Chapter Ten
Quinn
S omehow I manage to avoid Lois’s not-so-subtle probing until, finally, Cyrus comes back to relieve Lois and Chad.
“All right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Looks like I’m on Q-tip duty again.”
I roll my eyes at the old nickname. “Seriously Cy, you’re not going to harass me with embarrassing nicknames the entire time, are you?”
He plops down on my bed beside me, sending me a bright smile. “Oh, come on Q-tip, you know you love me.”
Laughing, I slap him playfully. “I guess I have to agree, seeing as how you saved me and all.” For whatever reason, the topic didn’t come up earlier.
Cyrus’s lips flatten, and his jaw tenses. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner that you weren’t feeling well.”
Placing a hand on his arm, I meet his eyes. “Cyrus, it’s not your fault. I was hiding it. And if you hadn’t been there”—I swallow over the lump in my throat—“I could be dead right now. Thank you.”
His shoulders slump, and he lets out a shaky breath. Tears fill my eyes and a weight settles onto my chest. I didn’t realize how hard everyone would take the news of my diabetes. It was selfish of me not to tell my family and friends. God has blessed me with so many people who love me. People who will help me navigate all of this so I don’t have to figure it out on my own. They’ll share the burden with me.
The financial aspect of the situation is entirely different, though. I have to figure that out on my own.
Unless I marry Bram.
My chest tightens. There are a hundred reasons why I should accept his offer. And one blaring reason I shouldn’t outweighs them all.
We aren’t in love.
Pushing all thoughts of marriage and Bram to the back of my mind, I focus on Cyrus. He spends the hour telling me about all the different pranks he pulled during high school and college before he got drafted to play hockey. I’m pretty sure he embellished some of them. Rats in tutus with little Dolly Parton wigs? Switching the Oreo filling out with toothpaste and leaving it for your roommates?
Regardless, I laugh until my sides are sore, and I’m grateful for the distraction from all the overwhelming thoughts.
Cyrus is in the middle of another story that has tears rolling down my face when Mom enters the room, followed by Dr. Phillips.
“It looks like someone is feeling better.” Dr. Phillips smiles.
“It’s the Cyrus effect.” Cyrus winks at the doctor who blushes, causing more giggles to burst from me. Man, I didn’t realize how much I needed to laugh. Especially after Bram’s bombshell of a proposal. What had he been thinking? I’ll have to text him later and give him a firm no. I can’t do it. To either of us. We both deserve to marry someone we’re in love with.
Cyrus leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, then stands and kisses Mom’s cheek as well, before making his exit.
Once the door shuts behind him, Dr. Phillips glances at me. “Your levels are much better today, Quinn, but you’ve got to take your insulin consistently and test your blood sugar to keep them as stable as possible. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday. I consulted with Dr. Maynard, and he’s going to see you in his office in two days.” Dr. Phillips raises her brows at me. “Do you have any questions?”
Plenty. Namely, how am I going to afford this disease?
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply instead.
“When will she be getting out?” Mom asks, turning to Dr. Phillips.
“As long as her levels continue to normalize, then she should be able to go home tomorrow. Dr. Maynard is also adjusting her insulin dosage, so there will be some prescriptions she’ll need to pick up.”
“Not a problem,” Mom says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Mom,” I scold, sitting up straighter. “You can’t afford that. I’ll pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay me ba—”
“No, I do,” I interject, raising my chin. Dr. Phillips makes a quiet exit as I stare Mom down.
Why won’t anyone treat me like an adult? Adulthood was placed upon my shoulders at sixteen when Dad died, and I had to keep the family from falling apart while battling my own guilt over what happened. Mom had been a mess, unable to do anything around the house. And don’t get me started on Lois. It had all fallen to me to make sure Grayson and Miles had three meals a day, were on the school bus, and finished their homework on time.
“It’s been taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom shrugs. “Pastor Woodhouse called this morning and said that he’d had an anonymous donation to give specifically to help your medical expenses.”
My brows draw together. Then the answer hits me like a pail of bricks. Bram. He has to be behind this. I bury my head in my hands. “This is so embarrassing,” I mutter. I’m spiraling from anger to thankfulness, to pure embarrassment, and back again.
Mom touches my shoulder gently, and I peek up, meeting her soft eyes. “Honey, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. That’s what families and friends are for.”
Would she say that if she knew about Bram’s insulting proposal earlier? Okay, I have to admit, it wasn’t all insulting. He said some nice and thoughtful things about me. Things that sent my heart fluttering. And I’m pretty sure he meant them.
But still, it felt like he was looking at a pros and cons list for buying a house or a car. If enough boxes were checked, then marriage between the two of us would work out.
Is it so bad that I want a little romance in my life? That I want to be cherished and loved? And not just cared for? Sure, dating hasn’t been a top priority for me in—well, ever, really. There’s always been too many people to take care of to think about dating: Mom, my siblings—both adopted and foster—and all the responsibilities at Peach Beach Housing Center.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t crave those things. At night when I can’t fall asleep, I dream about what it would be like to fall in love and get married. To fall asleep within my husband’s strong embrace every night.
I have no doubts that Bram would care for me. I honestly don’t even doubt that he would stick to his lifetime commitment to me. I’ve never known Bram to break a promise. He’s consistent. Solid and steady.
But a loveless marriage?
I just don’t think I can do it.
Thankfully, Bram didn’t return to the hospital. He did send a text to let me know he was praying—about everything—and to check on how I was feeling. I still haven’t responded. I’m too angry at him for blindsiding me like that and completely messing up our friendship.
How am I ever going to be able to face him again?
Shaking the thoughts away, a sound draws my attention to the door. My face heats as I realize that Dr. Phillips has entered the room and is speaking to me.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Phillips. I didn’t catch that.”
“We’re going to release you today, but I want you to keep a daily log of your blood sugar. Before and after you eat and before and after you exercise. And anytime you feel off. I know it’s a lot, but we don’t want you going into DKA again. I’m sure Dr. Maynard will discuss all this as well. Call him if anything goes above two hundred and fifty or three hundred for more than two hours. And please call me after your appointment with Dr. Maynard. I would like an update on how you’re doing.”
Great. More doctor appointments. More lab tests. More money. A lot more money. Nausea pools in my stomach as Dr. Phillips goes over more instructions. It’s all so overwhelming.
Two hours later, I’m finally home. The new foster girl, Ella, is playing video games with Grayson and Miles. Jovie looks up from where she’s reading a book. Tossing it on the couch, she comes running to me.
“Quinn, you’re home,” Jovie squeals, wrapping her arms around my waist.
My heart tightens as Jovie rattles on about everything she’d done while I was away. When she’s finished talking, I smile down at her and bring her onto my lap. “I missed you, Jovie Bovie.” I tickle her side. Jovie giggles and curls up in my arms.
Glancing at Ella, I offer the pre-teen an apologetic smile. “Ella, I’m sorry your first week here has been a bit crazy.” New foster kids are always hard to read. The majority of the older ones have been in this situation before. They’re usually hardened to it. They aren’t in it to make friends or be part of the family. They just want to survive until they go back to their parents, move to another foster family, or age out of the system. It makes my heart ache just thinking about everything they’ve been through.
Ella shrugs. “It’s okay,” she replies cheerfully. I smile to myself. Maybe this won’t be a rough placement after all. At least Ella is speaking to us.
Giving Jovie one last squeeze, I excuse myself for a nap. I’m feeling better now that my levels are almost normal, but the mental exhaustion from the hospital stay, Bram’s outrageous proposal, and everyone finding out about my diagnosis has me drained. I climb the stairs on wobbly and unsteady legs. Fatigue is taking hold. I’m pretty sure I could sleep for a week straight and still not feel rested.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, sleep takes me. But it isn’t the peaceful and restful sleep I crave.
Instead, it’s punctuated by endless dreams of Bram Baxter.
Slipping into Julie’s car, I let my head fall back against the headrest. The pressure building behind my eyes intensifies until the first few tears slip down my cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” Julie says quietly, wrapping my hand in hers. “What happened?”
The softness of her tone is the final thread holding my fragile composure together. Exhaustion from the events of the past week catches up to me and I find myself bawling in her arms while we sit in the parking lot of Dr. Maynard’s office.
“I just hate all of this.” My voice cracks.
Julie’s eyes fill with sympathy and unshed tears of her own. “I know, hun. But you have to take care of yourself. Do you have a game plan? A way to treat it so that your sugar doesn’t get out of control again?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. Dr. Maynard is amazing. He’d taken his time to discuss everything with me, after giving me a stern lecture about not skimping on my insulin just to save money. He’d made it very clear how dangerous it could be if I didn’t take the insulin as prescribed. We came up with a great treatment plan. One that should ensure better blood sugar control.
The only problem?
It’s going to cost me another hundred-plus dollars a month.
“He gave me a prescription for a CGM,” I say. “It’s one of those devices that I would always wear to monitor my glucose.”
“That’s good, right?”
My eyes flick to Julie. “I mean, I won’t have to stick my finger several times a day, but it’s going to cost around a thousand dollars.” Just saying the words out loud has a wave of nausea rolling over me.
“We’ll figure the money out. You need to do what is going to keep you healthy.”
I grunt in response and turn my head to stare out the window. Yes, I’m upset about having a lifelong illness with no cure. But the biggest upheaval in my life isn’t the disease itself but the price of everything. The thought of leaving my job to work somewhere else just so I can have health insurance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I’ve always known I wanted to work with foster kids in some capacity. When I first volunteered at the housing center when I was fifteen, I fell in love with the workers and their mission to help kids aging out of the foster system to enter the world with as much knowledge and support as possible. My chest aches thinking of leaving such a fulfilling job. But what choice do I have?
I could always marry Bram.
I slump farther in my seat, trying not to squirm. If Julie finds out about Bram’s offer, she’ll freak.
Is this what my life has come to? Choosing between marrying someone I don’t love or quitting my dream job out of desperation?
I haven’t really dated . . . like ever. I’ve been too busy trying to keep my family together after Dad’s death. There was one guy who worked at the center for a while. I liked him and had gone on a few dates with him, but for whatever reason, it never went anywhere.
My mind drifts back to the hospital room when Bram held my face in his hand, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. Warmth spreads across my face thinking about it. Of course, I felt . . . something.
I don’t remember the last time a man touched me in such a tender way. If ever. And the way his stormy eyes had bored into mine—I shiver involuntarily.
“Are you cold, hun?” Julie glances at me from the corner of her eye.
“No. Just tired.”
Julie takes me to the pharmacy where I almost break down again when paying for the medicines that will keep me alive. Thanks to Bram’s donation—which had been put into a banking account for me—I don’t have to dip into my savings. This time. But what will happen next month when I need another refill of insulin? Or if I decide to get the CGM?
When Julie drops me off at home, Grayson, Miles, and Ella are returning from school, and Lois and Chad are playing a board game with Jovie. I’m not in the mood to talk to any of them, so I tell them I’m going upstairs to take a nap. Jovie’s face falls a little. I’ll have to make it up to her later.
Again, I find myself wishing Dad were here. It’s moments like this when I miss him the most. It isn’t that I can’t talk to Mom. And I probably will when she gets home from work. But that’s the problem. She’s always so busy with housekeeping, waitressing, and making sure we have a full four-course supper every night that it’s hard to get her to sit still long enough to truly listen.
Even though he worked full-time, Dad would drop everything and focus his full attention on you. And there was nothing that could compare to his burly hugs. What would Dad tell me to do right now?
I blink and a memory of one of the last meaningful conversations we shared comes to mind. Dad encouraged me with my dream of working at the center instead of going to college and pursuing a corporate career. “Quinn, you are the most caring young lady I know. I have no doubt that whatever you do in life, you will put all of yourself into it. As long as you keep God at the center of every decision, you’ll succeed where it matters most. Not everyone will understand, but God’s ways aren’t our ways, and usually, His version of success looks much different than ours.”
Sighing, I reach for my Bible lying on my nightstand. As crazy as it seems and as panicked as it makes me feel, maybe I do need to genuinely consider Bram’s proposal. Which means spending time with God and praying for guidance in this seemingly ridiculous idea.