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Malid paced the waiting room. Nigella had gone to wash her face and use the facilities. Nassir was off, asking the nurses yet again about their father. Malid knew there was nothing to do but wait—he hated that. He wanted to do something—but this was up to the doctors.
He had thought about calling in specialists—but they were already here. All he could do now was ask for a private room and round-the-clock nursing once his father was out of heart surgery. They had been informed that the tests had shown a blockage—it was being corrected with stents that would open up the arteries again.
Hearing a door open, Malid turned, expecting Nassir—or a nurse. Instead, Adilan took a step in and paused.
He hadn’t seen his brother in months—and he hadn’t been to his brother’s wedding. He regretted that now, and glanced behind Adilan, looking for the American woman, Michelle, that Adilan had married.
Adilan lifted one dark eyebrow. “Michelle is parking the car.”
Malid shrugged. “Ever the independent woman.” Adilan stiffened, and Malid came forward. Guilt tugged at him, a small twist in his chest.
Stepping into the room, Adilan asked, “How is he?”
Malid lifted a hand. “I think it will take more than one small attack to kill our father.”
“Were you arguing?”
Malid looked at his brother. “No, I was trying to give him an apology—but I believe it really should go to you. Or your wife. I was wrong.”
Adilan rubbed his jaw. He had filled out even more in the past few months—even though he was the youngest, he had always had more muscle. Now he looked—a man, not a boy. Married life agreed with him. Frowning, he stepped forward. At last he extended his hand. “Brother should argue, but we should also know when to stop. Father has been tired of late. Mother keeps asking him to have tests done, but you know Father.”
“He didn’t want to hear that he should slow down. Did you know he called me to negotiate a deal with Opell Oil?”
Adilan huffed out a laugh. “Ah, that is why I saw Gordon Michaels at the palace. I thought perhaps he’d been there to see father.”
“He was.”
Shaking his head, Adilan sat down in one of the chairs. The waiting room was a private one, but it still had the world’s most uncomfortable chairs, Malid thought. Hard backs and seats designed to keep you awake and on your feet. Adilan asked, “How long have you been here?”
Malid shook his head. “I don’t really know. It seems forever.”
Adilan nodded. “Mother will be here as soon as the storm passes.”
“So you drove in it, too?” Malid asked.
Before Adilan could answer, the door opened and an older man in blue hospital scrubs stepped in. His name badge read Dr. Azoula, and he shook hands with Malid and then with Adilan, and asked if their brother needed to be here.
“You are caring for my father? How is he?” Adilan asked.
Malid waved
for the doctor to talk. The man nodded and said, “It was good you got him to the hospital as fast as you did. A blockage such as the one he had can damage the heart—time is vital to restore circulation. The procedure went very well, but he will need rest for a complete recovery.”
“Can we see him?” Adilan asked.
“Soon as we have him settled. And don’t expect him to wake for a few hours.” The doctor left and Adilan glanced at Malid. “It seems I owe you a debt, brother.”
Nassir stepped into the room, steaming tea in his hand. “A debt for what?” he asked.
Turning, Adilan grinned. “It’s right that Malid is back home. And if Father has a problem with it, I will go with you to talk to him.”
“You will?” Nassir shook his head. “We will. But I think…why don’t we let that conversation wait for a time.”
“Is Michelle on her way here?” Nassir asked. Adilan nodded. Nassir glanced from Malid to Adilan. “And she’s going to be okay seeing him? She doesn’t have a knife on her, does she?”
Adilan grinned. “If she does, Malid will have to look out for himself.”
Shaking his head, Malid pulled open the door. “Go, you to. Make sure Father is comfortable. I’ll bring Michelle up when she arrives.”
