by Mara Wells
“Let’s go.” He popped out an elbow, and she threaded her arm through, surprised at how natural it felt to lean on him this little bit. She felt her head loll to the side, resting on his bicep. It was okay to lean a tad more. She was suddenly so tired it was an effort to lift one foot in front of the other.
After clearing security, Caleb steered her toward the desk where a white-coated nurse with an inordinate number of pins and stickers on her lapel greeted them with a smile.
“My grandmother was brought in by ambulance. How can I find her?” Riley found her teeth chattering even though she could feel more sweat pooling at the small of her back than when they’d been outside in the humid nursery picking out sod plugs. Grams had been sick in the past, sure, even undergone the hip replacement, but this seemed worse. So unexpected. So real. So much blood. She’d need to scrub the grout before Grams was released. Grams wouldn’t want any reminders of today. Riley knew she sure wouldn’t.
The receptionist-slash-nurse typed away at her keyboard. “I’m sorry. She hasn’t been processed yet. If you take a seat, I’ll let you know when you’ll be able to see her.”
“Processed? What does that mean, processed? Do you need her insurance or something?” Riley turned panicked eyes to Caleb. “I didn’t think to bring her wallet. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course, they’ll need her insurance. She’s on Medicare. Is there a way to look her up?” Riley turned the panic on the nurse-receptionist.
“We can take care of that later. Right now, they’ll be assessing her. Maybe running some tests. Hold tight. She’s in good hands, and we’ll get you back to see her as soon as it’s feasible.”
Feasible. That was her Grams back there, all alone, with only good-looking medics to take care of her. If Grams were awake, she would have appreciated the brawn on the young men who’d carried her out on the stretcher. What a bunco story she’d have next week! Grams was good at finding the bright side to dark moments. She’d turn this into an adventure.
Right now, though, Riley wasn’t feeling adventurous. She was shaky with nerves and unshed tears and that weird teeth-chattering-while-sweating thing. Was she getting sick, too? It wasn’t quite flu season yet, but she hadn’t had her shot since she lost the excellent health-benefit package the Donovan Resort used to supply for her.
Today she had a different kind of Donovan support. Caleb urged her to a waiting chair, a mottled gray-and-pink-fabric cover on steel legs. She collapsed into it, leaning her head back against the wall. Caleb sat next to her and reached over to take her hand. He interlaced their fingers and held their hands on the armrests between them.
“She’s going to be fine. They’re the best here.”
Riley nodded numbly, eyes closed against tears that would do no good to shed. Tears hadn’t gotten her job back, hadn’t convinced Aiden to love her enough to fight for her. She should at least text her mom about what was going on, and even though that seemed too much, she did send a quick update. Her head slumped to the side and landed on Caleb’s shoulder. He scooted down a bit to give her a more comfortable angle.
“She can’t die.” The words came without thought, voicing the deepest fear she’d had since first seeing the blood. “I don’t know what I’d do.”
Riley felt the press of Caleb’s lips against the top of her head. “She’s a fighter, isn’t she? Like you. You’ll get to see her soon.” He laid his cheek against the top of her head. “We’ll wait here until they say we can go back. Do you want something to drink? I could try to find a vending machine or something.”
“No.” Riley snuggled deeper into his side, uncaring of the armrest pushing against her ribs. “No, I just want this.”
Caleb smiled into her hair. “Good. I’m not going anywhere.”
Long moments passed. Riley inhaled deeply, the hospital smell of antiseptic and worry overpowered by the freshly laundered smell of Caleb’s polo sleeve, the warmth of his skin under her cheek, the comforting rhythm of his hand stroking her back—up and down in a lazy path that skimmed her spine and ruffled the hair hanging below her shoulder blades. Grams was in good hands. Riley briefly entertained the thought that so was she.
A few hours ago, he’d had her laughing at the idea of canine mail and dreaming of a deluxe dog park where her poodle could run and play with her friends. Riley imagined sitting on the benches with Sydney, watching Chewy and LouLou frolic in the cooling fall days. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a tree or two, long branches stretching out overhead to shade them? Riley closed her eyes and pictured it, the perfect afternoon. Free from her duties at the Dorothy, hands cradling a hot cup of coffee while Sydney regaled her with stories of her celebrity clients’ foibles, LouLou collapsed at her feet after a good, long run. The hospital receded, and Riley felt the breeze ruffle her hair.
Wait, that was Caleb, hand stroking under her hair to massage the tight muscles of her neck. Oh, that was good. She sighed and let Caleb into her Fur Haven Park fantasy. Sydney was waving her hands around, telling a really good story about a really tall basketball player and his insistence that his socks never match, and Caleb sat beside her on the bench they’d picked out together, gently rubbing her neck like he was doing now. At the hospital.
Darn it. The slip-slap of feet on tile brought Riley out of the safe place in her mind. She straightened away from Caleb, his hand slipping from her neck, and stretched.
“Did I fall asleep?”
Caleb leaned forward, forearms draped over his knees. “Maybe for a moment. Nothing new yet. I would’ve woken you up if there were news.”
“Thanks.” Riley fought the urge to cuddle into him again. The crisis was over. Time to get herself together. She mustered her resolve and checked back in with the nurse at the desk. “Any idea when I can see her?”
The nurse’s smile was stretched thin, as though it was an effort. “I said I’d tell you as soon as that was possible.”
“Thank you.” Riley tried not to be discouraged. Grams was getting the care she needed. She had to believe that. She shuffled back toward Caleb.
“Riley?”
As if conjured from Riley’s imagination, Sydney appeared. Skinny jeans disappeared into ankle boots zipped at the sides, and the dramatic belled sleeves of her crop top billowed behind her as she rushed forward. She engulfed Riley in a belled-sleeve hug. Riley stiffened at first but then relaxed.
“Sydney? What’re you doing here?”
Sydney released her, pulling back to take a long head-to-toe look at Riley. “Eliza brought Lady and LouLou to the dog park. When I asked where you were, she told me what happened. How is your grandmother? How’re you holding up?”
Riley felt those unwanted tears rise again. “They’ve got her in the back, doing tests or something. I can’t see her yet.”
Sydney propped her hands on her hips. “In that case, no news is good news. If something bad happened, they’d come out to tell you. Probably waiting on results or something. Hospitals are the worst.” She shuddered. “Can’t stand them myself, so I brought you a little something to help pass the time.”
Sydney reached into her oversize tote bag and pulled out a plastic container. She popped off the red top. “My famous—or infamous, depending on how you look at it—orange cranberry muffins.”
Riley’s stomach growled right on cue. When was the last time she’d eaten? Long before the visit to the home improvement store, that was for sure. “You are amazing. You made these?”
Sydney plucked out a muffin and handed it to Riley. “I’m a comfort baker. Couldn’t cook a pot of spaghetti if my life depended on it, but bake enough pastries to fuel an entire elementary-school bake sale? I’m your girl.”
Riley closed her eyes at the first bite. “Oh my.”
“I know, right? The secret is cardamom. It makes everything better.”
“Oh my, my, my.” The muffin was gone in seconds. “You have no idea how much I
needed that.”
“Well, these are all yours. And I’m here to offer my services of distraction. Waiting in hospitals is awful, and Eliza told me to keep you busy. And to tell you that LouLou and Lady are having a grand time and not to worry about getting back. She can keep LouLou at her place as long as you need.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Have another muffin. And tell me about the stud muffin watching us from the waiting area. How long has he been here?” Sydney pressed another muffin into Riley’s hand. Riley didn’t fight her, just peeled off the paper wrapping and took another calorie-laden nibble.
“Sydney, isn’t it?” Caleb rose to his feet. “From the Dorothy?”
“From the dog park.” Sydney held out the container to him. “I live a few doors down. Muffin?”
Caleb took a long whiff. “They smell delicious.”
“They are delicious.” Riley took her second bite and enjoyed how it melted on her tongue.
Caleb plucked one from the container. “I’d say just like my mother used to make, but my mom has never baked anything.” He chomped down.
“Not even chocolate chip cookies?” Sydney asked, choosing a muffin for herself.
“No. She was definitely not the homemaker type.”
“That’s awfully sad.” Sydney pouted her berry-stained lips. “Every child should have chocolate chip cookies after a rough day of times-tables tests.”
“Mmm,” Caleb agreed around his last bite of muffin. Sydney offered him another, and this one was gone in a few chomps. “Are you a professional baker or something? I’ve honestly never had better.”
Sydney’s muffins were good, and just because Riley’s culinary expertise ran more toward things that could be microwaved was no reason for her to get defensive. She couldn’t help but wish Caleb would look at her the way he was eyeing a third muffin. When he took it and ate this one more slowly, clearly savoring every bite, Riley gritted her teeth. She had other admirable qualities. Not everyone was a baker.
“Would you mind sharing the recipe?” she found herself saying.
“Of course not!” Sydney grinned and pushed another muffin on her, but Riley declined, patting her stomach. “It’s a variation on a recipe I found online. It’s really not hard at all.”
“Thanks.” The muffins she’d gobbled down felt like rocks in her stomach. She was never going to bake muffins; she should admit that she’d never understood the chemistry involved in baking before someone got hurt. But Sydney had already set down the muffins to text her a link, while Caleb licked the last crumbs off his fingers with slow deliberation. Whatever. She had time to let everyone down in the future.
Sydney told a story about Chewy’s adventures in lizard chasing. “I don’t know who was more surprised when he caught one, him or the lizard!”
“Poor lizard.” Riley laughed at the image of the tiny Chihuahua with a lizard tail hanging from his mouth while the rest of the lizard scampered away. “I hope its tail grows back quickly.”
“Me too!” Sydney flipped through her phone until she found the picture she was looking for, Chewy nosing a detached lizard tail on the sidewalk. “He dropped it as soon as I told him to, but he was pretty sad to leave it behind. I felt bad, not letting him keep it. He moped the entire afternoon.” Another picture showed Chewy with his head propped on a couch pillow, staring morosely out the front window. “Luckily, a UPS delivery came, and barking insanely at the driver cheered him right up.”
“LouLou is not a fan of delivery people, either.” Riley pulled out her phone, ready to reciprocate pet show-and-tell with some cute poodle pictures of her own. She’d missed a few texts. She checked her settings and realized at some point she’d turned her ringer off. She scanned quickly. Sydney saying she was on her way with comfort muffins. Two from Mr. Cardoza asking after Gloria’s condition. One from her mom. She thumbed it open.
Do you need me to come home? I can catch a flight tomorrow when the ship docks at the next island.
Riley’s shoulders tensed, like they always did when dealing with her mom. Sure, she’d come home, and then complain bitterly the whole time about the hit to her paycheck. She’d blow in, a suitcase full of presents from exotic places and stories of the interesting people aboard her current cruise, and somehow in the midst of helping out, she’d make more work for Riley. But Grams was her mother. Maybe Mom really wanted to be here. That’d be a nice change of pace.
Of course, I could only stay a day or two. The next leg of the cruise crosses the Atlantic, and they can’t do without me for such a stretch of time. I’m sure you have everything under control anyway.
Don’t worry, Mom. Riley texted back. I’ve got it handled. Like always. I’ll keep you posted.
Are you sure? I don’t want you to be alone through this.
Riley looked up from her phone. Caleb scarfed down another muffin while Sydney showed him more pictures of Chewy on her phone. “That’s a lot of personality for such a tiny dog,” Caleb said around a mouthful of crumbs, and Sydney laughingly agreed.
Riley’s shoulder relaxed, and she sank more deeply into the uncomfortable waiting-area chair. She watched Caleb and Sydney for another few seconds before texting back.
I’m not alone.
Great! I’ll see you both when I’m back in Miami.
Be safe. It was what Riley always texted at the end of any exchange with her mom, and Mom always texted back: Be good.
When she was young, Riley’d known what that meant. Listen to Grams. Do her homework without complaining. Not bother Mom with too many texts. Now that she was grown, what was she supposed to do with that particular bit of maternal direction? She sighed and leaned her head against the cold wall.
“Look at this one.” Caleb drew her into his conversation with Sydney, pointing to a picture of Chewy buried in a pile of white blankets, only his dark-brown nose sticking out.
“He’s a cutie pie for sure.” Riley took a deep breath, letting go of the stress any interaction with her mother caused. Nothing was a better distraction than cute dog photos. She pulled up some of LouLou when she’d had a rather unfortunate too-close body shave a few months ago and looked like a miniature shorn pink sheep. Both Caleb and Sydney laughed at the poodle’s forlorn expression, and soon Sydney and Riley were in a cute-photo showdown, each trying to outdo the other. Caleb was breathless with laughter, his arm draped casually across the back of Riley’s chair.
“Is there a Riley Carson here?” a nurse asked in a heavy Haitian accent.
Riley lunged to her feet, phone dropping to the chair, all laughter pushed aside to make room for the panic assailing her. “How is she?”
The woman held open one side of the swinging double doors. “Resting comfortably. Would you like to see her?”
“Yes.” Riley followed the nurse, anxiety fueling every step.
“We’ll stay here!” Sydney called.
“Unless you want us with you?” Caleb asked, voice rising on the last word.
“No need to wait for me.” Riley didn’t look back at them, afraid her resolve would crack. It’d been nice to lean on Caleb’s arm, for Sydney to bring snacks, for them both to sit with her and laugh at ridiculous dog photos. But Grams wouldn’t want anyone to see her at less than her best, especially not William Donovan’s grandson, and she barely knew Sydney. Riley braced her shoulders, telling herself that “resting comfortably” was a good sign. Worse signs would’ve been “critical condition” or “ICU.” She clenched her phone in one hand and her purse in the other. Whatever was at the end of this walk, she could handle. There was no reason to feel lonelier and lonelier with each echoing step.
The nurse’s sneakered feet squeaked across the tiled hallway floor. She stopped and pulled aside a curtain separating Grams’ bed from the line of others in the busy ER. “Here you go. Someone will be by to talk to you soon.”
“My Riley!” Grams held out her arms, and Riley came in close for an awkward hug. With one person lying down, IV in her arm, and the other standing and leaning over a railing, the cramped, curtained-off space wasn’t exactly conducive to intimate moments. Riley kissed her grandmother’s cheek and planted her butt in the small chair provided for visitors.
“How are you?”
“Right as rain, though I’m sure I look a fright.” Grams patted her hair. Her usual pouf was decidedly less poufy, but she looked beautiful to Riley. “They’re talking about keeping me overnight for observation, but I want you to tell them I’m fine to go home.”
“I’m not a doctor, Grams. If they think you should stay, maybe you should.” Riley’s grip on her purse handle tightened until her fingernails dug into the cloth strap.
“Pshh.” Grams rolled her eyes. “What do the doctors know? I’m fine.” Her shaky hand when she brushed back her bangs belied the point.
“Why don’t we wait and see what they have to say?” Riley took Grams’ unsteady hand in both her own, warming her chilled skin. “What have you been doing back here all this time?”
“Waiting and more waiting.” Grams looked small in the hospital bed, the white sheets making the gray roots of her carefully dyed dark hair more apparent. Her makeup was fading fast, bits of foundation caught in the smile wrinkles that bracketed her mouth.
Riley found a tissue in her bag and wiped away the last of the foundation from around Grams’ mouth. “They haven’t done any tests?”
“Oh sure, they think I’m a bloody pin cushion.” Grams licked her dry lips and grimaced. “Taking all kinds of samples. I had a CAT scan, and they keep asking me what my birthday is, like it’s some kind of trick question. I give a different answer every time, to keep them on their toes.”
“Grams! You can’t do that. They must think you’re confused.”
Grams giggled her little-girl giggle, the one that meant she knew she was in trouble and didn’t care. “The first time, they acted worried, but now they know I’m joking with them.”