Page 30 of Denying Davis
“Let’s step outside the room,” the doctor said in a low voice. I took his suggestion, and when we safely had a large curtain between us and my mother, he held out his hand. “Dr. Sparks.”
I shook it. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Sparks. I’m Samantha.”
He raised a small iPad I hadn’t noticed. “I see here in the notes that you’re Ms. Green’s next of kin.”
“Her daughter.”
“Mm-hmm.” He studied the tablet. “And she’s had emphysema now for about five years?”
“Among other health problems.” A nervous laugh escaped my lips. “It’s hard to keep up. Allergies, all kinds of respiratory problems. She was a longtime smoker.” I wrinkled my nose. “A pack a day before the diagnosis.”
Dr. Sparks looked up from the device. “That’s significant.”
“She had trouble quitting, no matter how hard she tried.” My mind flipped to all the times I’d begged her drop the habit, and how I’d seen her grow worse during periods when she was stressed out or upset. She’d increased from half a pack to a full one after signing the documents from Davis’s family. “Smoking is a terrible habit.”
“It is, and unfortunately, we’re fairly certain she has a moderate to severe case of pneumonia.” Dr. Sparks glanced at the iPad again. “Because of her reduced immune system, she’s already at risk. This must be monitored.”
I exhaled. “But this is treatable, right?”
“Combined with possible concussion, we can’t release her. Pneumonia, as you know, can be fatal, so we need to monitor her for the next few days. We’ll be moving her a room soon.”
“How long do you mean by a few days? Three, four?”
“It depends on how long her body needs to fight off the pneumonia.”
He made a few other broad statements, but I was barely listening. All I could think of was how worried I was about my mother, and how daunting this experience had been. I was struggling and losing hope. No question. Life had been one epic disaster after the other. This was the latest round of challenges, and I couldn’t see any reason to expect that things would ever get much better.
What a mind job.
After Dr. Sparks excused himself, I shuffled back into Mom’s temporary room and collapsed into the uncomfortable chair. The large clock on the wall above her bed read 3:36 AM. Damn, it had been such a long night, and I needed to be at Royal Palm by eight. If I was lucky, I’d get a few more hours of restless sleep before I needed to go home and get ready. Maybe I needed to call them and take the day off. I wasn’t sure and decided that to make that decision the following morning.
Things would feel clearer then. They had to be.
I let out a long sigh, and the overwhelming fatigue took over my body. I just wanted to go somewhere and sleep for weeks. No, make that months.
Sleep would make me feel better. Sleep would give me strength. And sleep would help me shut out the endless worry and anxiety that circled me when I was awake.
Before I gave myself over to the exhaustion, though, I fished my phone out of my purse and sent Davis a quick text message.
Mom has pneumonia. She’s been admitted to the hospital. No idea how long she’ll be here, but it’s a bad case. Thanks again for the dinner. It was a nice distraction.
I hated leaving Samantha at the hospital that night, but I did it anyway. I drove back to the island, drank a glass of bourbon before bed, and fell into a restless sleep. When I woke up the next morning, it was after ten, my sheets felt drenched in sweat, and I had a hard-on the size of Montana.
In short, I was fucked up, distracted, and determined.
This wasn’t what I’d anticipated for this trip to Palm Beach. I was supposed to go down there after law school graduation, get my job at the company, drink some cocktails, mingle with some socialites, welcome the new year, and end the holidays with a bang. Simple formula.
And none of that included running into my past.
“You’re up late,” my grandfather said from behind his copy ofThe Wall Street Journalas I shuffled into the kitchen. He moved the newspaper so he could get a look at me. “And still in your pajamas.”
“What can I say?” I jerked open the refrigerator. “I’m on vacation, right?” I took the orange juice from the second shelf then walked to the nearby cabinet and grabbed a glass.
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have responsibilities, Davis.” Grandad folded the paper and tossed it onto the table. “Those don’t end just because you are on personal time.”
I poured a small glass of juice then put the canister back into the fridge. “I know. You don’t have to remind me of that.”
“I had hoped we’d squeeze in a meeting today with our tax attorney and the estate planner. But now it’s a little late to interrupt their schedule, given the holidays.”
