Chapter 15 So Many Questions #2
“Oh.” That’s all I’ve got. It never occurred to me that he could be sick. It doesn’t fit with this more-of-everything-please lifestyle. “I’m so sorry. What does that mean for you?”
“Some new medicines. Frequent testing. Possibly a procedure in the future.”
Yikes. “I’m sorry,” I say again. But I still feel like I’m missing something.
He shrugs. “It’s going to be okay, but they’re making me slow down at work, so that sucks. The thing is, Darcy, I’m not telling you all this for pity. I need to explain one more thing about my condition.”
“Which is…?”
He sets down his cup. “They believe my condition is acquired—triggered by medication or other lifestyle factors.” His voice is steady, but there’s something careful in the way he’s watching me. “But long QT can also be genetic.”
“Genetic,” I repeat, and the word weighs a thousand pounds. And then I catch myself lifting my hand to cover my own heart, as if I could learn anything just by feeling it beat against my palm.
My dad reaches over and catches my hand instead. “Hey, I doubt you have anything to worry about. I already had a genetic test, and I’m not a carrier for the gene that causes most of the cases. But I’d still like you to have a workup by a cardiologist. Just to be sure.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Okay? So you don’t have to feel guilty if I drop dead at thirty?”
“Darcy,” he says, his voice low and sad. “Do this one thing for me. If your EKG is normal, then you probably have nothing to worry about.”
I look away, staring at the overpriced flower arrangement in the center of the table. I can feel the weight of his request settling over me, pressing down on my chest.
His voice is quieter now. “Please?”
I let out a slow breath. The pianist in the corner shifts to something lighter, something airy. Outside, the sun glints off the pristine golf course. Everything is perfect, controlled, orderly.
Except for his heart.
And maybe mine.
I swallow, nodding once. “And you’re doing everything the doctor asks of you? Every single thing?”
He gives me a sad smile. He lets go of my hand and holds his up, as if taking an oath. “I am. I promise.”
“Fine. I’ll get tested.”
“Awesome.” His smile grows. “It’s not urgent, okay? Just get it done this summer, and let me know how it turns out. Try not to worry, Darcy. Really. I just want to be sure.”
I grab my water glass. “Okay.”
“And one more thing? Don’t mention this to Tessa.”
My glass freezes on its way to my mouth. “What? Why?”
He winces. “Because I haven’t told her yet. She’s so busy planning the wedding.”
“But…” I do the math. “Theo is the one getting married. And you told him?”
He nods. “I did. And I’ll tell Tessa right after the wedding, when she’s calmer. You know how she gets.”
I do. We all do.
“Now finish your lunch, kiddo. It’s a long drive back to New York. Oh, look! There’s your ride.”
I turn my head like a dog looking for its owner. And sure enough, here comes Eric, striding across the dining room with a smile on his handsome face. He stops beside my chair and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Afternoon! Is it okay if I join you?”
My father grins as if nothing is wrong and indicates the empty third chair. “Would you like something to eat?”
Eric is already shaking his head. “My mother filled me up with scrambled eggs and pancakes. I’ve had all the food I can handle. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
My father signals for the waiter, and coffee is fetched and poured for Eric. He and my father exchange a few pleasantries. But at some point, I realize that Eric is shooting worried looks at me.
I pull myself together a little and try to contribute to the rest of the conversation.
But I can’t say I’m sorry when the bill is signed, and I’ve accepted a hug from my father, who tells me to “take care of myself” in a more meaningful way than usual.
And then Eric is finally wheeling my suitcase toward the Porsche and accepting his key fob from the valet.
Climbing into his car has me filled with relief. I fasten my seat belt and wait for him to pull away.
But that’s not what happens. He turns to me with a serious frown and says, “Darcy, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to rearrange my features into something more cheerful.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says gently.
My acting skills clearly need work. “My father just disclosed to me that he’s having a health problem. It’s his heart. And he needs me to go see a cardiologist just in case it’s genetic.”
Eric lets out a low whistle. “Hell, I’m sorry.”
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. Because it shouldn’t. My stupid father is probably going to be just fine. He’ll carry on for another fifty years, taking more than his share of everything, and thinking up new perks for his five-star hotels.
Eric reaches over and covers my hand with his. For a few precious seconds, the warmth of it is a balm to my soul. Then he puts his hands at two and ten on the wheel and steers the sleek car toward the exit road.
It’s midday, and traffic is light. We fly along toward home, but I’m still stuck inside my head. I’ve been so angry at my dad for so long. And now…
My phone rings with Darth Vader’s theme, and I let out a groan.
“Is that… a call?” Eric asks.
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s Sharp.”
He laughs. “Great ringtone.”
“Appropriate, right? If I don’t take it, he’ll just keep calling.”
“Go ahead, then. I’ll stay quiet.”
I hit accept. “Hello?”
“Where the hell is everyone, Kendrick?” The boss’s gravelly bark nearly shatters my eardrum. “I got a kid stuck in Helsinki with his thumb up his ass, no flight, no visa clearance, and NO ONE IN TRAVEL IS ANSWERING THEIR GODDAMN PHONES.”
I move the phone away from my ear. “Sir, they’re on vacation.”
“And off the fucking grid? WHO DOES THAT?”
“Everyone, sir. Because if we didn’t, we’d all turn into you. Now, what exactly is the issue?”
Eric lifts a hand from the steering wheel to slap it over his mouth.
“The issue? The issue is I have a first-round draft pick sitting in Finland like a goddamn tourist instead of meeting his summer trainers!”
“Is it a travel issue? Or is it his paperwork?”
“The second thing. But the airline won’t let him board! Some bureaucratic horseshit.”
I sigh. “Sir, the travel department can’t help you.
This is an immigration issue. You need the US consulate in Helsinki.
I’m in the middle of a three-hour drive after seeing my sick father, so you’re going to have to put on your big boy pants and handle this yourself.
His agent probably has legal help on standby for things like this. ”
In the driver’s seat, Eric smothers a snort. And over the phone line, my boss growls like a grizzly bear. “Who’s his agent again? Bruno?”
“I think so? And if your player needs a hotel while this gets sorted out, call the Ritz-Carlton in Helsinki and ask for Emmi. She’ll find him a room.”
Silence. Then: “Fine. I’ll call Bruno first.” Then a longer pause. Then, a grunt. Possibly the closest thing I’ll get to a thank-you. “And Kendrick?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hope your dad is okay.” He hangs up with a click.
Setting down the phone, I finally exhale. Meanwhile, Eric laughs out loud from the driver’s seat. “Never heard anyone talk to Sharp that way before.”
“It’s tactical,” I admit. “He’s exhausting, and he has a lot of control over my life. But when I don’t push back, he just becomes more difficult.”
“Still,” Eric says. “The way you handled him just now is impressive. You refuse to be a doormat.”
“Are we sure about that?” I lean back against the leather headrest and close my eyes. “My father asked for a lunch date, and I came running because I’m never the one who got his attention. And now…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“And now you don’t know how to feel about his heart trouble,” Eric says for me.
“I thought I had more time with him,” I blurt. “He says he’s not dying, but it also sounded serious. Like I should get over all my anger and quick. Or else I’m just a monster.”
“Not hardly,” my fake boyfriend says. “He might be difficult, or even manipulative, and you’re still allowed to be freaked out about his heart condition.”
“Well, good. Because I am.”
The rest of our ride home is pretty quiet, and it’s mostly my fault. When we pull up in front of my building, I thank him for the ride.
“Shall we do this again next month for the wedding?” he asks, setting my suitcase carefully onto the sidewalk. “Everyone will be expecting us to roll up together.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Unless we break up first. Your call.”
Our little ruse is the last thing on my mind right now. “How about we play it by ear? What if you need to bring someone else? Maybe this is the week you meet the future Mrs. Tremaine.”
“On the treadmill?” He smiles at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Sure, buddy.”
“You never know.” I can’t help smiling back. “And I might meet the future Mr. Kendrick at the college library. We’ll have a friendly fight over the last stale corn muffin at the café.”
“Sounds hot.” He closes the Porsche’s little trunk. “You take care of yourself, okay? And let me know how your dad is doing.”
“I will.”
He drives away a moment later, and I go upstairs to my stuffy apartment and my homework. Except now I’m more distracted than ever.
Two days later, I get an email from Eric.
Hey Darcy,
I happened to speak to the team doctor today, and I mentioned that a friend needed to make an appointment with a cardiologist. He recommends Dr. Talbot at NYU and said to name-drop him for an appointment. The wait time is sometimes long, I hear.
E. Tremaine, Cha-cha Competition Winner
I grin at my computer screen like a goober.
Then I dial the doctor’s number.