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“Thank you.”
The words came out in a rush. I was already halfway out of the car, and he dipped his head to look at me as he popped the locks, allowing me to grab my backpack from the seat.
“He’ll be okay, Tal. He’s a Hildebrand. That means he’s a fighter.”
I bit my lip, trying to believe him. Then I turned and bolted into the hospital.
I found a nurses’ desk and explained in garbled words who I was and what I was doing there.
“Ah. Mr. Hildebrand? He just got out of surgery. He’ll be in room 508. You can take a seat, and I’ll let you know when he’s been brought up.”
This was clearly a nice hospital, with wide, padded seats and huge potted plants in the waiting area, but I couldn’t sit. I stood off to the side, doing my best to keep from pacing. My stomach was one giant knot, continuously untying and retying itself until I thought I was going to barf. Someone was drinking coffee as they waited nearby, and the smell, usually one of my favorites, just made my nausea worse.
I couldn’t quite explain the intensity of my reaction. I hardly knew Philip. Hadn’t known him at all until last year and hadn’t been remotely close to him until just the past few weeks.
So why were my palms sweating, my limbs shaking at the thought of losing him?
Maybe that was exactly why. I had just started to get close to him, just started to find out what kind of person he was. If he died now, all the time we’d lost would seem even worse. All the years I could’ve known him, but didn’t—they would’ve been the last chance I had.
The nurse kept an eye on me, obviously a little irritated by my restless movements but used to it from visitors. She seemed relieved when she finally told me Philip was settled and I could go up to see him.
I gripped the straps of my backpack so hard my nails dug into my palms as I walked down the long, bland hallway on the fifth floor toward my grandpa’s room. He had a private suite, and when I stepped inside, a doctor was standing at the end of his bed, looking over his chart.
The man in the white coat glanced up at me. “Are you Talia?”
I nodded, trying to look at him, but my gaze kept dragging back to my grandpa. Philip was slightly propped up in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, an oxygen tube hooked up to his nose.
He looked older. So much older than I’d ever seen him. Like he’d aged twenty years and lost twenty pounds overnight.
“How…” I swallowed. “How is he?”
The doctor dipped his head, flipping a page on Philip’s chart. I couldn’t tell if he was the same guy I’d spoken to on the phone. Probably not.
“His surgery went well. We were able to find and clear the blocked arteries quickly. We’ll need to monitor him for several days, but things are looking good.”
I ran both hands through my hair, pulling them through the long brown strands. “Oh, thank fuck.”
The doctor’s lips twitched up on one side. “Yes. I suppose that is one way to put it. I’m Doctor Garrett, by the way.”
He held out his hand, and I stepped forward to shake it, glancing over at my grandfather again. “He’s really going to be okay?”
“Well, we’re optimistic. At this stage, we can’t make any guarantees, but I don’t want you to worry too much, okay? He’s in good hands.”
I nodded, a little of my relief dissipating at his vague response. “Can I stay with him?”
“Of course. Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable. There are vending machines and coffee in the hall. A nurse will be in to check on him in a while.” He hung Philip’s chart up near the end of the bed, then turned to leave before stopping in the doorway. “Oh, and we still haven’t been able to reach your grandmother. We’ll keep trying, but you’re welcome to try too if you’d like.”
“Okay.”
I waited until he left, then pulled a chair from the corner nearer to the large bed Philip lay in. This chair was plush and comfortable too, padded on the arms, seat, and back. I folded my body up into it, gazing at my grandpa as I wrapped my arms around my knees. It was probably completely uncouth to put my feet up on the seat, but I didn’t really care at the moment.
After a few minutes of
silence, punctuated only by the beep of the heart monitor, I dug into my backpack where it rested against the chair and pulled out my cell. I’d deleted Jacqueline’s contact info from my phone, but like a bad song that you hear once and find yourself singing later, I was pretty sure I remembered it.
I didn’t want to call her. She didn’t deserve any kindness from me.
But when I glanced back up at Philip, I sighed.
