Zoey wasn’t sure she would have interpreted Mr. Witherell’s response the same way her aunt had interpreted it, but she supposed if Ivy knew him well enough to call him Phin, she also knew what his grunting meant. “That’s wonderful,” she said.
But was it? Mr. Witherell’s enigmatic comment to Mark after the funeral proved he was capable of conversing. Although Zoey blamed her cousin for provoking him and she believed the remark was only meant to be facetious, she couldn’t be one hundred percent positive Mr. Witherell wouldn’t repeat it to Ivy. Not out of revenge or because it was true, but possibly in the course of owning up to angering her great-nephew. And the slightest whisper of all those rumors, no matter how fabricated they were, would hurt her aunt’s feelings. So while she was glad Ivy had rectified her falling out with Mr. Witherell, out of a sense of protectiveness, Zoey wished she’d keep her distance from him.
“Yes, it is wonderful. It goes to show it’s never too late to ask for forgiveness. Righting that wrong with Phineas makes me feel so… soalive,” she gushed. “Now, if you pull out the drawers and set them on some newspaper on the table, I can sit down and paint the front of them while you work on the cupboards.”
Zoey hadn’t seen her this energetic since… since she didn’t know when. They spent the day painting and chatting, stopping only to eat lunch. Ivy didn’t even take a nap. When they were finished, Zoey could see that the cupboards would need a second coat, but her aunt was jubilant about the overall effect.
“Nick was right—a simple change can make a world of difference,” she said. “Now that I’ve put things right with Mr. Witherell and we’re painting the kitchen, there’s no telling what other changes I’ll make!”
Just as long as they’re changes for the better,Zoey worried to herself. But she smiled at and agreed, “The sky’s the limit, Aunt Ivy.”
* * *
“Aunt Ivy and I will be at the cardiologist’s office this afternoon but I still expect you to come home immediately after school,” Zoey informed her niece on Tuesday morning. She thought she’d be met with indifference, but Gabi furrowed her brow.
“Why does Aunt Ivy have to go to a cardiologist?”
“For her annual check-up,” Zoey said. Then she caught herself. Knowing how sensitive Gabi could be, she didn’t want to worry her, yet she didn’t want to be deceptive, either. “Well, it’s not exactly a regular check-up. She’s been having more heart pain than usual so the doctor wanted her to come in for some tests. But I think he’s erring on the side of caution.”
“Oh.” When she blinked her big blue eyes she looked so childlike that Zoey instinctively opened her arms to comfort her with a hug. But Gabi abruptly turned on her heel, nearly clobbering Zoey with her book bag as she slung it over her shoulder.
This time, she said to herself,I don’t care if sheisonly fourteen—her attitude still hurts.
It seemed to take forever for Ivy to get through her EKG, echocardiogram and bloodwork. Finally, Zoey reunited with her as they waited while the cardiologist read her results and then a nurse escorted them into his office. Zoey had only met Dr. Laurent once before but she’d immediately liked him. Although he was relatively young, he was considered one of the best cardiac surgeons in New England. But he didn’t seem to have an ego about it and Zoey appreciated that he was kind, thoughtful and treated her aunt—and undoubtedly everyone else he saw, judging from the wait time—as if she were his only patient.
After he greeted them, Ivy pointed to a seascape painting hanging on the wall. “I recognize that painting. It was in a newspaper article about a class at the library in Benjamin’s Manor.”
“Yes. It’s an original by Emily Vandermark, the artist who’s teaching that class. What do you think of it?”
“It’s beautiful.Is the artist your patient?” Ivy asked and Zoey cringed, knowing privacy laws would have prevented the doctor from admitting it if she was.
“She’s my sister.”
Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “What if I had said Ididn’tlike it?”
“I would have appreciated your honesty—although I probably wouldn’t have repeated the comment to my sister. She’s the type who’d shoot the messenger,” Dr. Laurent joked. Then he grew serious. “I know you want honesty from me, too, Mrs. Cartwright.”
“That depends on what you’re going to tell me.” Ivy made him chuckle, but a knot tightened in Zoey’s stomach.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve been telling you, and that’s that I think you need a pacemaker.”
Zoey pounced on that. “What do you mean, ‘what you’ve been telling her’?”
Dr. Laurent glanced at Ivy, who nodded, so he answered, “I’ve been advising your aunt she needs a pacemaker for the past three, three-and-a-half years.” He continued, explaining why he thought she had an increased risk of suffering sudden cardiac death and how a pacemaker could keep her heart beating regularly.
“Why have you put this off, Aunt Ivy? I’m sure your insurance covers the cost.”
“Yes, but there are risks associated with the surgery. And there can be unpleasant side effects from the device.”
Dr. Laurent elaborated, saying the procedure was a minor surgery—her aunt would only have to stay in the hospital overnight. The doctor did caution that because of Ivy’s age and health history, her recovery time would be a little longer. But all things considered, the procedure and side effects seemed like a walk in the park compared to what her aunt had experienced when she underwent cancer treatment. And nothing he described worried Zoey nearly as much as the increased likelihood that Ivy could suffer a fatal heart event without the pacemaker.
Her mind reeling, she exclaimed, “I thought you were fine. I thought Dr. Laurent was managing your heart pain with medication.”
“The chest pain—the angina—is asymptom,” Dr. Laurent clarified. “The nitroglycerin helps, but it doesn’t treat the arrhythmia, which is the underlying condition.”
He’s only been treating the symptom, not the cause?“I don’t understand how you could let her walk out of your office year after year, knowing she’s in danger. That seems unethical—”
“Zoey!” Ivy admonished but she’d been too distressed to censor herself.
