“Boss,” Amanda answers her phone on the first ring.
“I need two days. And I need you to come get Harry. I’ll tell him to pack.”
“What’s—”
“And I need you to not ask any questions.”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
On my way to the stairs, I snatch Harrison’s phone from him.
“Hey!” He chases me up the stairs.
“I need sixty seconds of your undivided attention.” I continue to my bedroom to throw some clothes into a bag.
“Fine. What?” He plops down on my bed.
“Ellen’s dad is in the hospital. I’m taking her to see him. I will be gone for two days. Amanda is coming to get you. Pack enough for two days. Don’t forget clean underwear.”
He knows the drill. She’s watched him for me several times before when I’ve had other emergencies to handle.
“Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you taking her?”
“Because I’m connected and she needs some special help getting there.” I hand him his phone, palm the back of his neck, and kiss his forehead. “Be good. I love you.”
*
Ellen
Lori calls me back. The hospital wouldn’t tell her anything because she’s not family, so I call them. It was a stroke. They’re still trying to figure out the cause, and they don’t know yet if he’ll need surgery.
I feel numb everywhere except my stomach. There, I just feel painfully nauseous.
How did I go from having everything to having nothing? I had two parents who loved me—who loved each other. I had a husband who adored me. We had a tight circle of friends. We were adventurous. I lived a dream more grand than most ever dare to dream. In twenty-four months, I lost it all—except my dad.
After two years that nearly broke me as a person, a wife, and a friend, I gave Alex his divorce, loaded up a moving truck, and drove to Minnesota over three days.
No friends.
No family.
Just a job offer at a hospital.
It’s fine. I didn’t think I needed anyone until today when life kicked me on my ass, and I realized the best I could find was a colleague who could write me a prescription.
The elevator door dings. I wipe my swollen eyes, grab my purse, and sling it over my shoulder. I jolt to a halt when Flint appears at my door.
I glance at my phone. Where is she?
Keeping my head down so he doesn’t have to stare at my bloodshot eyes, I murmur, “I thought you were Abigail.”
Please leave. Please leave. Please. Please. Please.
His shoes come into view a few inches from mine.
“She sent you,” I whisper.
“No. I sent me.”
“Why?” I want to look at him, but I can’t.
“Because you need to get to Massachusetts quickly and I can do that for you.”
“I don’t need a hero.” I brush past him, taking the stairs to the main level with him right behind me. The tears come in unrelenting waves as I run toward the front doors. I don’t know what I’m running from.
Flint?
Fear of getting on a plane?
Fear of losing my dad before I get to see him again?
As I push through the front door, a strangled sob breaks free, followed by two arms around my waist. Flint turns me toward him. My knees buckle, and he lifts me up like a child. I wrap my arms around his neck and drown in grief and fear.
In long, controlled strides he carries me away. I don’t let go, not even when he lifts me into the back of a vehicle. It starts to move, but he’s still holding me. I don’t know who’s driving. I don’t care.
“Open your mouth,” he says.
I hiccup on my sobs as I open my eyes that are already swollen to the point of pain. “Why?”
Before I can object, he shoves a dropper into my mouth.
“Yuck!”
He pulls my head into his neck and rubs my back.
Flint force feeds me this nasty liquid three more times before the vehicle stops. I’m tired … or dead. I don’t know but I feel even more numb than I did before—and lifeless, yet I can hear voices, I just don’t register what they’re saying. When I blink open my eyes, I see a few people, and wide open space and … a small plane. Panic tries to overtake my body, but everything feels slow to react.
Just when I start to wiggle in protest, Flint shoves more nasty shit down my throat and something like earmuffs press to my ears. Muffled echoes and … Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major is all I hear. I close my eyes. My fingers feel the ivory beneath them. It’s so beautiful … like I’m dancing … weightless … and that’s when I see my dad. A measuring tape draped over his neck.
“Elle, bring me my pins, please.”
I hand him the blue cushion and spin in circles with my red hair flowing behind me as Chopin plays from the turntable. The gentleman being fitted for a suit grins at me in the mirror.
“She’s going to break all the boys’ hearts,” he says to my dad.
“That she is … just like her mama.”
“I’m going to marry my prince, Daddy.”
“Only if I deem him worthy, my little princess.”
I twirl around some more. “I’m going to play music, Daddy.”
“I know, darling.”
I stop and watch my daddy shift the man’s suit a little this way, making a mark in one place, pinning material in another place. I love watching my daddy, and I love watching the men in the mirror grin at me and smile in admiration of the suits my daddy makes for them.
“Ellen …”
Chopin. Why did Chopin stop?
“Ellen …”
I peel open my eyes.
“Drink this.”
Flint scoots me off his lap and fastens my seat belt. “Here.” He hands me a bottle of juice.
I look out the window of the vehicle, at first not recognizing much in the darkness, but then a few familiar buildings pass by and I know where we are—Falmouth, Massachusetts. “Oh my God. How did I get here?”
“Music therapy.” Flint gives me a small smile.
I shake my head.
He shrugs, looking out his window at the road. “There may have been a few medicinal herbs involved.”
He drugged me. I remember seeing that small—no, tiny plane. It doesn’t matter. Reality of this whole situation seeps back into my mind. My dad …
“Drink.” Flint nods to the juice.
Untwisting the cap, I drink it.
I don’t wait for the vehicle to completely stop before jumping out with a slight wobble to my legs and rushing toward the emergency entrance.
“Jonathan Anderson.”
I need a room number. The stroke unit. Anything other than that look—the one followed by she’ll have a doctor come speak with me. I’ve been with families who get that look, get that diversion. It only ever means one thing.
The nurse gives me a room number.
Thank you, God.
It’s after eight at night. The nurse finds a doctor to give me an update before they let me see him. He’s asleep. I expected as much. But he’s alive.
“You can’t leave me, old man.” I laugh with tears sliding down my cheeks as I take his hand in mine. “I was going to come see you. You didn’t have to have a stroke over it.”