Page 106 of Long Story Short

A soft knock sounds at the door, making her body go stiff.

My hand presses even firmer against her back to remind her that no matter what’s about to happen, I’m here for her.

“Come in,” I say, knowing that finding words might be hard for her right now.

The doctor steps in, completely composed. He holds a clipboard in his hand and gives us a tight smile; this clearly feels like a routine for him, even though whatever he’s about to say is everything to her.

“Ms. Russell?” he asks, his tone neutral.

Josie nods as she wipes at her face. It kills me to see her attempt to pull herself together as her eyes meet the doctor’s.

“I’m Dr. Harris. I’m the one overseeing your grandfather’s care.”

“Is he going to be okay?” she asks, her words coming out quickly, like her mouth can’t even keep up with them. They’re desperate, and it’s another stab to my heart to hear her like that.

The doctor clears his throat, making Josie tense under my hand. “He’s stable,” he begins.

I look from the doctor to Josie. I pay close attention to how the words hit her. Her eyes well up with unshed tears, but she manages to prevent them from falling as she stares back at Dr. Harris.

“But your grandfather suffered a stroke early this morning.”

Josie’s body—and mine—goes still.

“What?” she whispers. “He…he was fine. I saw him last week, and he was fine.”

The doctor nods in understanding. “Strokes can happen suddenly.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Will he be okay?”

The doctor begins to explain everything, but I’m only half listening. I’m trying to take it all in so I know what’s happening, but I’m also watching her. I don’t miss how her fingers tighten around her grandfather’s hand as she listens to the doctor speak.

He mentions things like speech, mobility…memory.

I see the exact moment it hits her. Her eyes go wide, and her back stiffens as the doctor goes over the hurdles still to come in her grandfather’s—hopeful—recovery process. My jaw tightens. I hate to see the defeated look in Josie’s eyes.

“Will he wake up?” she asks carefully.

“He might.”

Might. Not will.

I’m so in tune with her after our weeks together that I notice the shift in her mood instantly. I can almost feel the fear—the uncertainty—coursing through her. It’s coursing through me, too, because of how much I know he means to her.

“What can I do? Is there anything I can do to help him?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She glances at her grandfather for a moment with a sorrowful look before her attention returns to Dr. Harris.

“You’re already doing it,” the doctor responds, his voice softer than it was before. “By being here and talking to him. His body needs rest to heal itself. Talking to him while he’s getting that rest is exactly what he needs.”

Josie nods as the tears finally fall down her cheeks.

The conversation ends not long after that. Dr. Harris leaves, saying he’ll be back later to check in, and the room falls quiet again.

Josie remains silent.

I don’t know if I’m supposed to say anything. I don’t know if she wants my words or if she needs this silence to let the doctor’s words sink in. I opt not to speak until she does, but I do wrap my arm around her shoulders and bring her to me.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“It’s not something to understand,” I offer, my fingers playing with her hair in an attempt to comfort her.