admit.”
Event. Was that what we’d be calling his heart attack now?
“I didn’t like being awake for the procedure—” He gestured at his groin, indicating something I didn’t even want to guess at. “But I’m doing better. I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Too late for that.”
He nodded, understanding as well as anyone we couldn’t stop the worry. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.”
Yeah. Okay. I didn’t know what I was doing with the farm, my father’d had a life-threateningevent, and I was messing up my relationship with the one woman I’d ever loved. Pretty okay.
His gaze cut right through me. “How are you really?”
“I’m scared.” The words came out small and soft, baby animals that didn’t want to frighten me into admitting just what exactly I was scared of. I sat on the edge of losing it all—the farm, Pop, Callie. And I didn’t want to let any of them go.
“I’m scared, too.”
I must have flinched, because he rushed to soothe me. “Not about this. I don’t like this, but I believe I’m going to get through it. I mean I’ve been scaredout there.”
He nodded toward the door like something lurked in the hallway. I hadn’t thought of my pop as being afraid of much of anything. He sure hadn’t showed it often.
