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The next morning, we dine on waffles and fruit, then Lindy packs our bags. I have my driver meet us out front of the Mark and take us to NYU Langone Hospital. I’ll have him wait out front for us while we go see if Dad has made any progress.
Alone in the elevator with Lindy, I finally find the right moment to ask her the question that’s been on my mind for days. I think of Dad lying there, all of us begging him to come back. Of her, leaning over him, whispering words.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
She looks up at me. “Of course.”
I clear my throat, running a hand over the back of my neck. “When we found my dad unconscious, what did you say to him to make him wake up?”
“Oh.” She looks at me, slightly embarrassed. “Um, I just told him, ‘I know you miss her, I know she’s waiting for you, but it's not time yet. Your son needs you.’”
All the breath falls out of my chest.
She continues. “I was scared that he might… if the opportunity to—move on—came to him, he might take it. Too early. Thank goodness he came to.”
This girl, this angel, reached my father when no one else could.
I don’t know what to say. What to do. I give a simple, “Thanks.”
“It’s going to be alright,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. She grabs my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze as we ride up to his room. She always seems to know when I’m feeling off and what to do to make me feel better.
When the elevator stops, she lifts her head. As the door opens, she drops my hand from hers, leaving two cold patches where there had been warmth.
We enter his room to find my dad sitting up, chatting with a woman in light blue scrubs.
“Looks like we’ve got company, Dante.” She stands, her dark ponytail swishing as she moves.
“Dad!” I rush over to his side, overjoyed at his recovery.
With Lindy I’m constantly confused by my emotions but with Dad it’s easy. I feel nothing but relief and love as he reaches up to wrap his strong arm around my shoulders.
“Damian. Thanks for coming by.” His voice chokes as he pulls me tight. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too. Lindy is here too. Do you remember her from the other night?” I step back, letting him see her.
He eyes Lindy, his face breaking into a wide smile. “I bumped my head. Didn’t get dementia. How could I forget a woman like her?” It’s so good to hear him joke after all this time. He asks her, “Is my son treating you well?”
She glances over at me, laughing. “Too good, I’m afraid. We spent last night in the penthouse at the Mark Hotel. Separate rooms of course,” she quickly adds.
Lindy helps herself to the seat beside Dad, the one the nurse has just opened up. She looks perfectly comfortable as she settles in, grabbing my dad’s hand in hers as she talks softly with him.
The nurse crosses the room to me. It’s difficult to tear my gaze away from Lindy and Dad and redirect my attention as she holds out her hand to me. I force myself to focus.
She has smile lines around her warm eyes as her face breaks into a grin. “Hey there. I’m Dolores. I’ll be your dad’s live-in till he gets back on his feet.”
“Great to meet you,” I say, shaking the woman’s hand. Already knowing she’s fully vetted to even be on this floor, I ask out of politeness, “How long have you been nursing?”
“A little bit about me—I’m New York born and bred. Graduated from nursing school at NYU a zillion and a half years ago, worked in various hospitals across the state for a few decades when my friend introduced me to a man named Cash Bachman. I helped out with his brother during a tough time”—Dolores pauses a moment, either out of respect for Cash or to take a breath, not sure which one— “which led to me becoming a private nurse with the family for the past few years. I recently stayed with Ashley and Boss as their night nurse when they had their little one.”
“Thank you so much for all you’ve done for the family,” I say. “We’ll make sure you’re comfortable. I promise.”
Dolores gives another warm smile. “I don’t need much.” She laughs. “Just a bed and a dresser. I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll be back in a few.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she calls, “Be right back, Dante. Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone.” Laughing again.
“You got it,” Dad says. He seems lighter, more like his old self. He watches Dolores as she leaves, her dark ponytail swishing as she steps out the door.
“Is there anything we can get you, Mr. Bachman?” Lindy asks. “Are you hungry?”
