The number had not been one he recognized.
“Reilly’s Bakery, this is Tom,” he had answered, and had heard, on the other end, the slightly breathless voice of Rosa Mendez, who had been cleaning rooms at Hearts Hotel since long before Eleanor died.
Rosa had told him, in her soft, careful way, that she had found Mr. Heart at the bottom of the back stairs that ran from the penthouse down to the staff hallway. He had fallen trying to fix a lightbulb above the stairs. Mr. Hale, a live-in guest at the hotel, was out of town, and Tom was the only other person she knew that Mr. Heart would listen to.
Tom had set down the tray of pies very carefully on the workbench and asked Rosa if George was breathing all right.
“Yes, Mr. Reilly,” Rosa had told him. “He’s talking. He told me not to fuss. He told me he was just embarrassed. But, Mr. Reilly, I think his hip is broken. I have a blanket over him, and the ambulance is on the way.”
“You did the right thing, Rosa,” Tom had told her, already pulling off his apron with one hand. “I’m coming. You stay with him until they get there. You hear me? Don’t you leave him alone.”
“I won’t,” Rosa had promised, and her voice had wobbled just enough that Tom had heard the fear underneath the steadiness.
Tom had told Lila what was happening in three sentences, grabbed his keys, and driven the short stretch from Shell Street over to Bay View Drive faster than he probably should have. The ambulance had been pulling up to the back of the hotel as he had arrived. Tom had taken the back stairs two at a time despite his seventy-five-year-old knees, which he had paid for in the hours since.
George had been right where Rosa had said. Lying on his side at the bottom of the small private staircase that connected the penthouse to the staff hallway, his right leg twisted in a way that no leg should ever twist. Buddy had been pressed against George’s chest, whining low in his throat, his big golden head tucked under George’s arm. Rosa had been kneeling beside George, a folded blanket over him and one hand on his shoulder, talking to him in soft, encouraging Spanish that had clearly kept him calm.
Tom had crouched down on George’s other side, his knees protesting loudly, and placed his hand over George’s.
“You old fool,” Tom had said, his voice catching. “What have you gone and done?”
“Tom,” George had managed, and even in his pain, he had tried for that crooked smile of his. “I appear to have misjudged the top step.”
“You appear to have done worse than that,” Tom had told him gently.
“Please don’t worry Linda and Michael with this,” George had said, and there had been the first true note of distress in his voice. “It’s probably just a bruise. They both have enough on their plate without me ruining their summer.”
“George,” Tom had said quietly, “Linda and Michael are going to be told. They would kill me if I kept this a secret.”
Before George could protest, the paramedics arrived. Tom had stepped back and let them work. He had ridden in the ambulance with George. Rosa had taken Buddy with her, promising George the dog could walk with her while she finished her duties. George was happy with that. Buddy was George’s constant companion these days. Tom had made a mental note to speak to Michael and Linda about getting George a nurse in the guise of an assistant. He needed both anyway.
In the ambulance, Tom had sat beside George and talked about mundane topics to keep George’s mind off the pain or worry, as the man hated hospitals. Like Tom, they came with bad memories. Especially the hospital George was being taken to.
His thought came back to the present as Tom looked at the doors again. They were still closed.
Tom sighed, leaned back in the chair, and reached for his phone.
He had meant to call Lila an hour ago. The afternoon batch would be coming out of the oven about now, and she would be wondering where he was, and he had not wanted to leave her to handle the close-up alone. Tom thumbed through to her number and pressed the call button.
Lila answered before the second ring.
“Tom?” Lila’s voice came through warm and immediately concerned. “How is George? What happened?”
“I’m at the hospital,” Tom told her, and was startled by how much steadier he felt the moment he said it out loud to her. “George. He had a bad fall and is in surgery as we speak. They think his hip is broken.”
“Oh, Tom,” Lila said softly. “I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?”
“I’m all right,” Tom told her. “I just hate the waiting.”
There was a small silence on the other end of the line.
“I can understand that,” Lila told him, compassion filling her voice. “I think hospitals bring back horrible memories for those of us who have lost loved ones.”
“Yes, and especially this one for me,” Tom’s voice dropped and was coated in sorrow as memories of Eleanor’s last moments flashed through his mind. He pushed them aside.
“Is there anything you need?” Lila asked. “Anything I can do from this end?”
“No, but if you don’t mind locking up,” Tom asked her. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be here.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Linda is on her way but probably won’t be here for a few more hours.”
