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As much as she loved the McAllisters, relying on them just wasn’t the same as having her own family there. While she had no plan to return to her homeland on a permanent basis, she wanted her children to understand their heritage and culture. Maybe once they were more settled, she and Steven could travel to South Korea for a visit—assuming Steven’s business ever settled. She sighed and entered Mr. Patrones’s room.
He sat up in his bed, staring out the window. The sight of him tugged at her heartstrings. He’d had a mild heart attack a week ago, but no one had been in to visit him. She’d asked about family, but his answers were vague, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“Good morning, Mr. Patrones. How are we doing today?”
He shifted in his bed, and his sad brown eyes met hers. “Same as yesterday.”
Grimacing, she glanced over his chart. He had improved significantly in the last several days, and they would probably release him soon, not that she expected him to take that as good news.
“Your vitals are looking better.” She tried to keep her tone cheerful. “I don’t think you’ll be with us much longer.”
His eyebrows drew together, and she realized a moment too late how her words could be misconstrued. She moved to his side.
“I meant that you would be discharged soon.”
“Either way, at least I’ll be out of your hair.”
What a very Eeyore thing to say. She checked his fluids and made a few notes on his chart. All the while, she racked her brain for some encouraging words but came up short.
“Any special requests for lunch?” she asked, wishing she could find a way to reach him. Her patients usually raved about her bedside manner, but with Mr. Patrones, she just couldn’t break through the shroud of sadness that engulfed him.
“Does it matter what I request? The diet the doctor has me on hardly allows much wiggle room.”
Rose bit her tongue to avoid saying something she might regret. Most heart attack patients struggled with the recommended dietary restrictions, but the ones who refused to follow the diet were at a higher risk of another attack. That probably wasn’t the best thing to tell Mr. Patrones.
“All right. Well, push the button if you need anything,” she replied, turning on her heel and moving quickly to the hallway.
“Mr. Patrones still as depressing as ever?” a quiet voice asked, making Rose jump.
Rebecca Masters leaned against the wall beside her, clutching a clipboard to her chest. Rose released a breath and nodded.
“He’s doing better physically, but I wonder if we shouldn’t keep him under a seventy-two-hour psych hold.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Dr. Myers will never go for that, especially since Mr. Patrones has never vocalized any suicide ideations. But we should add some recommendations for counseling to his discharge instructions.” She glanced behind Rose. “I don’t suppose we’ve found any family members?”
Rose shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s sad. I can’t imagine how he’s lived alone all this time.”
“Ah, well,” Rebecca said. “I’ll talk to Dr. Myers, but I’m afraid there’s not much else we can do.”
With a dejected nod, Rose went to complete the rest of her rounds. Other than checking on Mr. Patrones a few more times, she continued her shift uneventfully. At her break, she decided to call Steven to take her mind off things.
“Hey, honey, how’s it going?”
“Not bad,” Rose said, choosing not to mention her concerns about Mr. Patrones. “I just wanted to confirm we were still on for dinner tonight.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, her heartbeat quickened. Not again. His late arrival to the caterer had been bad enough, but he knew how important their weekly dates were to her. Her parents had maintained date night throughout their entire marriage, which she believed was the secret to their success. While she would never say it, sometimes she wondered whether Steven’s parents might not have divorced if they had done something similar.
“Listen,” he began.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’ve got a lot of work to finish up tonight.” His voice was defensive, and a part of her wished she hadn’t pushed the issue. After a beat, he sighed. “But we can go out this weekend instead.”
“I work this weekend,” she replied, her tone flat.
“Oh.”
She rubbed her forehead, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It was the beginning of June, and their wedding was set for the end of August. They should be spending more time together, not less. But of course, he had a lot on his plate. Sometimes she wished he had kept his job in the city rather than striking out on his own. Then again, some big-city law firms required eighty hours a week. Such a demanding schedule would likely have contributed to his workaholic nature even more.
