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The rest of the time I’ve been scrambling. I spent time with Bill and supported May as we discussed his estate and made sure everything was in place should the worst happen while he’s in the operating room. The bypass operation has a huge success rate, but there’s always the exception to the rule. Something nobody wants to think about.
The retired Ashleigh Lake lawyer we’ve been working with for years came over and made sure Bill’s will is updated and signed and every last loose end tied up. I’m walking around with a permanent constriction in my throat. Not only is the stress of the situation eating me, but I feel as if I’m staring straight into my life forty years on. Except there aren’t seven children and one grandchild surrounding my hospital bed, trying to hide their tears, joking around as if this were just another family dinner. The jokes only serve to hide that we are all secretly freaked out.
For now, we’ve been officially booted out of the hospital so that Bill can get a good night’s rest before his operation.
“Thanks for helping with Dad’s admin,” Derek says as we walk into a diner close to the hospital.
“It’s nothing.” It’s an honor. It’s the least I can do. It would be devastating if this were the last thing I get to do for Bill.
Derek has been spread thin with Hannah and the long drive to Montpelier. He’s spent more time keeping things ticking over at work because it’s close to home, while I, in my single zero-responsibility status, could run around sorting out paperwork. Ethan has been dealing with all the other farm-related admin. Liam’s FaceTime calls have been invaluable in this crisis. He’s tried to put us at ease as he started the journey from East Africa. He’s the only one that really understands all the medical jargon but will only arrive over the weekend.
From a corner in the diner, Lucy waves at us. She’s with Raiden, Georgiana, Rachel, and Ethan. It’s the first time in a very long time that so many of us are together like this. Weddings and life-threatening heart attacks. Hopefully no funeral. It’s the way of the world.
May is sitting at the head of the table with Hannah next to her, coloring in the complimentary kiddie’s entertainment. As I take an empty seat, May looks up and gives me a small smile. The past four days have left deep tracks on her face, accentuating every wrinkle and line.
As soon as Derek sits down next to his daughter, he pulls her close for a hug and a kiss and my heart pangs. For everything Derek has been through, he got the richest reward.
I glance around the table. We all look a bit struck by too-bright headlights, eyes wide and white. Yep, deep down, we’re all petrified.
“I’ll need a lift in tomorrow,” Lucy says from beside me, a paper napkin already shredded into a pile in front of her. “Can I come with you, Hunter? Mom says you’re already driving but I’m not sure if there’s space.”
“Sure thing. There’s space.” We’re all going to be here to sit out the operation and make sure Bill comes out of it still breathing, heart beating, alive and good for another twenty years at least.
The waitress comes around to take our orders, and once she’s gone there is a lull in the conversation.
“Have you heard from Beth, Hunter?” May asks. Her voice is almost a whisper, but even over the noise coming from the rest of the diner, a collective hush falls over the table.
Everybody’s eyes are on me, waiting with bated breath.
I drop my gaze. We’ve had a few more messages between us, mostly about Bill and his operation. When I at last took the plunge and asked how and when we’d see each other again, her reply wasn’t exactly encouraging.
It’s crazy at work. Please give me time. I loved my stay in Ashleigh Lake, but it’s all been too much. Just let me know if Uncle Bill pulls through.
The only thing her last message told me was that she was overwhelmed and confused. I took my own time to respond, sensing there was a lot weighing on my answer.
I didn’t get to say some things while you were here. I get that your week here was a bit of an emotional bulldozer. But I love you. Always have. Always will.
And since then, there’ve been crickets. She hasn’t responded to my message, and it’s left me feeling raw and stripped bare.
Right now though, I can’t think further than tomorrow and the outcome of Bill’s operation. I glance around the table. “Beth’s back at work and pretty swamped.”
May reaches for my hand. “But you’re talking?”
“Yes.” It’s a half truth, but I need to nip this conversation in the bud.
“What’s the news on Collingwood Farm?” Rachel asks.
With a slow inhale, I shrug. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
Since Bill’s heart attack over the weekend, the farm’s sale and my milk supply have been the last things on my mind. It did occur to me that if Brodie Farm also stops producing and Collingwood Farm gets sold for development, I’d be down forty percent with my raw product. At that point, I might as well close up shop. I don’t know why, but the idea of closing the factory sat rather comfortably in my head. Not for a second did I freak out; not like that day weeks ago now when I got declined for a simple loan.
Thank the universe that the waitress arrives at that moment with a tray laden with sodas. I’m off the hook for now.
We return to more mundane and logistical discussions of everyday things and manage to get through dinner. When we all walk to our respective cars, May rests her hand on my arm.
“I came with Derek but let me drive home with you. Just you and me, alone.”
I glance toward Derek on May’s other side. Nowadays we communicate with a slight nod alone.
