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“If you decide to sit,” I explain.
“Are there any questions I can answer?” the doctor asks.
“Can we stay with him?” I ask.
She hesitates, and my stomach drops. I can’t imagine having to go home and wait for a phone call telling me whether Olivier is going to be himself ever again.
“I want to stay with him,” Giselle says.
“In this unit—” the doctor starts, but I cut her off.
“We need to be with him,” I say. “Both of us. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but he has more than enough means to pay for a private intensive care room and staff, if that’s what it takes. We aren’t leaving him.”
She nods. “I understand. We’ll work it out.”
Now that we’re situated in Olivier’s room, reality hits and I have so many more questions. Who is Olivier’s medical power of attorney? Can that person authorize a transfer to a better facility? Or can we fly in the best doctors to evaluate him?
Olivier would get all these answers, and then he would act. He doesn’t wait for people to tell him things—he takes action and does things himself. I can’t wait, either.
But I also have to be by his side. I need someone savvy and stubborn enough to handle all the other things on Olivier’s behalf while I stay right here. A real bulldog that doesn’t take no for an answer.
As much as I hate to admit it, there’s only one person for the job—my Grandma Jo.
Chapter Twenty-One
Daphne
“Mrs. Barrington, we’re doing everything we can,” the doctor says, his tone weary. “That doctor doesn’t have privileges here, so we can’t allow him to examine Mr. Durand.”
My grandma’s tone only gets more demanding. “Do you need Bob Howard’s number? The chairman of your board of directors? He told me it was okay to bring this doctor here.”
“And it was okay, but—”
Grandma Jo’s cane thuds against the floor, silencing him. “This is an outrage. I want to speak to your supervisor immediately.”
“But—”
“Immediately!” The cane thuds several more times.
“Okay, fine.”
I hear the sound of the doctor retreating down the hallway to escape the wrath of the elderly woman who has quickly become his least favorite visitor.
Giselle meets my gaze from the other side of Olivier’s bed, the corners of her lips turning up in a smile.
“She’s something else,” I say softly.
Grandma Jo comes into the room from the hallway, shaking her head as she looks at me.
“Daphne, you can either take a shower or I’ll have someone carry you into the shower stall and wash you forcibly.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.”
“You smell like a filthy farm animal.”
Giselle tries to suppress a laugh, but a few notes escape.
“It’s not easy to sleep here,” I explain. “The cots are uncomfortable and there are nurses in and out of the room all night long.”
It’s been five days since Olivier’s accident. Giselle and I haven’t gotten a good night of sleep since. We lie on our cots every night and talk until she drifts off to sleep. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it this way, but I’ve gotten to know her quite well in only five days.
She’s a smart, shy girl who loves music and has a tender heart. She’s been through a lot with her mom, who apparently lives with another couple and is romantically involved with both of them. That’s enough to fuck with any kid’s head.
I’ve been able to convince her to take showers in the adjoining bathroom and walk down to the cafeteria a few times a day for a break. But mostly, she’s been here with me, talking to Olivier, playing cards and being entertained by Grandma Jo’s antics.
“I’m about five minutes away from calling someone at the Chicago Gazette,” Grandma Jo says. “These people may get their asses in gear if they get some bad press.”
“Well, rich people not getting special treatment at hospitals isn’t exactly a scandal,” I say wryly.
“I own a substantial share of that paper and if they don’t help me when I ask, they’ll wish they would have. If Dr. Patel isn’t allowed into this room within the next hour, I’ll be calling every donor to this hospital I know. I already have my contact list ready.”
Grandma Jo reaches into her black leather bag and pulls out a piece of paper to prove it to me. Her determined, take no shit expression makes my heart swell.
“Thank you, Grandma,” I say, smiling.
“I haven’t accomplished much yet,” she says, clearly aggravated.
“You have. You got us into this bigger room and got them to send that specialist all of his records. And it’s just…nice, having you here.”
Her expression softens. “I like that Frenchman, Daphne. He’s a good man, and he’s good for you. I'm glad you’ve gotten past all that nonsense about him being too rich for you.”
I look at my phone screen, not wanting to continue this conversation in front of Giselle.
