Page 59 of My Merry Mistake
“It’s the thought that counts?” Poppy says.
I nod. “I’m trying to do what you guys said—show up for her. Be her friend.”
Eloise sucks in a breath. “I’d say you got more than you bargained for today.”
Maybe, but I’m glad I was there. If I hadn’t been, would Raya have come to the hospital at all? I feel bothered. I’m glad the nurse gave us the update, but I need to see her for myself. It’s the only way I can know for sure she reallyisokay.
I stand and brush my hands down my thighs, mostly because I’m a ball of nervous energy and need to send it somewhere. “I’ll go find us something to drink.” I want to be useful, but also I need a change of scenery. “Anyone want anything?”
They give me their orders, and I start down one of the halls, walking aimlessly, hoping the movement quells my fidgeting the way it usually does.
Hockey helps. Plus, you get to hit things and people.
As I walk, I think about my family, my brothers, and the homemade rink in the backyard at the ranch. Oh, the knock-down, drag-out brawls we would have there, skating until the sun went down, parking the trucks in a row to shine the headlights on the rink so we could play in the dark.
My oldest brother, Quent, could never beat Hunter, and that always ticked him off. The oldest was supposed to be the best—but none of us were a match for Hunter. I smile to myself. I can’t count how many sticks he snapped, swinging it at the fence after the game, or how many fights broke out on that rink.
We played something fierce—but we loved each other something fierce too.
The dull ache of grief that always comes attached to these memories pings its way around my chest, and I have to distract myself so it doesn’t get a hold on me.
After a few minutes of aimless walking, I locate a vending machine. I buy three bottles of water, a Dr Pepper for Eloise, and an Orange Crush for me. I’m not in a hurry to get back to the waiting area, so I go a different way, and when I round a corner, I hear a man’s voice say Raya’s name.
“Yes, that’s me,” she says.
“I’m Dr. Gilroy,” he says. “Feeling better now that you’ve got some fluids?”
“Yeah, but honestly, I’m itching to get out of here. I’m not the best in hospitals.”
I stop moving. I shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s rude. And probably illegal, since this is a hospital and there are HIPAA laws and all that.
But here I am, not walking away.
Because I need to see for myself that she’s okay.
“Great,” the doctor says. “We’ve gone over the MRI results already, and the echo just came back, and that looks clear too.”
My shoulders relax. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine. I know they told us that already, but hearing it again doubles my confidence. I turn to go when the doctor says, “But I’d like you to seriously consider taking some time off.”
I hear Raya’s sardonic laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not,” he says tersely.
“I thought you said things are clear,” she says. “Don’t you think we’re overreacting to a headache?”
“These headaches—they can be brought on by massive amounts of stress, disrupted sleep patterns, anxiety.” A pause. “They can even cause issues for people who don’t have good outlets for bottled-up emotion. This is no small thing, Miss Hart.”
My stomach drops. I silently pray that Raya will bend. That she’ll stop defending her position, and let someone else take the reins. Just once.
“Stress is a legitimate issue that can be incredibly hard on your body—physically and mentally. If you don’t make some changes, this could happen again, and next time, it could be an actual stroke—or worse.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“You need to take some time off,” he says. “No stressful situations, no adverse conversations, nothing that will spike your cortisol or adrenaline levels.”
“Time off?” I can hear the look on her face without even seeing it. “Dr. Gilroy, no offense, but that’s just—impractical.”
“I understand,” he says. “But it is something you need to explore. This isn’t something you can just ignore.”
