Losing Faith (Surfers Way)

by Jennifer Ryder

  “Something’s happened. Your dad is in bad shape,” she says.

  I clutch at my chest. “W-what?”

  “The hospital rang. It’s your mum.”

  “What? My mum?” Didn’t she just say it was my dad?

  “There was an incident at the hospital.”

  “What kind of incident?” I screech.

  She huffs into the phone. “Your dad won’t say but he’s talking to himself and pacing around.”

  I look to Quade. “Just tell him I’ll be right there.”

  “Anything else I can do?” Lily asks.

  I stand up and do some pacing of my own as I “um” and “ah” about what we need to take care of. Quade snatches his car keys from the table and waits by the door.

  “We’ll need to shut the shop,” I tell Lily.

  “It’s okay, I’ve sorted it out. I just got off the phone with Marco. Him and Cat are on their way in.”

  I let out a deep breath. Lily has this situation under control.

  “Can you put Dad on the phone?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  The handset ruffles. “Peppi,” he chokes out.

  “Dad, I’m on my way but you need to tell me what’s happened.”

  “Someting’s wrong wit ’er ’eart. I-I can’t lose ’er … she’s my everyting,” he whispers.

  Her heart? Oh no …

  “Dad, I’ll be right there.”

  ---

  Quade and I rush into the shop. Dad is pale and sitting at a table in the corner, staring into space.

  “You’re ’ere,” he says, slowly getting to his feet. His hand shakes as he fishes a set of keys from his pocket. “Let’s ’op in de car, Peppi.” His voice is shakier now.

  “Mr Marone, you’re in no shape to drive,” Quade says and takes him by the arm. “Get in my truck and I’ll take you both.”

  Dad gets in the back and I scramble into the front seat. I hold on to the handle as Quade manoeuvres the twists and turns of the roads to Newcastle.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but drive faster, Q.”

  ---

  The three of us rush into the emergency entry. I almost trip over my feet as I run up to the counter. “Maree Marone,” I blurt out. “I’m her daughter, and this is my dad.” I grip Dad’s hand beside me.

  The grey-haired nurse on duty checks a chart beside her. She runs her hand over her forehead, pushing the fringe from her eyes. She looks to her colleague, a lady of similar age, I’m guessing. The other woman shrugs.

  “I’ll get the doctor on shift to come out and see you shortly,” the first nurse says.

  “How long will that take? I need to know what’s going on,” I demand.

  “Peppi,” Dad says, warning in his tone.

  “How are you calm right now?” I ask him.

  Dad nods to the nurse. “Tanks, Fran. I’m sure you’re doing everyting you can for my girl.”

  “I’ll have the doctor out to see you as soon as he’s able, Enzo. And yes, I promise we’re doing everything we can.”

  With my dad to my right, and Quade to my left, I turn around and walk over to the waiting area.

  A set of bloodshot eyes look up. Really? Fuck! Can this day get any worse?

  My mother is in the hospital and she is here?

  “Mum?” Quade says, taking long strides towards her, crouching at her stiletto heels. “What are you doing here?”

  Not that I want to see this woman again, but I move to stand beside Quade. I hope everything is okay. Mrs Kelly looks up at me, her blue-green eyes holding such sorrow.

  “I-I didn’t mean it,” she stammers and shakes her head. Her skin is pale and her eyes flit about as if she’s had way too much caffeine. Then her gaze focuses on me and she chokes on her breath.

  “Mean what?” I ask, my voice gruff with unshed tears.

  “Your mother,” she whispers and casts her eyes downwards.

  My heart dives into my stomach.

  “What the hell did you do?” Quade booms.

  “We were arguing … and then she clutched at her chest.” A lone tear rolls down her face.

  Oh God. Is this really happening?

  “You gave my mother a heart attack?” I screech.

  Tears stream down Mrs Kelly’s face, which doesn’t look so perfect now with evidence of her tears, of her guilt.

  “I don’t know,” she cries. “They took her away. They won’t tell me what’s going on because I’m not family.”

  Family. What in the hell does this woman know about family?

  “You need to leave,” I snarl at her.

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” I cry out. “This is my family,” I dig at my chest with my thumb. “And since when do you even care? According to you, I’m just the plain girl in the pizza shop who sluts around. Your words.”

  Dad is suddenly at my side, but continues to move closer to Mrs Kelly. “You said dese tings about my daughter?” Dad barks, his accent coming through stronger than normal.

  Quade stands between my dad and his mum. “Mum, I think you should go,” he says in a calm, measured tone and offers his hand to her. She nods and takes it, staring into space.

  “I’m sorry,” she says to the ground, watching her feet with each step on the tiled floor as her son chaperones her out of sight.

  My dad turns and wraps his arms around me. “Ignore dat woman, Peppi. She’s just angry at the world.”

  “I know, Dad,” I say, but I can’t ignore the fact that she is the one responsible for what’s happening to my mother.

  Dad doesn’t say anything for the longest time—he just holds me. Wetness seeps into the fabric on my shoulder where his head rests.

  “She’s tough, Dad.”

  “She ’as to be,” he whispers.

  We stand for a while longer until a set of strong hands curl over my shoulders. Quade.

  “I think someone’s here to speak with you,” he says in a raspy voice.

  I look to Quade and follow his gaze, which is set on a tall man with silvery slicked-back hair. The man tucks something into the pocket of his white coat as he approaches.

  “Marone?” he says, looking between Dad and I, still locked in each other’s arms.

  “Yes,” Dad chokes out and offers his hand to the man. The doctor shakes it and clears his throat. “There’s a problem with Maree’s heart. She had a mild heart attack as a result,” he offers.

  That can’t be right. Mum has never mentioned anything about a heart problem. My mother is fit as anything. She’s always taking Charlie for walks, eating right.

  “What you mean?” Dad says, eyeing off the chart at the doctor’s side.

  “Can we see her?” I ask in a high-pitched tone before the doctor can respond.

  “I’m afraid not yet. We conducted some tests and just received her blood results. We know what the issue is. We’re rushing her into surgery now.”

  “Surgery?” my father whines and plonks down onto the bench beside us.

  The man places his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Yes. This isn’t easy to say, but you may want to contact other family members. We’re hoping she pulls through, but you need to prepare yourself … in the event she doesn’t.”

  I gasp and cover my mouth. This … this can’t be happening.

  My tummy muscles spasm, twisting and churning inside me. Bile burns its way up my throat. Oh God. I scramble to a nearby bin and empty the contents of my stomach.

  A warm hand settles between my shoulder blades and moves in slow circles. The other hand sweeps hair from my face. “You okay?” he asks in a quiet voice.

  “I need to call my brother,” I say and clear my throat, spitting the excess saliva from my mouth. What if she … what if he never gets to say goodbye?

  Tears burst from my eyes, flooding down my face. “He needs to be here. We all need to be together.”

  I straighten up and wipe the side of my mouth. Quade wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Come a
nd freshen up and then we’ll call him.”

  I turn to look for my father, finding him on the waiting bench, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are glassy, yet his focus is unwavering from the double doors to emergency.

  I crouch down in front of him, looking up into his dark eyes. “You okay for a sec, Dad?” I ask.

  “I’ll be right ’ere,” he mumbles.

  The crack in his voice and the defeat splashed over his face are heartbreaking.

  ---

  “Ricky, it’s Lace,” I choke out after he grumbles “hi” into the phone.

  “Hey, Sis,” he drawls.

  Quade squeezes my hand in his and gives me a nod.

  “You need to pack your shit and get home on the next flight.” Breathe. “We’re at the hospital. It’s Mum—”

  “Shit, what’s happened?” he says, alarm in his words.

  “Something’s wrong with her heart … she’s in surgery, but …” It’s serious enough for me to be telling you to get here before it’s too late …

  “Oh fuck.” Something scrambles in the background. “Are you okay? How’s Dad holding up?”

  “We’re in shock, I guess. Dad seems way too calm. Me, I’m the basket case. Thank God Quade is here.”

  Quade squeezes my hand in his. My saviour. He probably saved me from storming the nurse’s station on arrival and assaulting his mother.

  “Just take care of each other and keep me updated. I wanna know everything.”

  “As soon as I know more, I’ll call you.”

  “Good. I’ll ring the airline and change my ticket dates and call you back when it’s done.”

  “What do you mean you’ll change the dates?”

  “I booked my flight home last week. It was gonna be a surprise. I was gonna give Mum what she’d hounded me for for two whole years. Having me home for Christmas.” He sniffs and then huffs out a heavy breath. “Shit,” he says in a gruff voice.

  Don’t cry, Rick. If you lose your shit, so will I. I’ve gotta be strong for Dad, for Mum—for all of us.

  “She’ll love that,” I tell him as I close my eyes and hope to God that Mum makes it. Christmas will never be the same without her. Nothing will be the same without her.

  “What about Josefine?” I say, changing the topic. “Is she coming too?”

  “Safe to say Josefine and I won’t be spending any more time together.”

  I don’t miss the coldness in his voice. “What happened?”

  “Things went to hell in a hand-basket, is what happened. I’ve been packing up my shit, her shit … I would’ve come home earlier, but guess I’ve been trying to better prepare myself for all the I-told-you-so’s.”

  “I’m sorry, Rick.” Whatever happened, that totally sucks. I know he was really invested in their relationship. Two years of his life with her, and now they’re over?

  “Don’t be, Lace. You can kick my arse when I get home for being such a dumbarse when it comes to picking the wrong girl.”

  Another hint as to why they broke up.

  My brother and I say our goodbyes. He tells me he loves me, something he hasn’t done in years. Of course I tell him I love him back. Regardless of whether he’s been a giant pain in my arse since I was a kid, he’s my big brother. He’s a part of me.

  After a long hug with Quade, the two of us return to the waiting room. I just needed a moment to get myself together. Dad doesn’t need to see me falling apart at the seams.

  When we get there, Dad is like a garden statue, still in the same position we left him. I snuggle into his side, wrapping my arm around his lower back and kissing the greyed hair at his temple.

  “I rang Marco,” he says in a soft voice. “I couldn’t tell ’im. I ’ung up.”

  “Shit. I can do that, Dad.” Whatever I can to take the load off you.

  “After I ’ung up, I tought I’d try your Nonna. I couldn’t even dial ’er number. I was tinking da words … but dey wouldn’t come out, Peppi. If I say it, it makes it real.”

  “I’ll make the calls.”

  He places his hand on my knee. “Just wait ’til we ’ave an update, okay?” His bloodshot eyes beg me to hold off. So I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to support him in this situation.

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll wait.”

  ---

  My neck is stiff from the angle I’ve perched myself in for God knows how long. The last report we had seemed like forever ago, when they told us she was still in surgery. I sit up straight and stretch my arms over my head.

  I check my phone, and see there’s a message from Ricky:

  Ricky: Flights sorted. Be there Wednesday after lunch. Tell Mum to hang in there xox

  I let out a heavy sigh, relieved that my brother is on his way. The problem is, what will he be walking in to?

  I look for Dad in the surrounding chairs, but instead find him pacing in front of the double doors. I don’t have the heart to tell him to sit down. I know he’s doing what he needs to do to get through this. If that involves wearing himself out walking back and forth, then I’m not going to stand in his way.

  I watch as he takes each step, hyper-aware of the worry coming off him in spades.

  A warm set of lips plant themselves on my forehead, leaving a soft kiss on my skin. Quade wraps his arm around me, bringing my head to rest on his shoulder.

  “Do you think your dad is okay?” Quade asks, pointing to my father who continues to plant one foot in front of the other.

  “I don’t know,” I say, because well, I have no clue. There are only two ways this could go …

  I look up into Quade’s tired blue eyes. He looks exhausted. He literally dropped everything today and brought us to the hospital. He’s been here for me, for our family. He’s a beautiful, beautiful man.

  “Thank you for being here, Quade. It means the world.”

  He nods, and kisses me softly on the lips. “Your family is my family, Lace. This is just another mountain to climb. We’re climbing it together.” Quade reaches on the other side of him and brings back a cushion. He positions it on his lap and pats it. “Get some sleep, huh?”

  “I’m not tired,” I lie.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lace. I love you, but you look like shit.”

  I snort. “I adore your honesty.”

  “Just close your eyes. Try and rest. I promise as soon as anyone comes in, I’ll wake you.”

  I let out a worried breath and nestle against the pillow on his lap, curling my legs up underneath me on the bench. Quade teases his fingers through my locks, smoothing stray hairs from my face. In slow strokes his fingertips run gently over my forehead, as if trying to soothe the worry away.

  Tears glide down my cheeks as I watch on in helplessness as my father continues to pace. Each cruel step just adds to the breaking of my heart.

  “It’s not fair,” I whisper.

  Another kiss to my temple. Quade slips his hand into mine. I weave my fingers amongst his and hold tight.

  I close my eyes.

  Another kiss.

  As the tears seep from my eyes I have to try so hard not to imagine a world without her. A world where my father’s will to live will be crushed. A world where my heart will be decimated. She’s too young. We can’t lose her.

  I think about the times she nagged me to clean my room. Tried to get me to take driving lessons again. When she begged me on my nineteen and twentieth birthday to let her and dad mark the occasion. When I shut her down and told her no. On my twenty-first when I finally relented, saw sense, and let my mum celebrate my birthday.

  Why did I have to be so stubborn all those times? Why did I steal the memories from her that she could have had? Why didn’t I listen?

  Why didn’t I tell her more often that I loved her?

  Why? Why? Why?

  My shoulders jerk.

  “Lace, wake up,” a deep voice croons close to my ear.

  “Mum … I’m sorry.” My tongue seems to swallow my words as my eyes focus on my
father. His feet are planted to the spot in front of the door, his back to us.

  The tall man is back. This time he’s in blue scrubs, just like Mum wears. Just like she wore.

  Oh God.

  “Mr Marone,” the man says.

  I sit up. Quade helps me stand, my legs weak. My feet move as if I’m wearing lead boots as we make our way to my father’s side.

  “I have some news,” the man says, looking between the three of us.

  Please let it be good.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “I have news,” he repeats, placing his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Good news. The surgery went to plan. Maree is going to be okay.”

  “Tank de Lord Jesus,” Dad says, screwing his eyes shut and making the sign of the cross with his hand from his head down to his heart, and then across from one shoulder to the other in a horizontal line. It’s the single most religious thing I’ve ever heard him say or see him do. I feel like singing hallelujah myself.

  “As we mentioned before, Maree suffered a very mild heart attack. We inserted a cardioverter defibrillator just below her collarbone. Simply put, the device will help regulate the electrical problems with the heart which caused her to faint and subsequently go into cardiac arrest.”

  “Is dis someting common? Inserting a, a ding?” Dad asks.

  “Mr Marone, your wife is at a high risk of cardiac arrest due to ventricular arrhythmia or what we call VT. Maree is extremely lucky that she was at work and had a colleague notice that she wasn’t acting like her usual self. I think coming out of it with a very mild heart attack is a lot more favourable outcome than what could have happened should she have been at home in Runaway.”

  Dear God. We could have lost her?

  “Mum never said anything about her heart. I mean, she eats healthy, exercises,” I offer. “I just don’t understand how she could have a problem like this.”

  “Dear, VT happens to seemingly healthy people more than you know.”

  “When can we see ’er?” Dad says in a croaky voice.

  “She’s in intensive care for the moment. I promise you’ll be seeing her at the first opportunity.”

  ---

  I smell coffee. Cheap-arse instant coffee. Where in the hell am I?

  I pry open my eyelids and am met with stark-white surroundings. Black spots prickle my vision as I bolt upright from the bench.