Chapter 27
27
F or the second time in two weeks, I rush into a hospital. Wind my way around patients and doctors and other frazzled family members until I reach a desk.
“Grace Marlborough.” I slap a hand on the counter. “What room is she in?”
I suck in an impatient breath as the nurse tells me to wait a moment, otherwise still for the first time since my mobile buzzed in the middle of the night with a call from Elsie.
Since I answered, it’s been nonstop motion. Slipping out of Lili’s bed. Packing my stuff. Driving to the airport. Flying back to London. Driving here. The short wait is excruciating by comparison.
“She’s in 386,” the nurse tells me. “But, sir?—”
I’m already jogging down the hall, the rest of the nurse’s words lost in the blood rushing in my ears.
I reach room 386 and discover what the nurse was trying to tell me. Granny is fast asleep, the monitors beside her bed beeping evenly. I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.
“Charlie.”
I turn to see Blythe standing in the hallway, holding a bag of crisps in one hand. Her tan skin is pale, the usual flippancy on her face replaced by stark fear. I’m to her in three strides, pulling her tight into my arms.
“Elsie called you?” I was waiting until I got here so I could see what the situation was like first.
Blythe nods against my chest. “Elsie called me.”
“Is she still here?”
I need to thank her. For calling me and for getting Gran help so quickly. For going above and beyond the role of an employee once again.
“No,” Blythe answers. “She headed home to get some rest. Granny’s sedated. She won’t wake up for hours. That’s all I understood from what the doctor said?—”
“Shh,” I say, pulling her tighter against me. “Don’t worry. We’ll straighten it all out.”
“She’s all we have left, Charlie.”
My throat feels too thick to swallow as my heart constricts. “She’s still here.”
A gurney gets pushed down the hallway, and we have to move to one side. Rather than return to a waiting room, we end up in the hospital’s cafeteria.
It’s just past noon. Fairly crowded with hospital staff and other visitors and patients who are mobile enough to leave their rooms.
My appetite is nonexistent, but I buy a sandwich anyway. I haven’t eaten since last night. Blythe picks up a yogurt.
We find an open table and sit in green plastic chairs.
“Did the villa sell?” Blythe asks dully, ripping the top off her yogurt.
The fist around my heart squeezes tighter. “It’s getting listed tomorrow.”
The agent thinks it’s going to sell for more than I thought, which is a good thing. But I can’t help but feel like a failure, staring at my sister’s blank expression. I can’t even bring myself to chastise her for the disaster she and her friends left behind. I’ll lecture her later, when we’re not sitting in a hospital, and she doesn’t look so defeated.
“Do we need money?”
I’m too surprised to say anything except, “What?”
“You heard me.” Blythe’s tone is sharper now, cutting to the truth like a predator closing in on a kill. “Are you selling the villa because we need the money?”
“I …” All the times I considered telling her, it never occurred to me Blythe might be the one to ask me. That I’d have to lie to her, or else tell her the ugly truth.
“It’s an easy question, Charles. Yes or no?”
It’s not an easy question.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say to my sister. Because she’s going to want a full explanation of how this happened, which will mean altering her memory of our father forever. Letting her learn he wasn’t the successful, cunning man we both thought he was.
My knee begins bouncing. “I’m handling it, Blythe. Okay? I’m sorry about the villa, but I?—”
“How bad is it?”
Sweat pricks under the collar of my shirt. “It’s not … good.”
“Do I need to leave school? Are we going to lose Newcastle? Will Granny?—”
“No. I—we’ll be fine. Things are tight now, but I have a plan. Just trust me.”
Blythe doesn’t look reassured.
Honestly, I don’t blame her. It took me weeks—months—to wrap my head around this reality. I’m not sure it’s fully sunk in yet actually.
There are still moments when I forget, when I drive up to Newcastle and imagine walking inside to find my dad sitting by the fire, reading a leather-bound book. Ready to chastise me for staying out late or for not receiving first-class honors. When I wake up and there’s no weight yet. When I’m around Lili.
“How long have you known?” she asks me.
I avert my eyes. “Since Papa died.”
“Does Granny know?” Her voice is higher again.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know why, Blythe.”
She sighs. “It was Papa’s fault.”
“He made mistakes,” I acknowledge.
“How could he?”
A question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. “People make mistakes. I’m sure he didn’t mean to?—”
“Ruin our lives?” Blythe finishes bitterly.
My chest heaves with a long sigh. “I felt the same way when I found out. Pissed and angry and resentful. It changed nothing. He loved you, Blythe. Loved you so much. I’m sure he thought he could fix everything before it affected us. Just because he was wrong …”
I shrug helplessly.
Comforting other people has never been my strong suit. I was raised to never show weakness, so I never had much exposure to sentimentality.
I probably would have made a terrible doctor.
You would’ve been a really good doctor. Lili’s voice sneaks into my head without warning, a tumble of memories from the past couple of days following close behind.
She’s probably pissed at me, as she should be.
Sneaking out of her bed in the middle of the night to answer Elsie’s call, then leaving a note that I had to return to London because of business for everyone to find—both decisions I could categorize as mistakes.
I was overwhelmed. With worry about Gran—and panic about Lili.
She was supposed to be sex. A beautiful distraction from the fifty-pound weight stuck on my shoulders.
I didn’t want to care about her. Didn’t think I was capable of it, honestly. My father might have loved Blythe unreservedly—and shown affection toward me in certain ways—yet I never witnessed him express warmth toward anyone who wasn’t a blood relation. If he ever loved my mother, it didn’t last long.
But the weight on my shoulders has been joined by a brick in my stomach as I think about how I left Lili lying in bed. Left a hastily scribbled note on the counter that didn’t even address her directly.
Does she hate me for it?
Worse, does she not care at all?
I’m exhausted. Physically since Lili and I didn’t get back to Chloe’s until almost two a.m. and Elsie called around four. Mentally and emotionally, too, as I worry about Granny’s health and everything else challenging my family right now.
Blythe and I finish picking at our lunch, then head back upstairs. Granny still isn’t awake, but Blythe sits with her while I receive an update from one of her doctors.
They’ve determined Granny had an ischemic stroke. They did a CT scan when she arrived and have administered medication to restore circulation, which she seems to be responding to, but they’re continuing to monitor her while awaiting test results.
If Elsie hadn’t checked on her in the middle of the night, she’d probably be gone.
I thank the doctor, then return to Granny’s room.
She’s awake now.
“The nurse said her vitals look good,” Blythe tells me. Her face is still drawn, but there’s a spark of life there. A little color. “She said Granny should try to get more rest.”
I squeeze Blythe’s shoulder, then lean down to kiss Granny’s wrinkled forehead. I’m so used to seeing her with curled hair and a matching skirt and jacket. Linen this time of year. She looks so tiny in the standard-issued gown and mechanized bed.
“It’s good to see you, Granny.”
“I don’t need to rest, Charles,” she says, impertinent as ever. “I need you to get me out of here.”
“Try to close your eyes for a little bit,” I reply. “Relaxing will get you out of here sooner. We’ll wait out?—”
“There’s no reason to sit somewhere else when there’s plenty of space in here.”
She’s scared , I realize. She’s scared, and she wants us to stay with her.
“All right.” I pull up a chair alongside the hospital bed, opposite Blythe.
“I’m going to use the loo,” she tells me and Gran, then disappears into the hallway.
“Probably off to plan her next trip now that she knows there’s no funeral to attend.”
I sigh. “Gran …”
I deliberate on telling her that Blythe knows the truth and is dealing with that, but decide now isn’t the moment. It’ll upset her, knowing Blythe sees Papa differently, and that’s not what she needs right now.
“How did it go in Saint-Tropez?” Granny asks.
“Fine. The house is listing on tomorrow. Realtor expects it will move fast.”
“Good. And the investors?”
“Nothing solid,” I admit.
I narrowed the options down to three before leaving for France. Before making a final decision, I’d like to get Louis Haywood’s opinion. I know he’s familiar with at least one of the companies.
Gran sniffs. “You need to start considering alternatives, Charles.”
“ What alternatives?”
“You’re the Duke of Manchester. There isn’t a woman in the country who would turn down a proposal. Find a wealthy one, and this unfortunate situation will be a worry of the past.”
I exhale, studying my clasped palms.
Her suggestion isn’t a surprise. Even forgetting the urgency of the financial situation, I’ve always known I’d need to have kids to pass the title to. Something I don’t really care about, honestly, but Gran sure does. My dad did too. And no matter how mad I am at my father—about a long list of things—I’ve never been able to fully shake the compulsion to take his opinion into consideration.
“I’m not ready to get married.”
Seven years . I was supposed to have seven years of freedom left, same as my father.
“Are you ready to declare bankruptcy? To lose everything ?”
I flinch, but they’re fair shots.
In the fifteen months since my father died, I’ve failed to find any lasting solution. I’m not a businessman who understands strategy and investments and market shares. I was supposed to be a doctor.
“Charlie, the doctor’s here.”
Blythe walks into the room, a white coat–clad man right behind her. He introduces himself as Dr. Wallace, then tells Gran they’d like to take her down for an electrocardiogram to assess any heart problems that might have led to her stroke.
She’s wheeled out a few minutes later, leaving me and Blythe alone in the sterile room that smells like antiseptic.
“You okay?” Blythe tilts her head as she studies me.
For the first time, it feels like my little sister is older than me. She looks poised while I feel like I’m falling apart.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
She nods, and we sit in silence, waiting for Gran to come back.