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By the time we get to the hospital, it seems impossible that it was only this morning that I woke up with Scarlett by my side.
I’ve thought about her nonstop, the night we had the only relief in the also nonstop worrying I’m doing about my mom.
The plane ride was quiet and somber, and the gravity of everything hits even harder when we step inside the waiting room and see Dad. His tall frame is stooped when he moves to hug us, the circles under his eyes deeper than I’ve ever seen them. Zac, Pappy, and I surround him, and he cries, something I’ve only seen him do occasionally since Gran died, and pretty soon all of us are wiping our eyes too.
“Any word yet, son?” Pappy asks.
“No, and it’s been longer than they said,” Dad says. “Where are Ivy and Autumn?”
“They went to Jamison’s condo to wait until we send word since it’s so close. I wasn’t sure how many of us could be back here with the new restrictions, but they let the three of us in,” Zac says.
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Dad says. “And it’s better that Ivy doesn’t have to be confined in here anyway.”
“Can we get you anything? Have you eaten?” I ask.
“I don’t think I can eat just yet. I keep expecting the surgeon to walk through that door at any minute.” His eyes fill again. “I’ve spent more of my life with your mother than without, and I can’t imagine—”
I squeeze his shoulder, my head against his. “She’ll be okay, she has to be.”
I glance at Zac and he looks how I feel, absolutely wrecked.
“There’s so much more we want to do,” Dad says. “So much more life to live…”
None of us know what to say because we can hope and pray for the best outcome all we want, but sometimes the worst still happens.
Dad and Pappy move to the chairs and I stand nearby, wishing I could go run or work out to get rid of some of this nervous energy.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Scarlett.
Made it to Boston and at the hospital now. My mom is still in surgery. Thanks again for stepping into action this morning. If it had been up to me, I’d probably still be in Colorado, pacing the airport.
She texts back within minutes.
Scarlett
Glad to help. Thinking about all of you…you especially.
I smile, bolstered just to hear from her.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a second. Last night was…
The surgeon comes in and says, “Mr. Ledger?” and we all rush toward him.
“My sons and my dad,” Dad tells him, stumbling over his words to get to the news.
Dr. Freeman nods at each of us, his focus returning to my dad.
“Everything went well. She’s stable now, vitals are good. She had eighty percent blockage in one artery. We put a stent in, and she’s responding well. Once she’s back in her room, you’ll be able to see her.” He pauses, glancing at each of us again. “Any questions?”
“How do we keep this from happening again?” my dad asks.
“Healthy diet—we’ll go through all of that—exercise…stay on top of cholesterol and high blood pressure…and don’t ignore the signs with chest pain or not feeling quite right. Sometimes in women, it can present more with shortness of breath and nausea.”
“She didn’t say anything about that,” my dad says, his voice cracking.
“And sometimes there are no signs.” The doctor crosses his arms, his demeanor brisk but not uncaring. “But you got her here just in time.”
That gets all of us, the weight of those words. My dad breaks down again and it guts me to see him this way, to know we almost lost my mom. She’s too young for this, seems too vibrant, too healthy.
