by Lisa Fox
“No,” she said, taking her arm from his grasp. “Really, Ryan. I need…” What did she need? She wasn’t sure.
“Grace,” he said, patiently. “You’re shaking. Let me just take you there, okay?”
She hadn’t realized she was shaking. When did that happen? He put his arm around her and escorted her out of the room. They paused at the receptionist desk and the woman handed him a slip. “Thanks, Jodi,” he said and looked at the paper. He led Grace outside. “We’re going to a garage on West Broadway. Two blocks.”
“Stop,” she said, halting in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing tourists to dodge around her. Now that she was out in the fresh air, she had herself a bit more under control. “Look, I can do this on my own. Thanks, but you really don’t need to come with me.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Let me arrange a car, and I can go.”
He planted his feet and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting you drive out to Long Island alone. There’s nothing you can say to change that.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. He was not going to take no for an answer. He was making it so much more complex than it needed to be. Arguing was only going to delay things though. “Fine,” she said, waving him forward. “Go.”
They arrived at the garage, and Ryan handed the attendant the paperwork. The man took off into the rows of cars. He returned a moment later with a black, American sedan. The attendant held the passenger door open for Grace, saw her safely inside, and then shut the door. He jogged around the car to give Ryan the keys. Ryan handed him a folded bill in return. Grace couldn’t see how much.
Ryan climbed into the driver’s seat, and Grace looked out the window while he programmed the GPS unit with their destination. Hopeless, that was how she felt. Useless.
“Tell me what happened,” Ryan said as he pulled out into traffic.
She shook her head. “I don’t even know where to start.”
He glanced over at her, took her hand, and placed it on his thigh. “Start wherever you’d like.”
His body was warm beneath her fingertips. It felt nice, but she hurt too much to truly care. “Five years ago, my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. After my mother died, he got worse really quickly. I didn’t have the skills or the space to care for him, so I did some research and found Westview Gardens, supposedly the best long-term care facility in the country for people with dementia. I called in every favor, pulled strings, found loopholes, did whatever I could to get him in there.” She let out a tired breath. “Of course, it’s not covered by insurance.”
Ryan merged onto the Belt Parkway, quietly driving as she told her tale.
“He was doing well.” Was he? “Or at least he was comfortable. I had hope.” She tapped the window. “But this is the second time he’s fallen down in as many weeks.” She swallowed hard. “They say he’s getting worse.” The truth she didn’t want to admit to herself. “That his motor skills are deteriorating.” The sad, hard truth. “Today he fell down badly enough to require stitches. Maybe more.”
“He’s in the best possible care, Grace,” Ryan said. “They will do everything they can for him.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” All she could imagine was broken bones, fractured skull, internal bleeding.
“You’re making yourself crazy. I can see it from here.”
She knew he was right, but she couldn’t stop. Not until she knew for sure what had happened to him. She took her hand off his leg and curled into herself, leaning her head against the passenger window. Traffic was light and they zipped toward the hospital in the carpool lane, passing couples and commuters, business people and families.
“How far away are we from where you write about?” he asked.
Grace watched the exits fly by. “About an hour. The pond is almost at the end of the island.”
“I bet it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Grace agreed. “Very ritzy. A little quieter than the Hamptons people usually think of. Not so party orientated.”
“Have you spent much time there?”
“No, it’s funny actually. When I first moved to New York, I decided I wanted to try to find the Amityville Horror house.”
He laughed, glanced at her, and then back at the road. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She smiled over at him. “Yeah.” She paused. This was not a time for smiling. “Anyway, I rented a car and drove out here. I spent hours searching for 112 Ocean Avenue.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t find it?”
“No. Though I know it exists. It’s a real place, you know?” She shook her head. “This was a while ago now, so phones didn’t have GPS at the time, and the car didn’t have a unit. I couldn’t locate it at all.” She looked out the car window, touched her fingers to the glass. “I didn’t want to go back to the city right away, so I decided to do some driving, some exploring. I’d never been to Long Island before.”
She let out a long breath. God, that was such a different time. Her mom was still alive, her dad healthy. So much could change in such a short while.
A gentle caress on her arm caught her attention, and she looked over at Ryan. “And that’s how you found it?”
She narrowed her eyes at him even as her lips curved. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?”
“Kinda.”
He flashed her a quick grin. “Good. Tell me how you found the spot.”
“Amityville was a bust, so I kept driving until I got hungry. I got off the highway at Wainscott. I found a cute café right on the pond. It spoke to me. I loved it every bit of it. It was November, so there were no tourists or summer people around. It was quiet and pretty, very picturesque. I got a hotel room for the night and spent the next day walking around. I just knew it was the place.”
“Did you always write?”
“I started out as a freelance journalist when I moved to New York, women’s magazines mostly, the Sunday supplement in the paper, but I always wanted to write novels.”
“Take Exit 54 in one point two miles,” the GPS said.
“Almost there,” she said, the weight in her chest alive again.
He glanced over at her once more, tenderly touched his knuckles to her cheek. “I’m here for you, Grace.”
She did not want to feel what she was feeling for him. It was too much for one day. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks.”
They followed the directions and found the hospital without incident. Ryan pulled into the first available parking spot and killed the engine. The ticking engine was very loud.
Grace took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the entrance. What would she find beyond those glass doors? Nothing good. She didn’t know if she could show the naked emotion she was probably going to face. It was probably something best done alone. She turned to Ryan. “Thank you for bringing me out here.” Her gaze went back to the entrance. “I’ll probably be awhile. You don’t have to wait. You can go back to the city.”
Ryan laughed, but not with any humor. “You’re not getting rid of me now, Grace.” He rested his wrist on top of the steering wheel and leaned over toward her. “Besides, how would you get home?”
She didn’t want him to go, but she needed to face this alone. “There are trains to Penn Station.”
“Please,” Ryan said, opening the driver’s door. “I’m not letting you take the train back to the city.” He got out of the car, circled around the passenger’s side, and opened the door. He held out his hand to her. “I can wait as long as you need me to.”
She took his hand and let him help her out of the car. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have him around. She was very deeply frightened, but she had to admit, he gave her some strength. She looked toward the entrance again and willed herself to move forward. He took her hand, and they walked across the parking lot together.
The automatic doors parted and cool air touched her skin when they entered the lobby. An older woman was sitt
ing at the information desk, a large security guard sitting beside her.
“The Yankees are going nowhere this year,” the woman said as Grace approached. “Downright depressing. The Boss would’ve done something about it. God rest his soul.”
“Excuse me,” Grace said, her hands on the desk. “I’m looking for a patient?”
“Sure,” the woman said, adjusting her glasses. “What’s the name?”
“Roland Betancourt.”
She typed the information into her computer, then pointed toward the elevator bank. “Take the green elevators to the fifth floor. When you exit, make a left. He’s in room 502.”
“Thank you,” Grace said, sickening butterflies churning in her stomach.
Before she could walk away, Ryan leaned over the desk. “The Phillies are going to take it all this year. Just sayin’.”
The woman cawed with laughter. She looked to Grace. “Your young man is mentally unstable. He needs professional help.”
Your young man. She liked the way that sounded. It may not be the actual truth, but it was a nice thought. Grace cracked a smile. She couldn’t help herself. “I think he’s beyond help.”
The guard shook his head sadly. “Poor boy probably thinks the Eagles have a chance too. Such a shame.”
Ryan grinned. “This is Long Island, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you guys be Mets fans?”
The woman affected a scowl and pointed toward the elevators. “Get away from my desk.”
They left the staff smiling and went for the elevators. Grace’s stomach flipped and plummeted. The hard truth was waiting up there. Ryan took her hand as the elevator door closed. She threaded her fingers through his, grateful for his support and for his stubbornness. She was glad he was by her side. It was nice not to be alone for a change, nicer than she could have ever imagined.
They exited the elevator and turned left just as the woman told them, passing by a couch and coffee table, an overstuffed chair and a rack of magazines. They walked down a hallway lined with plaques and followed the directions toward the right room number.
They approached the door just as a woman in a white lab coat was leaving. She looked at them over her glasses. “Ms. Betancourt?”
“Yes,” Grace said.
“I’m Dr. Armex. Your father has just been brought to his room. We are admitting him for the night. If I can have a few minutes of your time, I’d like to go over his case with you.”
“Okay,” Grace said, swallowing back her fear.
“Good,” the doctor said. “We can talk in my office.” She looked from Grace to Ryan. “Is this your husband?”
“No,” Grace said. “He’s…” He’s what? “My friend.”
Dr. Armex nodded. “I can only discuss details with immediate family members.”
“It’s okay,” Ryan said. “I’ll be waiting for you back at the couch we passed.”
“Are you sure?” Grace asked.
“Of course.”
“It could be a while.”
“I love People Magazine.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
The doctor headed down the hallway, and Grace gave Ryan one last look over her shoulder before following. Dr. Armex opened her office door and gestured for Grace to take a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs. The doctor sat in her leather chair and folded her hands on top of the desk. She studied Grace intently for a moment before she spoke.
“As I’m sure the people at Westview have explained to you, your father’s motor skills are deteriorating. This fall will not be his last. The time is coming when he will need to be confined to a wheelchair.”
Grace’s heart sank. This was worse than she imagined.
The doctor leaned forward. “Don’t lose hope, Ms. Betancourt. He is in very good hands. And we will do our best to make him as comfortable as possible. But I do worry about you. Caregivers and family members often suffer from anxiety and depression. Do you have some sort of support system? I can recommend several groups and resources in the area if you’re interested in connecting with others.”
“No,” Grace said. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to deal with this alone, Ms. Betancourt.”
“I’m not alone.” It was an automatic response, just something to placate the doctor, but she couldn’t help but think of Ryan when she said it.
Dr. Armex nodded. “Okay. But if you’d ever like to know more, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Grace forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you. I’d like to see him now if I could.”
“Of course,” the doctor said. “Do you remember where his room is located?”
“I do.”
She stood and shook the doctor’s hand. She stepped out of the office and made her way back down the hallway to her father’s side.
Chapter Six
The sight of her dad sleeping in the hospital bed with all those bandages on his head made her physically ill. Tubes came out from every part of him, bags of things running into him, monitors beeping off his vital stats. She wanted to sob, to break down and curl into a little ball by his side and cry and cry and cry, but she promised herself she would never cry in front of him, and she wasn’t about to break that promise now. He needed her to be optimistic, to believe in him. She dragged a guest chair over to the side of the bed, the rough cloth seat chafing her thighs as she tried to get somewhat comfortable.
“Hi, Dad,” she said and took his withered hand. She looked down at his face and could not think of one thing to say. She had to blink hard and look up at the ceiling or the tears were going to spill down her face and she could not allow that. She gathered herself and tried again.
“You remember the website I told you about? Well, it came out great, and my web designer, his name is Ryan, is really nice. He’s here now actually, out in the waiting area.” A slight flush colored her cheeks as it often did when she thought of him, and she pushed the feelings aside. “You’d like him, I think. He’s from Philly. He boxes. And he’s really smart.” ‘Nice’ and ‘smart’ sounded so lame. What else could she tell her dad though? That he was supremely hot? That he was a great kisser? That he had an amazing body?
Hell, no.
She licked her lips and looked back at her father. “We’re still getting to know one another, but I think I might like him a lot.” She smiled at her own foolishness, her own childish longing. But even her own happiness made her sad looking at her dad’s still form. She stroked the back of his hand. “I really want you to meet him.”
She lapsed into silence while the machines beeped and footsteps passed in the hallway. She could not think of a single thing more to say. If only there was something she could do to fix him, make him better. But there was nothing. She had to come to terms with the fact that he was never going to get better, that he was never going be able to meet Ryan in any real way.
She sat beside him for a long time, until her head started to hurt from holding back the tears. Her father slept on, oblivious to her anguish. For that, she was thankful. She was exhausted when she finally got up, kissed him goodbye, left the room.
Ryan was sitting on the couch just as he promised, reading a magazine. There was a woman sitting next to him, and an unshaved man. Ryan rose to his feet when she approached and took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”
“No.” It was the only honest answer.
“What can I do?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Grace,” he said and put his arm around her shoulders. “Let me take you home.”
They walked out to the parking lot. The night was dark and there were many stars. She looked up to see if she could locate the comet again, but it was nowhere to be found. Either the lights were too bright or it was gone.
Ryan opened the passenger door for her, and she got inside the car. The drive back to the city was uneventful and they passed it in silence. She was grateful for his quiet company. She was not in the mood for conversati
on.
He found a spot not far from her building and parked the car. He killed the engine and glanced over at her, concern in his eyes. “Can I walk you upstairs?”
Her gaze flicked toward her building, traveled up the façade to the windows of her dark apartment, the silence that awaited her there. She wasn’t going to be able to get any writing done tonight. It was too early to go to sleep. She didn’t want to watch a movie or read. She didn’t even have a bottle of whiskey to see her through the long, lonely hours. If she sent him away, all she was going to do was sit on her couch and obsess. She didn’t think she could bear to be alone with her own thoughts right now. She met his eyes and nodded.
The elevator was working, but they took the stairs instead, walking slowly up to the fifth floor. She let him in, flicked on the lights, and then locked the door behind them. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. It was still too fresh. She shook her head. “No.”
He nodded slowly and opened his arms to her.
She didn’t know how a simple hug could be her total undoing, but when she stepped into his arms, something released within her and all the stress, all the sadness and fear, broke, and the walls she had so painstakingly constructed around herself crumbled. His arms folded around her, enveloping her in warmth, and with a ragged breath, she gave herself over to his strength and cried.
“It’s going to be okay, Grace,” he murmured, gently stroking her hair.
It wasn’t going to be okay, not in the slightest, but here, with him, in this one moment, it was. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against his chest, and let the steady beat of his heart soothe her tired soul. It was such a relief to be able to unload some of the devastating weight. Tears came to her eyes and instead of holding them back, she let herself cry in his arms. She wept for her dad, but for herself too, for all the stress and the grief and the sorrow. They stood in her living room, clinging to one another as the sobs wracked her chest. She let go in a way she never had before, and when her tears finally tapered off, she was bone-weary, but also cleansed.