I nodded slowly.
Easton helped me up and grabbed my satchel, which held my unused laptop. What a waste of a lunch hour.
“Excuse me, Victor. I need to see my …” I hated saying father. He was anything but.
“Her father’s in the ICU,” Easton informed Victor on my behalf.
“By all means, go and see him. We’ll clear your schedule for the afternoon,” Victor offered.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I walked off, with Easton by my side. My hands were trembling and I felt out of breath.
The ICU was on the first floor, same as the cafeteria, but on the opposite end.
I tried to concentrate on the sound of my high heels against the tiled floor. The click-clack was keeping me sane. I wasn’t prepared to see Frank.
Easton touched my arm and we both paused. “I want to warn you that he doesn’t look good. I know you’ve been around plenty of patients in your career, but it’s always different with family. Frank is deteriorating fast.”
Frank was not my family, at least not in the true meaning of the word, but I didn’t argue the point. I stood there and blew out a large breath.
“I won’t leave your side,” Easton promised.
That was both good and bad. When had my life become so complicated? It was Merryton. Always Merryton.
“Are you ready?” Easton asked.
“Not even a little,” I admitted.
Easton wasn’t giving me an out. He placed his hand on the small of my back and moved me forward.
Focus on the click-clack, I told myself.
Before I knew it we had reached the ICU nurse’s station. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I signed in and had to suit up. They hadn’t ruled out infection, and as a precaution I had to don hospital garb.
Wearing a mask was probably a good thing. It kept Easton from seeing my jaw drop in horror when I first laid eyes on the man that made my life a living hell for so many years. All the machines, tubes, and wires couldn’t mask that Frank was a shell. He was terribly thin and he had lost most of his hair. His jaundiced skin was a sickly yellow.
I looked over this man who was practically a stranger to me and I felt nothing. No compassion, no hate, no anything. It was as if a sudden all-encompassing void filled me. The realization had me bursting into tears.
Easton wasted no time taking me up in his arms. I cried into his chest as he held me tight and stroked my hair. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I know how hard it must be for you to see your father like this.”
I shook my head against him. “You misunderstand my tears. I’m not crying because I hate seeing him like this. I’m crying because I’m a terrible person. I couldn’t care less what happens to this man.”
Easton looked down at me. I could see the shock in his eyes. “You are one of the best people I know. Frank knows he doesn’t deserve anything from you, but you deserve peace. I think you may care more than you think you do.”
I didn’t say anything in return.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Easton suggested. He let go of me and placed two chairs near the bed where Frank lay in what looked like a comatose or sedated state. I wasn’t sure.
I sat and Easton followed. He took up my hand and held it tightly.
After several minutes of staring at a man I hardly recognized, I finally asked, “What’s wrong with him, besides the obvious?”
“His kidneys are failing and he has an enlarged spleen. We are currently trying to balance out the fluids in his blood and normalize his potassium. He may need dialysis.”
“What about a liver transplant?”
“He isn’t a good candidate.”
That made sense. He had abused his body too much over the years.
“Where does he live?” I asked out of curiosity.
“The Pines.” Easton shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
I looked at him with surprise. “How does he afford such a place? I suppose the government?”
Easton shook his head slightly. “I take care of it,” he mumbled.
“Why would you do that?”
Easton looked at Frank, and then me. “Because he’s your father and, I guess, family. I thought you would want him taken care of.” He spoke more to the wall than me.
“I had no idea. He’s not your responsibility.”
“He is, because I made him so.”
I sat there, stunned, not able to form any coherent thoughts. I don’t know how long we sat there in the silence. The only sound was the beeping of the machines letting me know Frank was still alive, if barely. A nurse was in and out to check on him, then a doctor, letting us know that for now, they were going to monitor him and see if the IV fluids and medications they were pushing helped.
I didn’t say anything. I let Easton do the talking. It was as if he was the son.
When evening rolled around, I pulled out my phone. “I should call Ashley, or maybe I should go home?” I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid for Frank to wake up, but at the same time, I didn’t want to miss it. I knew I had to talk to him one last time. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I needed to put this demon to rest.
“Why don’t I call Ashley?” Easton offered. “Then we’ll grab something to eat in the cafeteria.”
“You don’t have to stay with me.”
He dropped his head slightly. “Like it or not, I’ve made you my responsibility, too.”
“I don’t want to depend on you, Easton,” I admitted.
“I can understand that, but here I am.” With that he stood up, called our daughter, and let her know the situation.
Ashley hardly even knew Frank existed. Harry was her grandfather. I remembered back to the years we had lived here. I never let Frank hold her. We saw him on occasion when my mom was alive, but I guarded her against him. Easton tried to persuade me to at least let him hold her, but I wouldn’t. I could barely tolerate being around him. We hardly even spoke. Then he showed up falling-down drunk at my mother’s funeral and that was it. I never saw him again, unless it was by accident. He only contacted us if he needed money, and he always talked to Easton, never to me.
I heard Easton giving Ashley instructions to take Emmy out to eat and if they wanted to they could go to the movies. “Your mom and I love you,” he said before he hung up.
I stood up, but continued to look at Frank. He was practically unrecognizable. His cheeks were sunken and covered in a layer of gray stubble. His hair was all but gone, except for a few unruly wisps. I think, once upon a time, he was considered a handsome man. I had seen pictures of him when he was a teenager at my Grandmother Roberts’ home—she was about as cuddly as a cactus. To me, though, no matter how he looked physically, he was always ugly.
Easton touched my shoulder, shaking me out of my unhappy thoughts. “Let’s get something to eat.”
I nodded. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed a break. The room was stifling to me.
Easton and I removed the protective layer of clothing in silence and washed our hands thoroughly. Easton was more than sure Frank didn’t have anything contagious, but we followed hospital protocol until all of Frank’s test results were back.
I sat at a table in the cafeteria while Easton grabbed us something to eat. Easton brought me a fruit plate and a large glass of lemon ice water. I downed the water in no time. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. Easton refilled it without a word while I picked at the fruit.
Easton ate a sandwich and a cookie. I almost took him up on his offer to eat part of the peanut butter cookie.
“Do you want to talk?” Easton asked.
I rubbed my face. “How long have you been taking care of Frank?”
He looked up from his Coke. “A long time.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I figured you hated me enough already. And after Frank’s many confessions to me over the years, I finally understood why you hated him. I had no idea the hell you went through as a child. I didn’t want to hurt you further, but once he st
arted to decline rapidly, I knew I needed to tell you in case you wanted to …”
“What? Reconcile with him?”
He shook his head. “No, forgive him,” he said reluctantly.
I sat back against my chair and stared incredulously at my ex-husband.
He stared back at me with kind eyes. He reached across the table and took my hand. “I know it’s hard to believe, and I know my word doesn’t mean that much to you, but Frank is sorry. He knows he can never make up for what he did, but he wants the chance to tell you that.”
I pulled my hands away and took several deep breaths.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
I nodded in the affirmative.
“Why didn’t you feel like you could tell me what happened to you growing up?”
I could feel the sting of tears, but tried to hold them at bay as I stared at my ex-husband, who looked too sweet. “Part of me was embarrassed. I was an adult and I felt like I should be over it, that I was better than my past. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
His eyes widened. “Tay.” He hadn’t called me Tay in forever. I had forgotten that he used to. “You couldn’t control what happened to you as a child. Finding out what you went through only increased my respect for you. Not many people turn out the way you did growing up in your circumstances. You could have been honest with me.”
“I wanted to be.”
Neither of us spoke for at least a minute or two. We each became interested in anything that wasn’t each other.
“I’m sorry I convinced you to move back here,” Easton said into the silence.
“Which time?” I sort of grinned.
“We should have stayed in Birmingham and used the money from my parents’ trust to buy a house instead of a practice. I should have taken the position at UAB hospital.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “We don’t know that the outcome would have been any different.”
“Anything would have been better than the last several years.”
I popped a strawberry in my mouth. Part of me wanted to ask him what had happened to him, but I thought it best to leave it alone. I will say that part of me felt sorry for him.
“Can I offer you some advice?” he asked uneasily.
I swallowed the strawberry and raised my eyebrow.
“You don’t have to listen to it.”
“Say what you have to say,” I responded without contempt.
“I know I don’t have any right to say this, but watch out for Victor Carmichael. He’s a womanizer. You deserve someone better than him.”
I almost laughed. It was such a weird conversation to be having with him. “Don’t worry, I already figured out he’s only looking for another notch on his bedpost. Besides, I don’t date doctors.”
He held up his can of Coke. “That’s a good rule to live by.”
Chapter Eighteen
Frank did not wake up that night and visiting hours in the ICU were over at eight. Easton offered to drive me home, but I wanted to be alone, even for just a few minutes as I drove home. I wanted to feel composed before Ashley got home. This was hitting me like a freight train. I never wanted to see Frank again, but Easton was right, I needed to find a way to forgive him.
I had no idea Easton had been taking care of him financially. I needed Easton to be the jerk I had made him out to be the last several years; it was easier to deal with him that way. I know that sounds crazy, but the Easton I knew before it all fell apart kept showing up and it confused me.
That night I watched Ashley sleep for a moment from her door. She made everything seem right in my world. As I stared at her, I thought about what a good person she was. I admired the way she courageously charged ahead in her relationship with her own father. I loved how she wanted him to be accountable for the lost time, but didn’t hold it over his head. Instead, they were both trying to make sure that the mistakes from the past weren’t repeated. At sixteen, she was much better than me.
I knew our situations were different in some big ways. Easton never lost contact with Ashley. He may not have been physically present, but he called her often and he never forgot a birthday or holiday. There were even times when special events were taking place in her life, like volleyball tournaments or awards ceremonies, and he would send her a special note or flowers. But there were also times she would beg him to come to one of those events and he would always say the same thing—he wanted to more than anything, but he couldn’t. She and I never understood why. But now? Now I wondered about the kind of life he led with Kathryn.
I crawled into bed mentally exhausted. I wasn’t looking forward to another day at the hospital. I mean, what was I even going to say if he ever did wake up? I really did feel numb toward him. For years, I dreamed of the diatribe I would unleash on him, but now there was nothing. Certainly no love or tenderness, but the hate was gone. I felt nothing for the man.
Easton once again offered to stay with me at the hospital, but he had been planning to take the girls to the amusement park in Denver and then to the baseball game that evening. I knew the girls were looking forward to it, and as much as Easton had been a comfort yesterday, on the flip side he made me just as uncomfortable. Him I wasn’t indifferent to.
I had to suit up again at the hospital. Most of the tests had come back and there were no signs of infection, but there were still a couple they were waiting on. I brought my laptop and a coloring book for adults for a stress reliever.
Frank looked as unwell as he did the day before. The only difference was he moved restlessly at times. He wasn’t coherent, but he was beginning to show signs of life.
His hepatologist came in late morning and informed me he had discussed his case with a nephrologist out of Denver and they agreed they were following the right course of action. I nodded and pretended like I cared.
“We are seeing his kidney function increase, so we will be decreasing the pain medication slowly,” he said it like it was a positive thing.
That meant Frank might be coherent before I was ready for him to be. Not that there was ever a good time for me, but later seemed better than sooner.
“Thank you,” was all I could say to the doctor.
I was amazed at how some people’s bodies could come back against the odds. Frank didn’t look like he should bounce back at all, yet modern medicine overruled Mother Nature.
Left alone, I turned to my laptop and closed the PowerPoint presentation I would never present. I was still irked that Dr. Carmichael thought I could be another conquest. I hoped he got the hint yesterday and realized that was never happening. But I had had an insane thought while putting together the presentation that maybe I could write my own nutrition book.
As I was starting my outline, Frank received a visitor. At least I assumed Pastor Bates was there to see Frank, but by the time he left, I wasn’t so sure.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Pastor Bates announced himself. He, too, was dressed in the yellow hospital garb.
I looked up from my laptop. He was interrupting, but that was okay. “Not at all.” I smiled.
He walked to the opposite side of Frank. “I heard your father isn’t doing too well.”
I grimaced at the notion that anyone would think Frank was my father. The good Pastor must have noticed. He took a seat and looked at me thoughtfully. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your father?”
“I haven’t seen Frank in over fifteen years until yesterday.”
“That’s a long time,” he responded.
“Will you think ill of me if I say not long enough?”
“No. It’s not my job to judge.”
“So what is your job?”
He grinned. “That depends on who you talk to, but I would say in this case, my job is to provide comfort and to help heal.”
“I don’t think Frank’s body can be healed.”
“I’m more of a spiritual healer.”
“Oh, well I’m not sure when Frank w
ill be coherent.”
He grinned again and focused on me.
I squirmed in my seat.
“How are you settling in?” he asked.
“Just fine.” I was doing my best to remain evasive.
He studied me for a moment. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I was hoping that was the end of our conversation. I liked him—he gave some of the best sermons I had ever heard—but I felt like he had an agenda for being here.
He tapped his finger against his lip. “You know, this morning I was reading an inspiring story about a holocaust survivor.”
He piqued my interest. I sat up straighter and gave him my attention.
“She was a young teen when she and her family were captured and arrested for hiding Jews in their home. Like many she was subjected to the worst forms of brutality and depravity.”
I shuddered at the thought. I had read several books about World War II and always wondered how humans could be so cruel. It was as if they were no longer human.
“There was one Nazi soldier in particular,” he continued, “that she remembered because of his unusual eyes. You see, one of his eyes was brown and the other was green. He was like the others of his company—cold and brutal—as if he were past feeling. But she was one of the fortunate ones. Her camp was liberated and she lived to tell the tale, but her whole family had been killed.”
I wiped a tear out of my eye.
“She was triumphant, though,” he said in way to make me feel better. “She used her experience for the good of God and mankind. She started a home for orphaned children when she was older.”
“That’s inspiring,” I commented.
“Yes it is,” he agreed, “but it isn’t as inspiring as this next part. Years later she came face to face with her captor, the one with unusual eyes.”
I put my hand to my mouth.
“Yes, there was no mistaking the man that had once tortured her. He was much older now, too, but she recognized him almost immediately in the town market.”
My hands fell in my lap. “What did she do?”
He smiled as if he knew a secret. I supposed I knew it, too. It was a secret I had been taught, but had failed to fully learn.
Taylor Lynne: The Women of Merryton - Book Two Page 17