“Yeah … sure.” I don’t know why this catches me off guard, but for some reason it does. It’s still hard to grasp that Noah is the praying type. “Thanks again for keeping Riley.”
Now that I’m off the phone, I can think of nothing better than sleep, so I make a beeline for my bed.
I wake up early the next morning, and all I can think about is Dad as I hurry to shower and dress and head back to the hospital. I pray for him on the way, but as I park my car and go inside, I’m still plagued with questions. Is he okay? Did he have a good night? Will they be able to do the surgery today?
As I reach the ICU unit and his room, I am shocked and scared when I see that he is not there. I turn and look for a nurse, then run down the hall until I find one just coming out of another room. “My dad?” I say breathlessly. “What happened? Where is he?”
“Hank Hanover?” she asks, although I know she must remember me since she’s shooed me out of his room enough times.
“Yes! Is he okay?”
“They’re prepping him for surgery.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock yet,” I point out.
She gives me a blank look.
“And no one even called me.”
“Since Hank regained consciousness and signed the release, there was no need to call you.”
I hold back my irritation now. “So … when will he go to surgery?” I ask in a tightly controlled tone.
“The surgeon should be here around nine.”
“Who is the surgeon?” I demand.
“Dr. Swenson.”
Okay, at least that makes me happy. I have a good feeling about that woman. She seems intelligent and caring. Still, does that make her a good surgeon? I consider asking the nurse but assume she’d feed me a line.
“Will you be in the waiting room?” she asks, or perhaps it’s a hint.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll let Dr. Swenson know.”
“Thank you.” I force a smile now, realizing that this woman will probably still be caring for Dad after his surgery. No need to make any enemies here. Then I go back to that detestable waiting room and prepare to wait. I pick up a recent issue of Renovation Style magazine and open it. Then, for one long hour, I attempt to lose myself among the glossy pages. I try to distract myself by focusing on all the wonderful things I might do to the house on Lilac Lane—and how proud Dad will be when it’s done.
“Miss Hanover?”
I look up to see Dr. Swenson. She’s wearing scrubs and a serious expression. I quickly stand, and the magazine falls into a puddle of pages at my feet. “What’s wrong?” I ask fearfully.
“Nothing’s wrong. Nurse Kelly said you wanted to see me.”
“Oh well, I was just taken by surprise that Dad’s surgery was scheduled so early. I mean, no one called me. Is everything okay? I mean, is my dad—Has his condition worsened?”
She smiles now. “No, he seems to be fairly stable. I just happen to be a morning person, so I like doing surgeries like this as early as can.”
“Oh…” Relief washes over me now.
“It’s still something of an emergency procedure,” she points out. “I think it will be a double bypass, but we may decide to do more once we’re in there and are able to look around.”
I cringe at the idea of Dr. Swenson with her hands in my dad’s open chest cavity, poking around his heart and making assessments. It’s a good thing I didn’t go into the medical field.
“Any other questions?”
“How long will it take?”
“That depends, but I expect to be finished around noon.”
“Oh…”
“I’ll let you know how it went as soon as I’m done. Okay?”
“Yes.” I nod eagerly. “I’d appreciate that. My dad, well, he’s all I really have. I mean, I do have a dog. But my dad … well…” I feel my face flushing, and I know I probably sound like the village idiot.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I understand. Trust me; I will do my very best.”
“Thanks.”
And I actually do trust her. But I’m still scared. I replace the magazine on the table, then head for the chapel to do some serious pleading with God.
It’s close to one by the time Dr. Swenson makes another appearance in the waiting room. I can tell by her expression that things went well.
“How is he?” I ask before she has a chance to say anything.
“He’s in recovery, and everything looks good.”
“So it went okay?”
“Yes.” She nods. “Although I was surprised that we ended up having to do a quadruple bypass.”
“Four?”
“Yes. But better four now than having him back here six months from now to do it again.”
“That makes sense … I guess.”
“He’ll be in recovery for a few hours, then it’s back to ICU for careful observation for at least twelve hours and probably more like twenty-four.”
“When can I see him?”
“In a couple of hours. But then only briefly.”
“And after twenty-four hours?”
“If there are no complications, he’ll be moved to a regular patient room, and he’ll remain there until he’s strong enough to go home.”
“When will that be?”
“I’d count on at least five days … maybe a week.”
“Will he need help when he does go home?”
“Probably. We can talk about all that later.”
“Yes.” Then I reach out and shake her hand. “Thank you, Dr. Swenson. Thank you so much!”
She smiles. “You are very welcome. Your father seems like a really nice guy. He was even making jokes before they put him under anesthesia. And the nurses in ICU seem to like him.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, sounds like my dad.”
I call Holly and then Noah, telling them that the surgery went well. Holly offers to come over and keep me company, but I assure her I’m fine. And Noah asks when I want my dog back.
“I do miss him,” I admit. “But I’ll probably be here all day again. Of course, you may want to get rid of him by now.”
“No, he’s fine. Although Im afraid Kirsten might go through withdrawal when it’s time for him to go home.”
“Doesn’t she go back to her mother’s?”
He sighs. “Maybe.
“Maybe?”
“We’re having a little disagreement about custody just now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s just that I thought Kirsten was going to stay with me this summer, and now Camille is changing the rules.”
“That’s too bad… I hope you work it out.” There’s that baggage thing.
“I’m sure we will. Why don’t you give me a call later and let me know what you want to do about Riley.”
“Thanks. I want to be here when Dad wakes up, but that might be a couple of hours still.” Noah says that’s fine and not to worry. Then I hang up and head out for a quick bite to eat at a nearby deli. After which I come straight back to the hospital, where I get to wait some more. I keep checking, but it’s close to four by the time I’m allowed to see my dad. At least he’s awake, although he seems really groggy, and my attempts at conversation are mostly one-sided. His brain is surely scrambled, and I’m not even sure that he’s cognizant of what just happened—either his heart attack or the bypass surgery. But I make fluffy chitchat, and when he eventually drifts off to sleep, I quietly exit.
“My dad seems a little mixed up,” I say to the nurse at the desk. “He hasn’t suffered any brain damage or anything, has he?”
“No no, I really don’t think so. It’s normal for someone to be confused after surgery. It’s simply the aftereffects of anesthesia combined with the pain meds.”
“Okay. When do you think he’ll be more normal?”
“Probably not until tomorrow. They usually sleep a lot during the first twelve hours.” She smiles at me. “If I were you, I’d j
ust go home. I doubt that he will even miss you. Then you can come back tomorrow and spend as much time as you like with him.”
So I take her advice, and after one more “visit” with Dad, where I do all the talking and he’s pretty much out of it, I finally tell him I love him and that I’ll see him tomorrow, and then I go home. I get here at around six but realize I need to turn right back around and get Riley, so I call Noah to arrange a time for me to come by.
“Why don’t I bring him to you,” he offers. “I have to drop Kirsten at her mom’s anyway. And it might make the trip a little easier if I have Riley with me.”
I make a joke about him turning my dog into a codependent, but then I thank him for bringing Riley home. I look around, and without any hesitation I go to work straightening my messy apartment. Okay, there’s not a lot I can do about boxes and stuff, but I do get rid of the dirty dishes, hiding them in the oven since I don’t have a dishwasher and there’s just no time to wash them. I take out the garbage and open up the place so that it smells a little fresher. I toss shoes and clothing and junk into my room and shut the door. I quickly run the vacuum cleaner and even put on a jazz CD, then fluff the pillows and light several scented candles.
Wait. What do I think is going to happen here? Feeling foolish, I quickly blow out the candles, waving my hand through the air to disperse the smoky smell of hot wicks. But I leave the music on, turned down low.
Now I start pacing nervously around my small space. Good grief, what is wrong with me? Why should I even care if Noah Campbell is coming to my apartment? I have absolutely no interest in him. Do I? No, I don’t. I can’t anyway, not after experiencing the tremendous pain of a broken relationship. He may or may not be the primary guilty party in his divorce, but I’m sure he’s not completely innocent, and I can’t take any risks. Plus, not only is he divorced, but he has a child, and from what I can see, he has custody challenges—baggage times twenty. I’ve seen enough of my students caught in this trap, and I agree with the experts who say the kids suffer most. No way do I want to be involved in something like that. Not that Noah’s giving me the option or anything, but I just need to set some boundaries in my own mind. I turn off my CD player and even consider undoing what little cleaning I did but then realize that’s pretty ridiculous. Instead, I turn on HGTV and check my e-mail.
I’m beginning to get totally engrossed in Buy My House when I hear a knock at the door and an anxious, familiar bark. I jump up to let Riley in before the neighbors complain. Despite the huge pet deposit I paid, having a big dog in a small apartment is still an issue.
“Hello,” I say as I jerk open the door, allowing Riley to leap through and nearly knock me over again. “Down!” I command, trying to remind him who’s boss but also feeling relieved that he’s glad to see me. I think I’d started to develop a complex over his attachment to Kirsten. After Riley and I exchange greetings, he bounds past me as if he needs to investigate the apartment and see if everything is still in it’s proper place. Maybe he thinks another dog popped over to play with his doggy toys.
“Thank you again for keeping Riley,” I say to Noah. “You have no idea what a relief it was not to worry about him.”
“Like I said, it was our pleasure. Kirsten even suggested that I could set up play dates for the future.”
“Play dates?” I puzzle over this terminology. Is he asking me out?
He laughs. “That’s what mommies do when they need a babysitter; they take turns letting their kids visit each other’s houses and call them play dates.”
“Oh, right.” I nod as I recall what it means. How dumb can I be? Or maybe I’m just sleep deprived and stressed.
He’s still standing in the doorway, and I realize the polite thing is to ask him in, although I don’t want to look overly eager. “Uh, do you want to come in?”
“Oh, you’re probably busy.” He peers over my shoulder now, noticing the TV still running. “Is that Buy My House?”
I glance back and nod. “Yeah. Do you like HGTV?”
He grins sheepishly. “Not that I’d want my guy friends to know.”
“You’re welcome to come in and watch it if you want.”
“Sure. I had my cable turned off after I caught Kirsten watching something inappropriate. I haven’t seen HGTV in months.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” I tell him, “if you can. I know it’s pretty crowded in here.”
He grins. “Yeah, I noticed that when I picked up Riley. You getting ready to move or something?”
“Long story…”
He nods as if he understands, then flops down onto the sofa. “Hey, this is comfortable.”
“Do you want something to drink?” I offer, hoping I can follow this through if he says yes. I open my fridge and peer cautiously inside. “I have sodas and iced tea.”
“Iced tea sounds good.”
“Raspberry?” I ask tentatively.
“Great.”
So I pour us both a tall glass, hand his to him, and then sit down in the armchair that’s wedged between the sofa and the dining table. The commercials are on now, and without thinking, I mute the TV like I usually do during commercials. But suddenly the room feels too quiet. Riley is happily chewing a rawhide bone on his bed, and I feel the need to say something to fill the void.
“This isn’t really my decorating style,” I say, waving my hand over the clutter. “But I didn’t expect to still be living in this apartment by now.”
“Yeah, I guess life doesn’t always meet our expectations,” he says like he knows what’s behind my comment.
I nod. “That’s often been true for me.”
“Is that why you’re flipping the house? To make enough money for someplace else?”
“Exactly … although I’m not so sure anymore. I may just have to sell the house as is and hope I can break even.”
“Why’s that?”
“My dad… Obviously, he can’t help me at all now.”
“I thought you wanted to do it on your own anyway.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I said that, didn’t I?” I let out a long sigh. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”
“Well, I’m still available … if you need some help.”
I consider this. On one hand, it makes perfect sense. I need help if I’m going to move forward with the flip. But on another hand, I wonder if I’m just setting myself up for something. Something I don’t want…something that could end up hurting worse than a flopped flip. “I’ll think about it,” I finally say. “Right now I feel like life is up in the air. I need to figure out how Dad’s doing and what he’ll need for recovery. His girlfriend is off on a big European trip, and I might need to be his nurse and housekeeper.”
“Betty already took off?”
“You know Betty?”
“Sure. And now that you mention it, I do recall that she was going to be gone for a long time.”
“Yeah, so, anyway…” The show’s back on now, and I’m thankful to turn the sound back on. “It might be up to me to care for Dad.”
He nods, and the show goes into full gear. As we watch, we make random comments on some of the couple’s renovations and choices of materials. When the show ends, he stands up, thanks me for the tea and TV, politely sets his glass in the sink, and lets himself out the front door.
“Thanks again,” I call out. “For helping with Riley.”
He waves. “No problem.”
Then I just shake my head. “Gretchen, you are hopeless,” I say out loud, and Riley’s tail goes thump, thump, thump against the floor as if to say he totally agrees with me.
When I arrive at the hospital, a nurse tells me that Dad’s already been moved to a regular patient room. I take the elevator to the fifth floor, where I find him happily situated in his sunny new digs.
“I ate breakfast,” he excitedly tells me. “I don’t know if it was any good or not, but I finished off every last bite.” He gingerly pats his midsection. “And I’m still hungry.”
“Don’t worry. They have me on soft foods now anyway. I won’t get to sink my teeth into anything good for another day or two.”
“So, you’re feeling better then?”
“Yeah, all things considered.”
“I was surprised they did a quadruple bypass,” I admit.
“You and me both. But like the doc said, better now than later.” He chuckles. “Pretty nice-looking doc, don’t you think?”
“Dr. Swenson?”
“I never had a lady doc before,” he says. “I told Dr. Swenson that I wouldn’t mind seeing her on a regular basis.”
“What about Betty?” I ask indignantly.
“I meant professionally … as my physician.”
“Right…”
“So how are you holding up? How’s Demo Dog doing?”
I explain how Riley spent the weekend at the Campbells’ and added that Noah and Kirsten sent their best wishes. “Noah said they’d been praying for you.”
He nods. “It helped; I think the good Lord intervened.”
“Really?”
“Yep. There was a time when I thought I was a goner. Man oh man, Gretchen, I never felt so much pain in my life. It felt like someone had dropped a thousand pounds of bricks on my chest.” He rubs his arm as if reenacting it. “And my right arm hurt so bad, I’d have let someone cut it right off.”
“Glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah me too. And I’m on the mend now. I told the doc that I want to be out of here as soon as possible.”
“You’ll probably need help at home.”
“Oh, I don’t know about—”
“You’ll definitely need help, Dad. At least for a while. And I’m pretty much done with school now. I have a couple of days to clean things up, but about the time you get out of here, I’ll be free to come help.”
“What about your house flip?”
I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Dad… Maybe it was a mistake.”
A Mile in My Flip-Flops Page 11