Chapter 11 #2
My throat chokes off, and I can’t think, a deer in the headlights. Kneeling next to her, I palm her cheek. The crowd blurs. All I see is Gran’s papery skin under my palm and the desperate rise and fall of her chest.
I can’t repeat what happened to Grandpa with Gran. I need her in my life. The little two-person family we’ve built since his death, the only thing centering me.
“Marguerite,” a familiar voice rumbles. Without hesitation, Ambrose kneels on Grandma’s other side, steady and calm, his deep voice cutting through my panic like a lifeline. She answers quietly, eyes locked on him as though he’s the only thing anchoring her.
Looking at me with piercing brown eyes, he finally concludes, “She seems stable, but we should get her checked out at the hospital to be on the safe side. I’ll drive.”
The big man sweeps Gran into his arms as the backs of my eyes sting. Small crowds gather as we walk, faces somber. A few of Gran’s friends grab my hand as we pass, begging me for updates as soon as we know what’s going on.
As we near the row of fire department trucks parked in the lot, Gran wraps her arm around Ambrose’s neck. Face dazed and eyes brimming with tears, she says, “Ferdinand, mon amour, you came back for me …”
Ambrose’s eyes flicker to mine, dark with emotion, before turning his gaze back on Grandma. “Always, sweetheart,” he gently murmurs.
Ophir City Hospital works rapidly to get us into the ER, providing a private room, where we wait for the doctor. I don’t know if the rapid response has more to do with Gran’s condition or the fact Ambrose is so well acquainted with the staff as a first responder and paramedic.
I notice a couple of nurses attempting to flirt with him as they bustle around Gran’s bed, starting an IV and running tests. He remains oblivious … but God help me, it still burns to see them try.
They lean in, their smiles too bright, too practiced. And he doesn’t even notice.
For once, I’m not invisible in a room full of women. He’s not charming them, not slipping into his easy Hollywood smile. Every bit of him is here, with me, with Gran. And God help me, I want to believe that means something.
A thrill shivers through me as I look up at the gruff fireman beside me. He’s the kind of man I could come to rely on … who could care for Gran and me, be a part of our family.
A rap sounds on the door, and Ambrose clears his throat, ordering, “Come in.”
A man in a white lab coat, with disheveled gray-streaked black curls, greets us as he paces towards the bed. His name badge reads, “Dr. Mark Stuart.”
“Good evening, Ms. Dupont and family.”
My hand finds Ambrose’s, and I squeeze it, eyes flickering momentarily to his. Family. I like the sound of that. He smiles a restrained version of his adorable lopsided grin, and my heart flutters like a hummingbird inside my chest.
Dr. Stuart perches on the hospital bed next to Gran. “It sounds like you had an eventful evening at the Harvest Festival.”
She shakes her head, smoothing her pretty white curls carefully. “I hope I didn’t make a scene.”
Ambrose leans closer to me, whispering, “Now I see where you get all that ‘I don’t want to be a bother from.’”
The corners of my mouth turn up, and I nod. I learned from the best.
“I can imagine it’s not how you expected your evening to go. But fortunately, I have good news for you. Your heart checked out fine. So did your vitals. In fact, everything looks good except for your blood sugar, which was very low. When’s the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know,” Gran says, taking me aback. “But my granddaughter and I were about to get funnel cakes.”
“Not the healthiest choice,” he says, flicking a critical glance my way.
Gran shrugs. “I wanted to indulge a little. Try to get my mind off what happened a year ago with my dear Ferdinand.”
“My Grandpa passed away unexpectedly after visiting last year’s Harvest Festival,” I explain, wiping the backs of my hands over my cheeks. Ambrose’s big, warm hand settles on my shoulder, steadying, grounding.
“How awful,” Dr. Stuart says.
It was. There are no words to describe the horror of that night. Something I never want to repeat, but felt like I was reliving earlier this evening. Emotion grips me, and I bite my bottom lip, fighting to hold back tears.
I need a distraction, something to fixate on so I don’t fall apart. Grabbing my purse, I rummage through it, saying, “You told me Tilly made a big lunch, Gran. Remember?”
She nods hesitantly. “Did I?”
“Hold on.” Finding my cell phone, I open it and type quickly, staring at the screen before a response comes through. “Okay, I just texted Tilly, Gran’s home health nurse, and she said you barely touched your lunch today. She said she left a note on the kitchen counter—”
“Oh, yes, I remember now,” Gran confirms.
I sigh. “Then, why didn’t I see the note on the counter?”
Gran shrugs, chuckling. “Because our counter is covered in Ambrose’s flowers.”
I shake my head. “I feel terrible. I should’ve fed you dinner before we left.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ambrose murmurs, rubbing his thumb across the curve of my shoulder. Sparks of heat spiral through me at his reassuring touch.
Dr. Stuart chimes in, “Fortunately, Ms. Dupont’s tests, apart from blood sugar, indicate she’s as healthy as a horse. That said, she also showed some signs of dehydration, a very common condition in older people. So, we’d like to keep her overnight for observation.”
“Okay,” I say in a wavering voice.
Ambrose squeezes my shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
An hour later, Gran looks cozy in an upstairs room of the hospital. Ambrose asks the nurses for freshly warmed blankets, piling them gently on her bed until she begins to doze off.
“We should go,” he whispers. “Marguerite needs to rest up.”
Stroking her cheek, I say, “Good night, Gran. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“No need,” Gran replies, yawning and snuggling deeper into the pile of warmth. “I’m not going anywhere. What you should do is take that handsome young man back to the Harvest Festival for dancing.” She winks mischievously.
“The matchmaking never stops,” I mutter drily.
“He looks at you. Like Ferdinand looked at me.” Rousing herself, she wants to tell me something. I lean down, and she whispers against the shell of my ear. “Like forever is already written.”
Warmth spills inside as I straighten. Ambrose’s hand covers mine, steady and sure, silently promising I don’t have to protect her alone.
“Go on,” Gran urges. “Have a magical night, you two.” She clasps the fireman’s big hand in both of hers. “Ambrose, thank you. Take good care of my granddaughter.”
“Always, ma’am.”
The word always lodges in my chest, dangerous and sweet. A promise I want so badly to believe.
I tuck the edge of the blanket beneath her chin, smoothing it like she used to do for me after nightmares as a kid. For one brief moment, the roles feel reversed—me protecting her, even as she slips into the safety of sleep.