Not Quite Forever
Page 79

Walt’s father turned his head. “Well look who showed up. Thanksgiving was a few days ago.” He paused, pulled himself up higher in the bed, refusing Millie’s help. “You’re late.”
“If it meant this much to you, Dad, you could have just said so. Faking a heart attack to get me to fly in the dead of night is overkill.” He was smiling, enjoying the half smile on his father’s face.
“Good God,” Walter sighed. “A cardiac surgeon having an MI. What are the odds?”
“Really good according to your doctor. What the hell, Dad. You had to know this was coming.”
Millie took his dad’s temperature, and adjusted the amount of solution his father was getting in his IV. “I wanna see my lab work,” he told Millie. “Make sure Stanley isn’t overdosing me with Heparin.”
“He uses the same titration for his patients as you do for yours, Dr. Eddy.”
“Still wanna see my labs.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
Poor Millie. Walt made a mental note to deliver a bottle of good wine to every nurse having the privilege of caring for his father.
Millie finished her work and moved from the room.
“She’s one of the best nurses in the unit,” his dad said after she left the room.
“And yet you treat her like crap.”
He scoffed. “I send candy at Christmas.”
Far be it for Walt to explain hospital politics to his father. “Whatever works for you, Dad. I learned during my residency to respect the nursing staff and you’d never be jostled awake at two in the morning because your patient spiked a whopping 99.7 fever.”
“I need to know that stuff.”
“No, you need the nurse to order cultures and present them to you in the morning. A good nurse knows when to call, a nurse worried she’ll be reprimanded for doing the right job will call and second-guess everything they do. I bet you never get a good night’s sleep.”
Instead of commenting, Walter picked at the tape covering his IV line. “Where is your mother?”
“I sent her home. You didn’t tell her about your heart.”
“I didn’t want to worry her.”
“Too late.”
His dad dropped his head against his pillow. “I don’t like being on this side of the chart, Walter.”
“None of us do. Sucks being human.”
His dad offered a half smile. “I’m going to have to have surgery.”
Walt picked his words carefully. “You’re always telling me how routine bypass has become.”
“It is . . . it is.”
“. . . But?”
“Wrong side of the chart. I can’t control anything while I’m under.”
Walt leaned forward, patted his father’s hand. “You’re a control freak.”
“Lotta good that’s doing me.”
“You and Dakota have a lot in common.”
His father glanced up. “How is your girl?”
“Fine. Driving Mom home.”
“Alone?”
Walt nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re braver than I am. Your mother isn’t happy with her.”
“Hence the reason why we stayed away this week.”
Walt noticed the monitor beeping as his father’s pulse increased. It was time to change the subject. “Brenda and Larry just left to get some rest. Do you want them to bring anything back with them?”
“No. But when your mother returns tell her to bring my pajamas. I’m not letting any of these people see my ass.”
His pissy disposition was proof positive he was on his way to recovery.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JoAnne’s silence from her side of the car forced insecurity up Dakota’s spine.
The drive up to the Eddy property was slow, slippery, and quiet. After only two comments about a California girl driving in the snow, JoAnne rested her head on the window and drifted off.
Good thing, too. Dakota wasn’t as secure behind the wheel as she’d like to believe. It didn’t take long to feel like she had some control over the car and the road. Still she inched up the hill and didn’t pay a lot of attention to the locals who buzzed around her like she was a sixteen-year-old who’d never driven before.
She breached the Eddy gate, pulled in front of their home, and turned off the engine. Only then did JoAnne stir.
“We’re here,” Dakota offered.
JoAnne blinked a few times and then pushed from the car without a word.
Inside the house, JoAnne moved into the kitchen and poured a glass of water.
Dakota followed, not certain what to do with herself. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?” Dakota asked, steeling herself for whatever words were coming her way.
The last time JoAnne and she had spoken, they were less than friendly.
“I need to sleep.” With that, JoAnne Eddy turned on her heel and left Dakota standing in the middle of the kitchen . . . alone.
Dakota watched Walt’s mother retreat and blew out a slow breath.
At least she didn’t have to add another ugly confrontation on top of everything else. She placed the small bag housing an overnight’s stay of belongings on the sofa in the den, and took in the scene beyond the windows.
The lake she’d tossed Walt in only a few months before was iced over . . . snow filled in the edges and made the scene something out of a movie.
On any other day, this picture might inspire something moving.