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“Nothing you did wrong, Mama.”
My heart flip flops. I choose to believe the sensation stems from whatever inflicts me at the moment and not his calling me Mama or the gentle graze from the single finger he blazes across my shoulder.
Once assuredI’ve returned to my room after all my tests, Dane takes Ophelia to the cafeteria for a snack. I rest in the unyielding hospital bed, closing my eyes to block out my racing thoughts. Regret lies heavy at the forefront, leading the emotional pack. I made a mistake by coming here. Fear persuaded me to believe Dane would take one look at our beautiful daughter, step in, and allow me to step back, all while keeping my reasons close to my chest. He’s a good guy and not just in the looks department.
His unruly dark hair that falls over his forehead, perpetual five o’clock shadow, and tall, broad stature project the image of a man at home in a wilderness cabin. Not a local bar owner who’d give the shirt off his back. But within minutes of meeting him the first time, his stable presence became known. His quiet calm and wisdom stem from a life of difficult experiences.
Hours spent quietly together in an empty bar drew me in and allowed me a night of freedom. The only one since Eric died, and for that, I refuse to feel regret. Not only because it gave me our daughter, but Dane offered me a few hours of oblivious hope for a future I could never have. In one night, he was a Band-Aid for the fear I had carried since Eric died, and the moment I fled Arrow Creek three years ago, I haven’t been able to rid myself of it since.
The swish of the curtain sliding back startles me with another zing in the center of my abdomen, and my heart takes off again. Disappointment chases away the feeling when a man wearing a white coat and stethoscope walks in rather than Dane and Ophelia. Every muscle in my body locks in a brace against the news regarding my health.
“I’m Dr. Patel.” He ambles over, unwinds the stethoscope, and starts listening to my chest. I follow his instructions to take a deep breath, and within a minute, he steps back.
“Everything appears fine.” His kind face matches his soft tone. “Your EKG and X-ray were normal. Your bloodwork was unremarkable, including troponin level, which helps rule out a heart attack.”
“So I’m not having a heart attack?”
“No.” Dr. Patel sits on a stool and opens my electronic chart.
“But why does my heart keep beating so fast?”
“I’m going to put in a referral for you to meet with a cardiologist. They might want to look into some more tests like an echocardiogram. I think you might be experiencing some anxiety. Have you ever had a panic attack?”
“I’ve had some increased stressed since my husband passed away.” I attack the cuticle on my thumb with my index finger. Though I’ve experienced high bouts of nervousness, what with having to pack our home overseas, move back to the States, and live alone without the love of my life, getting pregnant by a one-night stand and abandoned by my family, I wouldn’t classify any previous experience as a panic attack.
“Are you seeing someone to help with that? Taking any medication?”
My reticent answer apparently doesn’t pass undetected, and Dr. Patel’s counter question gives me a defensive sting.
“No.” Not without trying. A doctor back home gave me medication to try shortly after Ophelia’s birth, but it only worsened the sensations. I couldn’t handle raising a newborn alone and dealing with them at the same time, so I tapered off at my doctor’s direction.
“I see. I’ll add a referral to a therapist. In the meantime, I recommend you take two weeks to rest and bring your stress level down. It’ll help with the sensations and your palpitations.”
“Thank you.” I don’t bother telling him I no longer plan to stay in town. My body is clearly signaling my mistake. Any follow-up is none of his business. His job is to make sure I’m not about to drop dead right this minute, and it appears that’s not likely, so I’m free to be on my way.
“A nurse will come back with your discharge paperwork. I wish you well, Ms. Harris.” Dr. Patel exits the room, drawing my attention back to the door.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask Dane, following it immediately with another question that sparks my heart. Dr. Patel has to be kidding himself with his order to rest. “Where’s Ophelia?”
“She’s with Evie.”
“You’re kidding,” I practically growl and throw my legs over the edge of the bed for the second time. “Shouldn’t I be protected by HIPAA or something? I told you not to have the doctor call her.”
Before I regain my feet, Dane’s across the room, blocking my path.
“I’m not your healthcare provider, so HIPAA doesn’t apply to me, and I made a judgment call and called her myself. Like it or not, you need her help.”
“Not,” I seethe. I’m being unreasonable, but so is he, stepping out of line as if he knows what’s best for me. I’m not ready to face her. Hell, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him. Coming here was a huge mistake. “I shared about myself with you for one night years ago, and you think you can make decisions for me?”
“I’m really glad you brought that up.” He crosses his arms over his broad, muscled chest, making it totally hard not to notice the way the short sleeves of his black tee hug his rounded biceps.
“Forget about it.”
The way he swipes his palm over his mouth gives the impression he’s hiding his amusement. When he draws his hand away, seriousness steals across his face. The softness around his eyes draws me in and acts as a balm to my frayed nerves.
“You need a moment to worry about yourself. You can take the afternoon off to rest, and Ophelia will be back after dinner.”
“I don’t know.” My teeth pinch my lower lip.
“I’ll take you back to my place while I check on the bar. You can take a nap, and I’ll bring up food for all of us when Evie arrives. Doctor’s orders.”
“I hope you know I’m not staying. I’ll rest, but only because I’m beat, and I need to get back on the road sooner than later.”
My discharge paperwork arrives, cutting off any long-winded retort.
“We’ll see,” Dane mutters.
Damn right, we will.
The loose plan I outlined before arriving might be altered, but spending the afternoon in the hospital only proves there are decisions to be made for everyone involved.
I’m too unreliable to be the only person Ophelia needs, but I’m too selfish to let her go.
So where does that leave us now?
