And how much of it was personal versus chitchat?
With Charley, who knew?
Yet whether the man had intentionally brought up those subjects—or the topics of their conversation were happenstance—what he’d said offered food for thought.
And if today’s outing with Stephanie was as enjoyable as he suspected it would be, he’d be putting his brain on overtime to figure out what he should do about the woman who’d come into his life out of the blue—and who could vanish just as suddenly if he didn’t give her some indication he was interested in more than a stroll among roses.
Did furniture designers make hospital chairs uncomfortable on purpose?
Zach stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, slouched down, and folded his hands over his stomach.
No improvement.
His back continued to protest, and his neck kinked. Again.
That’s what he got for trying to sleep last night in a similar chair in the cardiac ICU.
The nurse assigned to his dad had tried to convince him to go home, but he’d come here to stick close until—or unless—the elder Garrett told him to get lost.
So far, that hadn’t happened.
He transferred his attention to the bed, where his father had dozed off after the move from the ICU to a regular room. All the bustle of getting him settled had worn him out.
It had been a grueling day—for both of them.
He scanned the clock on the wall. Six o’clock here, three o’clock in Oregon.
Not quite the dinner hour at home—but in view of his erratic eating schedule over the past thirty-six hours, it was no wonder his stomach was growling.
Now, while his dad was sleeping, could be the best time to run down to the cafeteria and wolf down a plate of real food. His body was beginning to protest the diet of candy bars, chips, and peanuts he’d been ingesting from the vending machine in the visitor lounge.
He rose. Stretched. Rubbed a hand over his bristly chin. Grimaced.
The nurse entered and gave him a sympathetic appraisal. “Long day?”
“Long day . . . and night . . . and day.”
“I hear you. Why don’t you go home and catch a few z’s, freshen up? We’ll be watching your dad closely overnight—and you’ll feel more human after a few hours of shut-eye and a shower.”
That was true. Besides, they wouldn’t have released his father from the ICU if there was imminent danger or any cause for concern—and the staff appeared to be on the ball and responsive.
Nevertheless, leaving didn’t feel quite—
“Go.”
As his father spoke, he and the nurse moved toward the bed in unison, one on each side.
“You’re awake.” Zach called up a weary smile. Seeing his always-healthy dad flat on his back and attached to an array of monitors and IVs was unnerving, no matter how successful the surgeon had deemed the operation.
“Yes—and feeling more like myself.”
He sounded more like himself too. His voice was stronger, and a touch of his usual authoritative tone was back.
Hard to tell how much was show and how much was bravado, though.
“Glad to hear that.”
“Why are you still here?”
Uh-oh.
This could be the dismissal he’d feared.
“I didn’t want to leave until I knew you were out of danger.”
His father turned his head toward the nurse. “Am I in danger?”
“Not that I can see. All your vitals are excellent.”
His dad refocused on him. “See. Go back to the house and sleep. I bet you look worse than I do. Doesn’t he?” He directed that question to the nurse too.
“I’d definitely diagnose a case of fatigue. And I imagine he hasn’t had a decent meal in the past day or so.” She fiddled with the IV line and grinned at him across the bed.
“Two against one.” His dad waved a hand toward the door. “Go.”
Zach hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “I came to be with you.”
“You’ve been with me for forty-eight hours.”
“While you two work this out, I have another patient to check on. If you need me, press this button.” The nurse demonstrated the call button to his dad.
“Got it.” He tucked it beside him as she left and returned to their previous discussion. “When did you last eat?”
“I had a pack of cookies a couple of hours ago.”
“I mean a real meal.”
Back in Oregon, with Stephanie, in his kitchen.
That felt like a week ago.
“I’ll eat later.”
“Eat now. Away from the hospital. Stop at that deli you like.”
In other words, his father wanted him to leave.
Why?
Was he concerned—or did he want his son out of his life?
No sense dancing around that question. If his dad didn’t want him here, he may as well face that fact sooner rather than later.
“Are you sure you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
The answer was definitive, and his spirits sank . . . until his dad added a caveat.
“But I’d like you to come back tomorrow.”
The coil of tension in his gut eased.
Those were the sweetest words he’d heard in two and a half long years.
Thank you, God.
“Count on it.” He managed to choke out the promise.
“We should talk—but let’s wait until we’re both more alert.” His father’s voice was gruff. Not mad gruff, but as if his emotions were getting the better of him.
“I’m on board with that plan.” He took his father’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hang in until tomorrow.”
“I intend to hang in for much longer than that.” His father squeezed back, then gently tugged his fingers free. “Go home. Sleep.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
But as Zach left the room and walked down the hospital corridor toward the exit, he had no doubt he’d snooze like a baby.
For while there were fences to mend and mines to defuse, the atmosphere between them had taken a quantum leap into positive territory.
Now, like the fresh, salty air in his adopted town thousands of miles away, it was filled with hope.
The sky was blue, the air was warm, the gardens were gorgeous.
All of which added up to a perfect day.
Except for one thing.
Frank was stressed out.
Stephanie peeked at her date as they strolled side by side through the rose garden. Faint creases dented his brow, his features were taut, and his lips had straight-lined.
He looked like a man in the throes of serious second thoughts.
Swallowing past her disappointment, she stopped walking.
Enough of this.
If he was sorry he’d asked her out, why prolong this outing?
He continued another two paces before he realized she’d halted.
Jolting to a stop, he swiveled toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “You’re not having fun.”
A faint hint of pink crept across his cheeks. “Why do you think that?”
“Come on, Frank. Give me a little credit. A person would have to be totally oblivious to miss the tension radiating off you. I appreciate the invitation to come up here, but if you want to call it a day, I won’t hold it against you. We’re both adults. Sometimes reality falls short of expectations. I can accept that.”