She pointed out the windshield. “City lights are just up ahead. Don’t worry. I know the admitting nurse. They’ll see him right away.”
“Small towns. Everyone knows everyone.”
“At some point, you meet everyone when you grow up here.” That got her a very slight smile. “I feed most of the hospital staff on a regular basis.”
“So you’re a chef?”
“Yep.” She sped into town and drove into the hospital emergency entrance and stopped right outside the doors behind an ambulance.
“Wow. That was fast.”
A minute ago they’d been taking too long.
She shut off the engine and ran for the double doors. She found a wheelchair and pushed it out to the car.
One of the paramedics helped Jon slide Mr. Crawford out of the back seat and into the chair.
“Thanks, Pete.” She recognized one of her repeat customers.
“No problem, Trinity.”
“I’ll help you get him inside,” Pete offered.
“We’ve got this, but thanks.” She turned to Jon, who was already headed for the doors, and ran to catch up. Inside, the emergency room was busy but not chaotic like she imagined some nights could be.
One of the doctors who frequented the shop walked out of a draped-off area. “Hey there.”
She quickly glanced at the name tag hanging from his scrubs pocket. “Dr. Holt.” She waved her hand toward Mr. Crawford, who was leaning heavily to one side in the wheelchair. “I found him passed out on the floor in his home. He has a fever, severe cough, and has been mostly unconscious for at least the last half hour.”
Dr. Holt picked up Mr. Crawford’s hand and examined it. “His fingertips are blue. He’s not getting enough oxygen.”
She didn’t need to be told that. The sound of Mr. Crawford desperately trying to get air echoed through her and made her own chest feel tight.
Dr. Holt waved them to an open cubicle. “Let’s get him up on the bed.”
Jon and the doctor each took an arm and lifted Mr. Crawford to his feet. She quickly pulled the chair out of the way so they could maneuver him onto the bed.
Dr. Holt called a nurse in. “Let’s get an oxygen mask on him and start a blood workup.” He turned to her and Jon. “Please go to the desk and get . . .”
Jon took over. “Dennis Crawford. My father. I’m Jon.”
“Nice to meet you, Jon. We’ll take good care of him. Has he been ill?”
Jon actually turned to her. “I haven’t spoken to him in a week. We were packing and getting ready to move here.”
She turned to the doctor. “I spoke with him on the phone about two hours ago. He was congested, coughing, wheezing a bit. He couldn’t catch his breath. He wanted me to deliver some soup and other food.”
“Sounds like maybe he’s got flu or pneumonia. We’ll know more when we run some tests.” With that, the doctor seemed to dismiss them by putting the stethoscope into his ears to listen to Dennis’s heart and lungs, though she didn’t know how he could hear anything beyond Mr. Crawford’s coughing fit and labored breathing.
Anxious and worried, she couldn’t stand there watching Mr. Crawford suffer and not do something. Unable to help him directly, she tugged Jon’s arm to get him to come along with her to the reception desk so they could take care of the mundane while Dr. Holt took care of the emergency. “Hey, Ruth,” she said to the woman at the desk. “This is Jon Crawford. We just brought in his father, Dennis.”
Ruth smiled at both of them, at the same time typing on her computer. “We’ve got him in our system. Address on Pine Crest Road.”
Jon nodded, but kept looking back to the cubicle where his dad lay with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.
“Any changes in his insurance?”
Jon shook his head.
“Is he taking any medications?”
“Um, I think he takes something for cholesterol and high blood pressure, but I’m not sure what.”
“We’ll check his records.” Ruth handed over a clipboard. “Fill these out and bring them back.”
Trinity led Jon into the waiting room. “Sit. I’ll find us some coffee.” It wasn’t much, but she could at least do that.
Jon automatically sat and glanced at the papers, though he didn’t seem to read the words. He looked over at his father again and just stared.
She put her hand on Jon’s shoulder. “He’s going to be fine.”
“That’s what they said about my mom. Then, she was gone.” His gruff voice held a world of pain and loss that made her own heart heavy with sorrow. He didn’t look at her, but continued to stare at his father.
She squeezed his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort.
He looked up at her. “I can’t lose him. I just got back. It’s not supposed to be like this.”
“I know how it feels to realize you have no control over what’s happening. Your father is in the place he needs to be to get better. You’re here to look after him. That’s all we can do right now. Maybe it’s not as bad as we think. Maybe he just needs some medicine and time to recover from whatever is ailing him.”
“He looks like he’s been sick awhile. He’s lost weight. His color . . .”
“He’ll look much better once he gets more oxygen into him and he rests.”
Jon didn’t look convinced.
“Fill out those forms. I’ll be right back.”
He held her gaze. “Will you stay?”
She planned to even without the desperate and lonely look he gave her. “Yes. I want to be sure he’s okay, too.” She tried to get him to smile. “He’s one of my best customers. And he calls me sweet girl, which I love.”
Jon’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. “It’s what he called my mom, and now he calls Emmy that, too.”
“Well, now I feel a little less special,” she teased.
Jon shook his head. “He only ever called them that.” He met her gaze again. “And you.”
“Well, I make him double-chocolate brownies with almonds.”
“Not walnuts,” they said in unison.
This time, Jon did smile, and a funny thing happened inside her. A strange fluttery feeling lightened her chest, and she became all too aware that she still had her hand on his strong shoulder.
She pulled it away. “Uh, it’s probably going to be a long night. Coffee. On the way.”
Chapter Two
Jon watched the medical team work on his dad, drawing blood, checking his blood pressure, making sure he was getting enough oxygen, and whatever else they did, while the tension built in his gut, neck, and shoulders. Most of it was for news on his dad. And then she walked back into the room and an unexpected sense of relief and ease hit him.
She’d come back.
She held up two sandwiches in one hand. “Strawberry or grape?”
Surprised, he went with his favorite. “Strawberry.”
She slipped the bottom sandwich into his hand, sat beside him, put her sandwich on the coffee tray, and pulled a cup off for him. “Black.” She held up the little carton of milk. “Want some of this? Or sugar?” She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out several sugar packets. “I only have the real stuff. You shouldn’t put chemicals into your body if you can help it.”