[Finding Emma 03.0] Megan's Hope

by Steena Holmes

  August

  Megan rested against Peter’s chest. His arms wrapped around her waist as they stood there and watched their world unravel.

  “It’s not fair,” Peter whispered. His grip tightened and he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

  They stood outside of Jack’s hospital room where he was resting, finally. They’d stood there for the past hour, just watching as nurses hurried back and forth into his room, unable to go in and see for themselves how he was doing.

  Megan counted the seconds it took for his chest to rise and fall, waiting for each breath to happen and praying it wouldn’t stop. It couldn’t stop. They weren’t ready.

  “He’ll be okay. He has to be. We still need him.” Megan whispered the words; her hands sheltered the baby within her, as if to protect it.

  Earlier today, while in their backyard having an outdoor barbecue, Jack had slumped over in his chair while Emma was doing a play in front of him. Thankfully, Peter had been watching from his post at the barbecue and rushed over to Jack, and yelled over his shoulder at Megan to call the ambulance.

  Tears welled up in Megan’s eyes as she thought about the look on her daughter’s face as she stared at Jack. Saddness. Despair. Finality. Something a child so young should never have to experience. When the ambulance had arrived, Megan gathered Emma in her arms and sat with her off to the side and whispered words of comfort, but she wasn’t sure Emma even heard.

  During the whole time, Emma wouldn’t take her eyes off Jack. Not even once.

  Nor had she spoken a word. That bothered Megan the most.

  They all knew Jack was ill. But to lose him now, so early…they weren’t ready for this.

  Jack was part of their family now, an integral part of their woven fabric. The girls all called him Papa, Peter looked to him as a second father figure, and she…he reminded her so much of her own grandfather, that sometimes she had to remind herself that he wasn’t. Her own parents still had a hard time with Jack and it didn’t help that Megan no longer sided with them about this.

  Megan felt a little flutter in her belly from their baby. She wanted Jack to see this little one. Looking at him now, at his pale skin and shrunken features…she knew that the hope that he’d be there when this little one was born wasn’t realistic.

  “I’m going to stay here with him, so that he doesn’t wake up alone. Okay?” Peter pulled away from her and leaned against the wall.

  “How about I get you some coffee before I leave?” Megan asked. The hospital cafeteria wasn’t too bad and they served up not only a decent cup of coffee, but most of their food was edible. It helped that the main chef in the kitchen used to own a restaurant.

  Right then, Peter’s stomach grumbled. He’d been cooking sausages and burgers on the grill before he left to ride with Jack in the ambulance.

  “I’ll see what they have for you to eat, too.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss.

  Megan passed a few nurses on her way to the cafeteria and smiled. He’ll be okay, she kept repeating to herself. He had to be okay. She didn’t want to head home and see the worry in Emma’s eyes and be unable to ease her fears. The doctor should return before she left and maybe he’d give them some good news.

  “Megan, what brings you in here?” Heather, the main chef in the cafeteria, greeted her as she walked through the doors. There weren’t many people at the tables and as she glanced at the shelves, she realized there wasn’t a lot of food either.

  “You just missed the dinner rush. We’re in the middle of cleaning up and leaving the bare bones for the night shift. I might have something left if you are hungry, though?” Heather caught her looking around for the food.

  “Not for me, but for Peter.”

  “Is Peter okay?”

  Megan nodded. “He’s fine. It’s Jack.”

  By now, everyone in town knew about Jack.

  “Oh no.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she quickly swiped them away. “How’s that little girl of yours taking his death?” Heather covered the area on her chest where her heart was with her hand.

  “He’s not dead. He collapsed at our home a few hours ago.” Megan swallowed hard past the lump stuck in her throat.

  “Thank the good Lord. That man loves my pecan tarts something fierce. Every time he comes in here, he knows how to put a smile on just about everyone’s face.”

  Megan nodded. “I came to grab some coffee for Peter and maybe a sandwich or salad? I think he’s going to be staying awhile with Jack.”

  “Of course. I have just the thing. Give me one second.”

  Megan listened to the sounds of Heather’s shoes squeak on the linoleum floor as she headed into the back kitchen area. She poured coffee into a large foam cup, grabbed some napkins and waited.

  “We did up some cabbage rolls for dinner. I hope that’s okay?” Heather held out a container to Megan.

  “He loves cabbage rolls. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  It seemed like a long walk back to Jack’s room where Peter waited. She tried to ignore the antiseptic smell that barely masked the scent of sickness. She once thought about being a nurse, when she was a teenager. She even worked as a candy striper and volunteered on a daily basis in these very halls. But it didn’t take long for her to realize the sight of blood caused her to faint and the sound of someone retching was enough to make her run for the toilet herself.

  Peter turned to her as she approached. Her heart sped up as she saw the look in his eyes.

  Everything slowed down, until she could hear the steady beat of her heart in her ears. She slowly handed Peter the cup of coffee and container she held, watched him as he took a sip of the coffee and knew he struggled with the words to tell her what happened.

  Because something happened while she was gone. She knew it.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  Jack was dead. He had to be. She could see it in her husband’s eyes, feel it in her own soul.

  The man who loved her daughter as if she was his life was gone. Dead. How did she tell Emma? How could she knowingly break her daughter’s heart?

  Peter shook his head as if trying to understand how something like this could happen.

  “He…the doctor said…we need to be prepared.”

  Prepared? What did Peter mean? Was Jack still alive then?

  “Peter? What are you saying?”

  Peter set the food container and coffee cup down on the chair just outside the door, turned and pulled her close to his chest. Whatever had just happened tore him apart: she could feel it in the way he held his body stiff, how his heart pace was fast and his breathing was labored.

  “We need to be prepared to say goodbye,” Peter whispered.

  Megan let out the breath she held.

  “How much time do we have?” She looked up into his face.

  “I’m not sure. But you should call Laurie and have her bring the girls here.”

  Megan sighed and looked into the room where Jack rested.

  “How do we tell Emma?”

  Peter didn’t reply. She remembered finding out her grandparents had died when she was young. First it was her grandfather who died of kidney failure and then a few months later, it was her grandmother. She remembered her mom telling her that her grandma had died of a broken heart. She hadn’t really known her grandparents too well, so being told they had died didn’t affect her, not nearly as much as seeing her mother collapse and lie in bed for days on end.

  She pulled her phone out of her purse and called Laurie’s cell phone.

  “How’s he doing?” Laurie asked.

  “Not good. The doctors said we need to be prepared.”

  “You want me to bring the girls?” Laurie’s voice was low, and Megan could hear the sounds of the girls in the background.

  “Thanks, Laurie. How’s Emma doing?”

  Laurie sighed. “I’m trying to keep her mind off things and asked if she wanted to help make dinner. She pulled out one of your recipe books and picked chic
ken pot pie.”

  Megan smiled. “She’s been wanting to make that for a while now.”

  “Great, so I got suckered when you wouldn’t. Thanks a lot. It’s ready to go in the oven, so I’ll place it in the fridge. You can bake it later. Hopefully it’ll taste okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  Laurie chuckled a little into the phone. “Your pantry needs to be restocked, girl. We had to get…inventive. Listen, let me clean things up and we’ll be there within half an hour. Is that okay? Or should we rush?”

  Megan stared at Jack and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest.

  “Come now, please. We’ll clean later.” She hung up and continued to watch Jack breathe.

  “Please let them make it in time. Please,” Megan whispered.

  She reached for Peter’s hand and held tight. Somehow they would get through this. Somehow.

  September

  Before Peter set down the bag he’d managed to sneak into the hospital, he made sure the door to Jack’s room was closed and the curtain drawn so his meal tray at least would be hidden from any prying eyes.

  “You’re a good man,” Jack’s voice grumbled as he struggled to find the remote that lifted him to a seating position. “Damn bed. The least they could do is make them more comfortable.”

  Peter reached for the remote that was tangled between the side rails and the mattress and handed it to Jack.

  “Let’s hope this meal doesn’t do any damage.” Peter pushed Jack’s tray of mashed peas, chicken soup, and pudding to the side before he lifted out the containers full of real food. He tried to ignore the machines that stood beside Jack, the ones that monitored his heart especially, and focused on the tray.

  He hated hospitals.

  “The only thing that is doing any damage is the baby food they insist I have to eat. Gah, Dottie could have made better.”

  Peter’s brow rose at that. “You tasted her baby food?” He bit the inside of his lip to keep the smile off his face.

  Jack scowled at him. “You know exactly what I meant.”

  “I figured they wouldn’t give you a knife, so I brought one from home.” Peter set the silverware he’d brought to the side and then opened each container. The moment the steam came out from beneath the lids and the smell filled the room, his mouth watered.

  Jack licked his lips and then tucked a napkin into the top of his shirt.

  “Did you use that recipe I told you about?”

  Peter nodded. He pushed one container towards Jack before he sat down in the chair beside the bed and held his own in his lap.

  He’d made a deal with Jack the other week: stop giving his doctor and nurses grief, and he’d bring him a nice steak dinner. He wasn’t sure whether it helped or not, but the nurses had stopped complaining to him and Megan whenever they came to visit the old man, so that had to be a good sign.

  It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that Jack hated hospitals even more than he did.

  While he watched Jack cut a small piece off the steak he’d brought and bring it to his lips, Peter took note of his skin color, pleased with what he saw.

  It had been a month since Jack collapsed at their home during a family barbecue. Between worry for Jack’s health and the kids starting school, the month had been hectic and stressful, but hopefully that was all about to end.

  They’d received the news today that they could bring Jack home soon.

  “You put honey in the marinade, right?” Jack cut another small piece and popped it into his mouth.

  “I followed your instructions perfectly. Turned out really nice, too. I’ve never used honey before but will from now on. Megan even liked it.”

  Jack grunted. “So she should. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make a good steak.”

  Peter chuckled.

  “Eat up, old man. If we get caught, I’ll be kicked out and you won’t get any more special treats from me, like the dessert Emma made.”

  “What is it?” Jack mumbled around a piece of steak.

  “Pudding.” Peter smirked at the disgusted look Jack tried to hide. “It’s a special kind, though. She thinks you’ll like it.” He promised her he would tell Jack what was hiding beneath the top layer of pudding.

  Jack just grumbled while he ate more of his steak, and then worked through the potatoes and gravy, followed by steamed corn covered in butter and a little bit of salt.

  Peter kept watch on the door, not wanting to get caught. When Megan had found out what he was doing, she argued with him to tell the doctor or at least one of the nurses, worried that the steak would be too much for him. Peter argued back that Jack was a grown man and couldn’t live on applesauce for the rest of his life. No, he wouldn’t get permission first—this was a case where he’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission.

  Once Jack had finished with his meal, Peter replaced everything back in the bag, cleaned up any evidence and then made Jack take some bites of the food he’d been provided with so no one got suspicious.

  “What about dessert?”

  Saving that container for last, not being worried that anyone would get in trouble for it, he pulled out a small round container and watched Jack’s smile turn into a frown at the top layer of chocolate pudding.

  “A man can only eat so much pudding,” he grumbled as he reached for a spoon.

  “Trust in your girl. She won’t disappoint, I promise.”

  Peter caught the suspicious glare from Jack before he sunk his spoon down into the pudding and brought out a spoon full of crushed Oreo cookies and whipped cream.

  “Well well…” Jack stuck the spoon in his mouth, licking it clean before he took another spoonful and then another. “You tell that girl of mine she done good.” Jack polished off the small container.

  “She’ll be happy to know you liked it. It was a huge hit at dinner.”

  Once Jack had finished, Peter handed him a wet cloth to clean his hands and face and then sat down. He wanted to talk to Jack about what life was going to be like once he got out. Peter didn’t want him to go back out to the farmhouse.

  “There’s something we need to talk about,” Jack said, beating Peter to the punch.

  “What’s that?” Peter wouldn’t be lying if he said he didn’t feel a measure of relief having Jack bring up the subject. In the month he’d been in this room, he’d been very adamant that if he was going to die, it would be at home, in his own bed, not here.

  “I want to talk about Christmas.”

  “That’s still months away. We’ve got lots of time to discuss that.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, we don’t. We both know I won’t make it to Christmas this year, as much as I want to. This old heart of mine is just too tired.”

  Peter shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up.” He refused to believe it. Jack should have died that day at their barbecue and the doctor himself said it was a miracle he was still here. If ever there was a fighter, it was Jack.

  “Not giving up. Just facing the truth.”

  Peter didn’t believe that.

  “I’m ready. My little girl is safe and loved. She’s happy and I’m…I miss Dottie mine. I’m ready. And I need you to be too.” Jack reached over and placed his hand on Peter’s arm and squeezed. “You’re a good dad. I’ve watched you with Em, with your other girls. You welcomed me into your family when you didn’t have to. You’re a strong man.” Jack coughed and Peter handed him his water, which he sipped. “You’re a strong man and one I would have been proud to call my son.” There was moisture in Jack’s eyes that he wiped away.

  Peter didn’t know what to say. He felt honored to hear Jack say that; in his heart, he felt the same way—that Jack was a father to him. He didn’t want to lose him. He couldn’t.

  “Well, I’m not ready. And you are like a father to me. So listen up, Dad.” Peter put some emphasis on the word and gave a soft smile. “I’ve got children who aren’t ready to lose you and a new baby on its way that will n
eed you too.”

  A faraway look appeared in Jack’s gaze. “Ah, but I can almost hear my Dottie telling me to come home. Your babies will be okay. It’s hard to let go, I know.” He swallowed and looked around the room. “But if you keep me in this room much longer, I’ll be leaving much sooner, trust me. I won’t die in this bed but I won’t stay here any longer either.” His lips tightened at the words. “Get me out of here, Peter. Let me go home where I can rest in peace.”

  Peter stood up and walked over to the opened window that gave Jack a nice view of the small wooded area beyond. “About that…” He turned around and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure you should go home, not just yet.”

  “And why not?” Jack’s voice almost turned to thunder as his heart monitor sped up and his face turned a bright shade of red.

  “Calm down, Jack. Calm down. You don’t want those nurses coming in.”

  Peter watched Jack’s chest rise and fall as he worked to control himself. Megan had taught him her breathing methods a few weeks ago, how she counted to ten when she had panic attacks. Thankfully, she hadn’t had one in a long time.

  “I think you are misunderstanding me. It’s not that I want you to stay in here forever, but I would feel more comfortable if you would come and stay with us.”

  It took a few moments for Jack to respond.

  “Doug is at the house, plus that nurse. I won’t be alone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Peter shook his head. He’d had a long talk with Megan last night about this, and she told him he wouldn’t like it. But he had to. Peter needed him to see it his way.

  “I’m not worried you’ll be alone. But you won’t be with us. Emma will want to be by your side every chance she can, you know that. And if you’re so…determined…to leave us before we’re ready, then at least let us have what little time is left together.”

  Jack rubbed the top of his bald head before he placed his arm behind his neck and rested back.

  “You’re asking for something I’m not sure I can give. I want to die at home. Dottie and I…we made a promise to each other and I aim to keep it.”

  Peter stepped forward and sat down on the edge of Jack’s bed. “Then I’ll help you keep it. When the time is close, we’ll move you back home and stay with you. I promise. You’ll die in your bed, in your house.”