Page 119 of The Choices I've Made
I gave him time to get settled. He did so silently, taking off his coat and dropping it off in my room. He returned a second later and hovered in the entryway, his tired gaze settling on mine.
“Have you eaten?” I asked hesitantly, taking a single step forward.
He nodded. “On the way back,” he replied.
Noton the way home. I noticed the difference.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked, feeling awkward in front of him for probably the first time in weeks.
He was standoffish and rigid, nothing like the man I’d laughed with under the stars.
“Something to drink would be great,” he said.
Glad for the distraction, I nodded, turning toward the kitchen. I heard his footsteps headed toward the living room. The old sofa creaked under his solid weight as I grabbed some iced tea from the refrigerator, pouring it into a large glass piled high with ice.
By the time I made it out to the living room, he was resting on the sofa, his head leaned back toward the ceiling with his eyes closed.
Was this what a typical day at the hospital back in Chicago was like for him?
Setting the glass on the coffee table in front of him, I quietly took a seat in the chair beside him, allowing him time to decompress.
Finally, he sat up, stretching his neck, and reached for the iced tea. He drained nearly half of it in one gulp. “Thank you,” he said softly.
We sat in silence as he finished his tea, and I pretended not to watch. Eventually, the quiet got to me, and I couldn’t wait for him to regain his ability to speak.
“Terri…is she…” I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes. “How is she?”
“She’s okay,” he said, finally turning toward me. It was like he’d suddenly remembered who I was, beyond the bearer of beverages. His hand reached out for me. “She’s fine. Promise.”
I nodded, my tears betraying my need to stay strong.
“It was a heart attack,” he went on, his eyes almost blank as the words fell from his lips. “She’ll be in the hospital for a while, but she’ll be okay in the long run.”
“A heart attack, but how?” I asked. “I thought you said she was fine the other day?”
“I thought so too,” he mumbled, the pain evident in his voice. “Nothing more than a urinary infection like every other old person in this town. But cardiac disease doesn’t always present like it should in women.” He took a deep breath. “And I missed it.”
The pit of my stomach dropped. “You couldn’t have known, Jake.”
He turned away, his gaze distant and without emotion.
“It’s my fault,” he whispered softly.
“What?”
“The whole thing. I’m her doctor. I should have seen it. She came to me, and I should have seen it.”
He turned around to face me, and I could see the haunted look in his eyes. I’d seen it once before in my life.
On someone who’d shared those same bright blue eyes.
Jake’s father.
I stood just then, realizing both of us could use a bit of fresh air. Taking his lifeless hand in mine, I pulled him upright. He barely noticed, so focused on nothing and everything in his blank, far-off stare. But he followed nonetheless as I led us toward the patio, in the direction of the water. The bay was still tonight, and like always, it gave me the strength I needed to carry on.
With his hand nestled between mine, I squeezed it tightly. “Jake, look at me.”
It took a few more times, but eventually, he did, turning his gaze toward me.
