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When he saw a Comfort Inn, he turned in to the parking lot. He pulled up to the front and woke Palmer. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m going to check us in.”
She was groggy, but she nodded and lifted her seat to the upright position. “Where are we?”
“Just outside of Louisville.”
Palmer acknowledged him and started gathering her stuff. She surprised him when she followed him into the lobby. “What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I thought I should come.”
He chuckled. “Are you trying to get free stuff? You want another suite, don’t you?”
She looked mortified and covered her mouth. “Oh my, is that what it looks like?” she asked as her eyes widened. “Holy crap, I’m one of those people.”
Kent couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on,” he said and pulled her behind him.
“I’m embarrassed,” she muttered.
He said nothing as they approached the counter. “Hi, do you have a room available?”
“We do.” The clerk smiled and asked for his credentials. The transaction took about five minutes, and then they were back in the car, parking and unloading their stuff.
“What’s on tap for tomorrow?” Palmer asked as they walked down the hall. “Oh, this is where the Baseball Hall of Fame is, right?”
“No, that’s in New York. This is where they make the bats, and it’s the home of Muhammad Ali, among many other things, but those are the two on my list.”
Palmer stopped in the middle of the hallway and huffed.
“What’s wrong?” Kent asked her.
“Why did we skip New York if there was something you wanted to see there?”
He motioned for her to follow him. “We didn’t. Cooperstown isn’t on my list of places to see. Besides, it was way out of the way, and I wanted to go to DC.” Kent wasn’t exactly being honest, except for the part about DC. He’d love to visit Cooperstown, especially during Hall of Fame weekend, but mostly if one of his favorite players was being inducted. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the atmosphere in that place.
Kent opened the door to their room and held it so Palmer could walk through. As soon as he stepped in and the door shut, Palmer crumbled to the floor, smashing her head against the mirror on her way down. Kent screamed out her name and reached out to catch her, but he stumbled into the doorway of the bathroom with the bags he had in his hand. Finally free, he dropped to the floor and rolled her onto her side while she shook. Kent reached for a pillow and slipped it under her head to keep it from banging on the floor, and he started the timer on his watch.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered as her body convulsed. He couldn’t hold back his tears and let them flow down his cheeks. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they didn’t have five months left. At some point, he was going to have to cut their trip short. The medic in him wanted to do it now, to say “Fuck it” and catch a flight back to San Francisco tomorrow. The friend and the man falling in love with Palmer fought him.
She needs this trip.
I promised.
The seizure stopped in under a minute. Even for Kent, that was too long. If it had gotten to the five-minute mark, he’d have had no choice but to call for an ambulance. There were some things even he couldn’t do for her. Kent waited a long beat before helping Palmer into a sitting position. He kept the pillow behind her back for comfort and sat across from her. He needed his medical bag, but he wasn’t thinking and had left it in the car. There was no way he would leave her now to go get it. Kent checked her pulse and listened for any signs of distress in her breathing. He kept quiet, afraid of what might come out of his mouth. The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, that he was taking her home.
Palmer’s eyes met Kent’s, and he saw nothing but confusion in them. While she was somewhat alert, he suspected she had no recollection of what had just happened. She looked at his hand on her wrist and pulled it free from his grasp.
“Sit still a little longer, please,” he asked her quietly.
She ignored him and raised her hand to the side of her head and winced. Palmer pulled her hand away and looked at it. She saw blood on her fingertips and let out a high-pitched screech.
“Stop,” Kent demanded of her as she moved her hand away from her line of sight. “I’ll take care of that in a minute.”
“Wh-what happened?”
“You had a seizure, and you hit your head on the mirror in the entryway.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Kent was torn about what to do. He needed help or someone to watch Palmer, but he was it. He was the one-man show right now. Kent moved to her other side and assessed the cut on her scalp. He could see glass shards in her hair and deduced she wouldn’t need any stitches. She also wouldn’t be able to wash her hair for a few days either.
