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Ian and I are sitting in a private waiting room at the hospital, both of us nursing cups of shitty hospital coffee as we wait to hear about my dad. Ian could have gone back with the rest of the doctors, but he chose to stay here with me.
I might have fallen in love with him a bit more, just for that kindness alone.
Mrs. Foster offered to stay with Auden, keeping her at their house in the back until we got home. I didn’t want to drag her to the hospital for us, especially if we get bad news about my father. Auden just learned she has a grandfather. It would be too cruel to take him from her before she has the chance to get to know him.
That thought stops my heart.
Do I want Auden to have a chance to know him? Three days ago I was firmly rooted in my stance on leaving here as soon as possible, not letting her near my family here. Not wanting to taint her life with the ghosts of my past.
But is she not already making herself at home at Crane Manor? Intertwining herself into Ian’s life. Mrs. Foster’s life. My father’s life...
What if I don’t want to take her away from them now?
What if I don’t want to leave?
Can the lies of my past destroy our chance at a real life here?
Would I give up everything I’ve worked for in California so that Auden might have a real family? A father who wants to be around us, even?
I wonder if my father would have tried harder to stay in my life if he had known he had a granddaughter. Or would the yearly birthday card he sent me have just turned into two instead?
These questions are on repeat in my head as I stare at the clock on the ceiling. It ticks loudly in the silence surrounding us. Each minute that passes feels like a minute closer to my world imploding.
There’s a soft knock on the door. Ian jumps up, rushing to open it. I haven’t really paid attention to him in the chaos of everything, but now I can’t rip my eyes away from his pale, tired-looking face as the doctor walks in and closes the door firmly behind him.
“Ms. Harris?” The doctor walks over to me, blocking Ian from sight, and holds out his hand. I reach out and shake it. “I’m Dr. Marshall. I’m in charge of your father’s care while he’s here. Why don’t we have a seat?” He gestures toward the chairs we just vacated.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, refusing to sit back down.
Dr. Marshall looks over at Ian.
“Stop looking at him, and tell me what’s wrong with my father!” My voice cracks, warm tears slipping down my cheeks. Ian crosses the small room and puts his hand on my lower back. Professional, casual even. But it’s enough to muster up some strength as I wait for Dr. Marshall to tell us everything.
“Ms. Harris, Dr. Foster. It looks as though your father suffered a heart attack. His heart rate has fluctuated greatly in just the last hour he’s been here, and his breathing is labored. We’d like to keep him here overnight for more monitoring,” he explains to us. “Dr. Foster, you said he’s been recently ill? Can you tell me more about that?”
Ian’s whole demeanor changes as he tells Dr. Marshall about my father’s fall and his bouts of dizziness and lack of strength. He goes into full doctor mode, telling Dr. Marshall about my dad’s course of treatment, his vitals over the last week, food he ate, liquids he drank. Ian’s brain has the capacity to hold so much knowledge.
Very much like his daughter’s.
“But he’s going to recover?” Ian asks Dr. Marshall, who nods a firm yes at him. “A full recovery? Or will he have deficits or long-term side effects?”
“We can’t say for certain, but based on your statement, it sounds like you got to him very quickly, so we don’t expect there to be any long negative effects. Obviously, he will be at high riskfor a repeat heart attack, but once his primary care physician works out his dosage of medications, we expect positive results.”
“How long does he need to stay here?” I ask the doctor. “I can run home and grab him extra clothes and the essentials.”
“I would like to keep him for at least three nights to monitor him. You’re able to go see him now if you’d like though, Ms. Harris.”
“I’ll swing back around and check on him later this evening after we grab his things. Thanks, Dr. Marshall,” Ian responds, shaking the doctor's hand before he bids us farewell with a quick wave and exits the room, leaving Ian and me alone once again.
“Can you call your mom and check on Auden while I go see my father?”
“Of course,” Ian says kindly, opening the door for me. “Let me show you where his room is at. I’ll meet you back in the lobby when you’re ready.”
I follow him through the maze of white walls that smell like disinfectant as we pass rooms with other patients. Some are sleeping, some look like they are in agonizing pain. None of them are my father’s room, until Ian stops in front of a partially open door at the end of the sterile hallway. He reaches out and squeezes my hand before opening the door for me, letting me pass in silence.
My father looks like a man who just suffered a heart attack, tiptoeing the edge of death. Multiple wires attached to monitors are weaving in and out of his green hospital gown. There’s an IV drip set up behind him, clear liquid in the tube dripping slowly before disappearing into veins. His skin is shallow-looking and ghostly pale.
