“He drank coffee while our father was having a heart attack?” Valerie wasn’t finding this doctor too impressive.
“I believe it was what saved Dad’s life,” Norah said, her eyes flashing a protest. “Dr. Winston convinced Dad to go to the hospital voluntarily. It wasn’t until he’d been admitted that he suffered the worst of the attack. If he’d been at home arguing, no one could’ve done anything to save him.”
“Oh.” That took some of the heat out of Valerie’s argument. She suspected she was looking for someone to blame—in an attempt to ease her own guilt for having ignored Norah’s concerns about their father.
The door Betty had walked through opened, and a tall dark-haired man came toward them, his expression serious. Valerie couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was. In fact, the man had movie-star good looks, but good looks with nothing soft or insipid about them.
“Hello,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “I’m Dr. Winston.” He held out his hand.
“Valerie Bloomfield,” she responded briskly, placing her hand in his. She’d always been taught that it was impolite to stare, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her father’s physician didn’t look much older than her own thirty-one years. “Excuse me,” she said, not glancing at Norah, who would, she suspected, immediately leap to Dr. Winston’s defense. “I don’t mean to be rude—but how old are you?”
“Valerie,” Norah groaned under her breath.
“I just want to know how long he’s been practicing medicine. Good grief, Norah, this is our father.”
“It’s quite all right,” Dr. Winston said, smiling at Norah. “If David was my father I’d have a few questions myself. I’m thirty-six.”
Valerie found it hard to believe, but she couldn’t very well insist on seeing his birth certificate. Besides, her thoughts were muddled and she was exhausted. Now wasn’t the time to question his qualifications. “How’s my father?” she asked instead.
“He’s resting.”
“When will I be able to see him?”
“I’d rather you didn’t go in right away.”
“What do you mean?” Valerie snapped. “I’ve flown across the country to be with my father. He needs me! Why shouldn’t I be able to go to him?”
“It’s not a good idea just now. He’s sleeping for the first time in nearly twenty hours and I don’t want anything to disturb him.”
“I think you should wait,” Norah seconded, as if she feared Valerie might be on the verge of making a scene.
Valerie sighed; her sister was right. “Of course I’ll wait. It’s just that I’m anxious.”
“I understand,” Dr. Winston said. But he spoke without emotion. He led them to a room not far from the nurses’ station. Two well-worn couches faced each other, and several outdated magazines littered the coffee table that stood between them. There was a coffeepot in one corner, with powdered creamer and an ample supply of disposable cups.
Norah sat first, raising both hands to her mouth in an effort to hide a yawn.
“How long have you been here?” Valerie asked, realizing even before she asked that Norah had stayed at the hospital all night. Her youngest sister was exhausted. “Listen, kid, you go on home and get some sleep. I’ll hold down the fort for a while.”
Norah grinned sheepishly. “I used to hate it when you called me kid, but I don’t anymore.”
“Why not?” Valerie asked softly, resisting the urge to brush a stray curl from her sister’s forehead. She wasn’t the maternal type, but she felt protective toward Norah, wanting to ease her burden.
“You can call me kid anytime you like because that’s exactly the way I feel, like a child whose world’s been turned upside down. I’m scared, Val, really scared. We almost lost him—we still could.”
Valerie nodded, hugging her briefly. Norah had suffered through the worst of the nightmare alone, not knowing from one minute to the next if their father was going to live or die.
“Valerie’s right,” Dr. Winston added. “There’s nothing you can do here. Go home and rest. I promise I’ll call you if there’s any change.”
“Okay.” Norah rubbed her eyes. “I’ll take a shower and try to sleep for a couple of hours. That’s all I need. Two, maybe three hours.”
Valerie wondered if Norah was too tired to drive; Dr. Winston must have had the same concern.
“We’ll phone for a cab from the nurses’ station. I don’t want you driving like this.” He placed his arm around Norah’s shoulders, apparently intending to walk her to the elevator. As they left, he turned to Valerie. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
While he was away, Valerie poured herself a cup of coffee. The pot had obviously been sitting there for hours; the coffee was black and thick and strong, just the way she needed it.
The urge for a cigarette was nearly overwhelming, so when Dr. Winston returned to the room she looked up at him and automatically asked, “Do you have any hard candy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mints, anything like that.” She was pacing the room, holding her coffee cup in both hands.
“I’m afraid not. Would you like me to see if I could get you some?”
Valerie dismissed his offer with a shake of her head. He was polite to a fault. The first thing she’d done had been to insult him, question his competence, and he’d taken it all in stride.
“Please, tell me about my father.”
They sat, and for the next fifteen minutes, Dr. Winston explained what had happened to her father’s heart. He did his best to describe it in layman’s terms, but much of what he said was beyond Valerie’s comprehension. She’d never been comfortable with medical matters. Her mother and Norah had always dealt with those. For her part, Valerie hated anything to do with hospitals or doctors. She detested being sick herself, and knew her father felt the same way.
“There’s one underlying problem that needs to be dealt with, however.”
“Yes?” Valerie asked, hating the way her voice betrayed her fear. Any show of weakness distressed her. If she’d ever needed to be strong, it was now, for everyone’s sake, including her own. She was the oldest, and the others would rely on her.
“Your father’s lost his will to live.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, battling the urge to argue with him. “My father’s life is brimming over, it’s so full. Why, he’s—”
“Lost without your mother,” Dr. Winston finished simply.
Valerie bolted to her feet and resumed pacing. What Dr. Winston said was absolutely true; she had to admit it. Her father had been crushed under the load of grief, and while Valerie and her two sisters struggled to regain their own balance, their father had been slowly destroyed by his loss.
“What can we do?” she asked, trying to swallow her fears and her guilt.
“Support him, give him your love. The only thing keeping him alive now is his desire to see all three of his daughters before he dies.”
“But… Okay, then don’t let him know I’m here.” It was the obvious solution. And if that was what it took to keep him alive, she was willing to play a little game of hide-and-seek. Norah could make up a series of excuses. No, forget Norah, Valerie mused bleakly. Her youngest sister couldn’t tell a lie without blushing.
“How well do you lie?” she asked, thinking fast.
Dr. Winston blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“We can’t let my father know I’ve arrived. And that means lying to him.”
“Miss Bloomfield—”
“Ms.”
“Whatever,” he said, sounding impatient with her for the first time. “We aren’t going to be able to fool your father. Norah talked to him shortly after you phoned from…where was it? Chicago? He knows you caught a flight out of New York. No one’s going to make him believe something more important came up that’s kept you from him.”
“Steffie!” Valerie cried. “When Norah spoke to her, she said there was a transportation strike.”
�
�Yes, but these are only stop-gap measures. Your father feels there’s nothing left to live for. He talks about your mother constantly, almost as though he’s waiting to join her. We need something concrete that’ll give him the will to fight, to hold on to life.”
Again Valerie knew the doctor was right, but her confused brain was having trouble assimilating the most basic details, let alone a situation as complex as this.
“He’s all we have,” she whispered despondently. “Surely he realizes that.”
“Yes, but at the same time, he believes you have one another.”
“We have nothing in common,” Valerie told him. “Steffie’s a crazy woman who flies off to Europe to study the Italian Renaissance, and Norah’s main goal in life is to become another Clara Barton. We don’t even look alike.” Valerie was grasping at weak excuses, and she knew it. Anything she could think of to enlist Dr. Winston’s help in keeping her father alive…
“That has nothing to do with me, Valerie,” he told her gently. “However, I’ll do everything I can to see that your father regains his health and lives to a ripe old age.”
Blinking away tears, Valerie nodded, reminding herself once again that she was the oldest of David Bloomfield’s daughters. In a crisis everyone looked to her; she was the one who needed a cool, decisive head, who couldn’t let her emotions dictate her reactions.
But it was different this time.
The man in that hospital bed, barely holding on to life, was her father, the man she idolized and loved beyond reason. Her emotions were so close to the surface that the force of them frightened her.
“I’d—I’d like to see him as soon as possible. Please.” She’d grovel if necessary. She had to be with her father. “I won’t make the least bit of noise, I promise.” She certainly didn’t want to disturb his rest. Somehow, though, she had to reassure herself that he was still alive. She’d never been more frightened.
Dr. Winston hesitated. “Wait here, I’ll go and check on him.”
He returned a few minutes later. “David’s awake and asking for you.”
Valerie was so eager that she nearly vaulted out of the room, but Dr. Winston stopped her. “Before you go to your father, let me prepare you for what you’re going to see.” He spent the next five minutes explaining the different medical devices used to monitor his patient’s heart. He explained how the small electrodes on her father’s chest detected the electrical impulses that signal the heart’s activity. He warned her about the tubes going in and out of his body.
But nothing he said could have prepared Valerie for what she saw. Her father was connected to a frightening number of tubes, machines and devices. His face was ashen, so pale and bloodless that his skin seemed iridescent. His eyes, which had always sparked with vitality, revealed no emotion, only a weariness that was soul-deep.
“Oh, Daddy,” Valerie whispered, fighting tears. She locked her fingers around his hand, careful not to disturb the intravenous needle.
“Valerie…so pleased you’re here…at last.”
“Where else would I be?” she asked, managing a smile. With the back of her other hand, she brushed a tear from her cheek.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” her father said, apparently talking to Dr. Winston, who hovered in the doorway. “Only…what did you do to your hair?”
“Do you like it?” Valerie asked, rallying somewhat, surprised he’d even noticed that she’d changed the style. “I had it cut.” The new look was short and tousled.
“She’s got the temper to go with that red hair, you know.”
Her father was speaking to Colby Winston again.
“My hair isn’t even close to being red,” she argued, annoyed by the doctor’s effort not to grin. “It’s auburn.”
“Looks like you haven’t combed it in a month,” her father mumbled.
“Dad, I’ll have you know I paid good money for this.”
“In that case, you should demand a refund.” His voice was weak, and speaking had clearly depleted him of what little energy he possessed.
“Dad,” Valerie said, trying to disguise her concern. “Instead of complaining about my hair, you should rest.”
He didn’t respond, merely closed his eyes and sighed audibly.
“I’m going to leave you for a little while,” Valerie said. “But I’ll be right outside, so if you want to tell me how much you like my hair and beg my forgiveness, then all you need to do is ring for the nurse.” Dr. Winston had told her earlier that she’d be allowed to visit her father five minutes out of every hour, depending on how well he was doing.
David’s smile was barely discernible.
“Rest now, Daddy. I’m here.”
Dr. Winston’s hand was at her elbow directing her out of the glass-enclosed cubicle.
“Doc?” Her father’s voice had a sense of urgency.
“What is it, David?”
“She’s the one I was telling you about. You remember what I said, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now don’t you worry about a thing.”
“Her hair doesn’t usually look like a rag doll’s.”
“Daddy!” Valerie had no idea what was taking place between the two men but she wasn’t going to stand idly by and let them insult her.
“This way,” Colby Winston said, leading her from the Coronary Care Unit.
“What was that all about?” Valerie asked the instant they were out of earshot.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said without meeting her eyes.
Valerie wasn’t fooled. There was definitely something going on, and she wanted to know what. She’d been in business far too long to allow questionable remarks to slip past her unchallenged.
“What did Dad mean, I’m ‘the one’?”
Dr. Winston still refused to look at her. “While we—your father and I—were talking earlier, he voiced a few concerns about his daughters.”
“Yes?” Valerie said. Making an effort to appear nonchalant and relaxed, she walked over to the coffeepot and lifted it to him in silent invitation.
Dr. Winston shook his head and Valerie refilled her own paper cup. “So, what did Dad have to say about us girls?” she asked.
“He’s very proud of all three of you.”
“Naturally. We’re his children. What I’d like to know is what he meant when he said I was ‘the one.’”
“Yes, well…” He walked away from her and stood gazing out the window into the night sky.
“Come on, Dr. Winston, I’m a mature woman and this is my father. I’m sure if I insisted he’d tell me.” They both knew that coercing her father was out of the question; nevertheless, it was an effective ploy. Dr. Winston went to the coffeepot and filled a cup, even though he’d declined one moments earlier.
“It seems he’s the most worried about you.”
“Me?” Valerie blurted. Of the three girls, she was the most financially secure. She was established in an excellent career and living on her own. For heaven’s sake, she was the only one with investments! “That makes no sense at all.”
“Yes, well…”
“Why is he worried about me? Furthermore, why didn’t he talk to me instead of discussing it with you?”
“There are any number of reasons—”
“Just tell me what he said,” Valerie interrupted impatiently.
“Your father seems to think—”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“That you should be married.”
Valerie couldn’t restrain her laughter. It shot out of her, like bubbles from a champagne bottle.
“In fact,” Colby continued grimly, “your father seems to think you should be married to me.”
Two
“Married to you?” Valerie echoed, her laughter fading. Dr. Colby Winston! She’d never heard anything so preposterous. She had no intention of marrying anyone within the foreseeable future. There was simply no room for a man in her life. She wasn’t a romantic; even when she was younger and in college,
she hadn’t dated much. Her father knew all that, and he’d never seemed particularly worried about it. This latest revelation shocked her nearly as much as Norah’s call.
“I see no reason to be too concerned,” Colby said, his voice compassionate as though he understood that his announcement had unsettled her. She was usually more proficient at controlling her emotions.
“This sort of delusion isn’t unheard of in heart patients,” he went on. “As I said, I certainly don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“You mean your patients generally try to marry you off?”
“No.” He smoothed his tie as if he needed something to do. “Your father fully expects to die. It’s what he wants, but he’d feel better about leaving the three of you behind if at least one of you was married. Your father and I are friends, and I guess it’s only natural that he’d attempt to match me up with one of his daughters.”
“It should’ve been Norah. She seems more your type.”
His smile was fleeting. “Perhaps, but it’s your name he repeatedly mentions.”
“Then apparently I’m the one,” Valerie said, not realizing what she was saying until the words had left her mouth. “I mean—” She stopped abruptly.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Colby assured her. “But I’m sure we don’t have to take any of this seriously.”
“Oh, I agree. That would be foolish in the extreme.”
“Maybe your father feels you should marry first because you’re the oldest,” Colby ventured.
“Maybe,” Valerie agreed. But something inside her suggested that wasn’t the sole reason. She tucked her arms around her waist and inhaled deeply, hoping to breathe in a bit of calm and sense.
“I wouldn’t have said anything,” Colby said, “but I thought it was best to air this. If he mentions marriage again, my feeling is we should go along with him, at least for now.”
“Go along with him? You’ve got to be kidding.” Valerie could hardly believe her ears.
Colby shrugged. “You know your father better than I do,” he muttered. “He’s as stubborn as they come. Don’t lie, but if he brings up the subject of…marriage, take the route of least resistance, then try to channel the conversation in a different direction.”
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