Chapter Thirteen
Grave Diggers, Inc.
Around nine thirty in the morning on September twelfth, the boardroom at Woodhouse Corporation flew to a shocking halt when Finn Woodhouse collapsed on the ground.
“Is the injured party responding?” the operator asked.
“No! Not at all! Hurry, please!”
People were rushing about, trying to see if there was a doctor in the building. By the time one was found, the San Francisco EMTs had arrived and so had the fire department and the police.
“Is he dead?” James asked, running after the stretcher which was moving through the seventeenth floor at a breakneck pace.
“Sir, please move out of the way.”
Mrs. Woodhouse took the news about as well as could be imagined—fainting at her hair appointment just after barking out orders that under no circumstances should he be taken to San Francisco General only UCSF.
“Not the hospital where they take the drunks and the—”
And then she was on the ground.
After she was revived by her stylist, Mimi, she had Fairchild take her to UCSF. Roman was on his way. Jane was already there.
Jane called her when the car was on the Golden Gate.
“Jane Brooks, tell me truthfully, is he alive?” Clara asked sternly.
“Barely.”
Clara whimpered under her breath. “Is he going to make it?”
Jane heaved a breath. “He might.”
“What happened, Jane?”
“It’s called takotsubo cardiomyopathy,” Jane replied.
“What in the world is that, Jane?! I’m not a doctor!”
“Clara, he basically had a heart attack.”
Fairchild heard and felt his own heart lurch. Finn was twenty-nine. That was too young to have a heart attack. Much too young.
“How is that possible?” Clara asked. “He’s turning thirty in two weeks. He’s not a fifty-five-year-old man with a beer belly like my husband was.”
“I can explain more when you come in. Also, when he fell, he broke his arm.”
Clara groaned. “We should be there in thirty, assuming traffic doesn’t get any worse. Please, Jane, do whatever you can to keep him alive.”
“I’ll do my best. Doctor Dover is a great doctor, too.”
Once they arrived, Clara rushed inside.
Roman pulled up twenty minutes later.
“Where is he?!” Roman shouted at Fairchild from across the lot.
“ER, Room Seven!”
Roman was gone in a flash.
Fairchild pulled his phone out.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Flora, I don’t know how else to say this, but I’ve got some very bad news.”
“Dad? Are you alright?”
He heard her stop vacuuming.
“It’s not me. Finn’s had a heart attack and he’s at UCSF. He may not make it.”
“Finn—heart attack? What? How is that—a heart attack?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“He’s alive though?”
“At the moment. Jane made it clear there’s a chance he may not. And he broke his arm when he went down too.”
“Heaven forbid…” Flora said to herself. “Oh, Dad, I really can’t handle this. I can’t…”
Her voice trailed off.
“I’m as terrified as you are,” he replied. “Or, at least to some degree.”
“Oh dear God.” Flora heaved a sigh. “Oh my goodness. How did this happen? He’s too stressed at work. He’s only one person! Jack said this would happen just a few nights ago. Oh, Dad. I feel sick. Do you know anything else?”
“Not much.”
“Not even the sort of heart attack? Like was his artery blocked?”
“Jane called it something… Tak something. Takotsubo!”
Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy
Broken heart syndrome
Broken heart syndrome is a heart condition often brought on by stressful situations and extreme emotions.
It is a temporary condition where the heart muscle weakens suddenly due to an onset of severe and unresolved stress patterns.
Men are more likely to experience TC after an intense emotional experience, such as a breakup, divorce, or death.
“What do you mean he has a broken heart?” Clara asked, standing outside of Room Seven. “He hasn’t had anything to cause a broken heart. This can’t be real. This sounds like a daytime soap opera.”
Roman was looking at Jane, as if she might know.
“Clara, it can be brought on by extreme stress. I think with the merger and the wedding and the fact that he is only twenty-nine and the CEO of the world’s biggest tech company is enough to cause something like this.”
“But—”
“Mum, Finn works harder than anyone,” Roman cut in. “He’s up all hours too. He has been since he was twenty-two and maybe before that as well. He eats junk food, he drinks gallons of coffee, he marathon runs, and he panics. I’ve only ever seen him calm down when Flora’s around.”
Clara’s breath caught for a second as she was about to repeat that none of this made any sense. “Well,” she said, sitting down again, “well… Jane, keep us posted, please.”
“Of course.”
Roman put his head back on the wall. “I feel I’m to blame for this,” he confessed. “Never stepping up, never helping to fill Dad’s shoes. I’ve been so lazy.”
“As much as I wish you would step up, I don’t think this had anything to with you… at least not in that regard,” Clara replied, squeezing Roman’s shoulder. “This sort of stuff happens when life adds up, and you can’t do division.”
Roman eyed his mother. “I could have helped him divide.”
Clara didn’t reply. She just squeezed his shoulder instead.
“I’ve been thinking, lately, about how Jane and I are getting married and everything. She works so hard. I should too. I want to be a good husband.”
“Mmm,” Clara nodded, “she’s a wonderful girl. Couldn’t have picked better.”
“I’m sure.” Roman rolled his eyes.
“I meant that notwithstanding the merger. She’s a great girl outside of that. I think you’ll be an actual happy couple. And there are not many of those.”
Roman laughed. “Poor Finn, stuck with Holly. God, what sort of wife will she be?”
“A very, very bad one.”
About two hours later, Clara and Roman still sitting there with no news other than Finn was alive, Jane walked over and motioned for them to follow her.
After turning the corner, they were immediately met with the TV in the lobby replaying an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle, of all people, about Finn’s incident.
“Has anyone even told them what’s happened?” Clara asked, fishing for her phone.
“I haven’t,” Jane and Roman said in unison.
“News has hit that the world-renowned Finn Woodhouse suffered a medical emergency this morning during the Woodhouse Corporation’s biannual board meeting.
We are unclear as to the extent of his injuries, but reports indicate that Mr. Woodhouse was unconscious for over ten minutes.
We have an interview with close family friends, Julie and George Carlisle, who came rushing to the scene in search of answers when they heard the news… ”
Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle—who didn’t look like they had been rushing anywhere—appeared on screen.
“We rushed down here the moment we heard…” Mrs. Carlisle was saying. “We are deeply concerned for our dear Finn, and we would be heartbroken if he doesn’t make it through this.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I need to call someone.”
Across the bay, Flora sat on her bed, rigid. Afraid to look at her phone in case the next text said he’s gone. Afraid not to look in case she missed a call.
It buzzed.
Unknown number.
“Oh God, please,” Flora whispered, answering. “Hello?”
“Flora, this is Clara Woodhouse.”
“Is Finn alright?”
“He’s still alive. The doctors aren’t sure why this has hit him so hard…” Clara’s voice trailed off. “Finn’s Land Rover keys are on the hook in the mudroom. He had a driver drop him at the board meeting. Take the car and come over here.”
“Mrs. Woodhouse, I don’t drive very often. I have a license, but I don’t trust myself with a car as nice as Finn’s in San Francisco. I could have one of the drivers bring—”
“Flora, get into a car and come to UCSF now.”
“Sorry?”
“Okay, apparently, I have to repeat myself in a new way. I am calling a driver to pick you up and bring you to UCSF.”
“Mrs. Woodhouse, your son and I aren’t speaking. We haven’t spoken in several weeks. We agreed not to. I—”
“Flora, I don’t care, and I don’t want to know.”
Mrs. Woodhouse had this way about her that was somewhat disarming. She was never angry—just to the point, and sometimes regrettably so.
“Get into the car and come to UCSF.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Flora gathered a few things and waited downstairs. Felipe, who had driven her to the jet to go to Carmel, pulled up minutes later.
Full circle.
Flora barely spoke during the drive. She just looked out the window blankly watching the tankers pass under the Golden Gate. She didn’t know why Clara had called her or was making her come. This wasn’t exactly cut and dry.
They arrived an hour and a half later because of traffic. The clock in the waiting room read 7:37 p.m.
Jane waved her through a few minutes later.
“Hi. We’ve met a few times,” Jane whispered as they walked through the fluorescent hallway. “Clara said it was important you be here.”
“Any idea why?” Flora asked.
“Beats me.”
Mrs. Woodhouse sat outside of Room Seven, still in her clothes from that morning, more disheveled than anyone had ever seen her since they’d moved to the United States.
Roman was in the seat next to her, asleep—or something close to it.
Upon their quiet arrival he woke up like someone had dropped heavy textbooks in his lap.
“Flora?” Roman asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Jane, let Flora in the room,” Clara said immediately.
Flora’s eyes went wide and she froze. “But—”
“Flora, don’t protest.”
Unable to argue with Clara, Flora watched as Jane opened the door to Room Seven.
Flora paused at the threshold, holding her eyes closed. When she opened them, she felt sick all over again.
Finn looked terrible. He was comatose. A sling around his arm, a black eye, bruises on his neck.
“What did he hit on his way down?” Flora whispered.
“Everything, apparently,” Jane said dryly. “I’m not really supposed to let anyone in here, but I can’t say no to Clara. Future mother-in-law.”
“No one can say no to her.” Flora gave a faint smile.
“Can’t wait till she wants grandkids. I’ll be just outside.”
Flora nodded, though she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Clara had called her, brought her here, demanded she go inside, and now she was standing over Finn’s lifeless body with no clue what sort of magic she was supposed to work.
Machines hummed, monitors buzzed, a saline drip bubbled.
“Finn, Finn, Finn,” Flora whispered, moving hair out of his face. “You’ve really outdone yourself on this one. I told you that you were working too much and look at what happened.”
She sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
“Guess I’ll just talk then,” she added. “I have missed talking to you. It’s just much better when you reply, though. I’ll be honest.”
Silence.
“You couldn’t have just taken a page out of Roman’s book and gone to the spa, huh? Had to have a heart attack. And over what? Silly work.”
Flora grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
His heartbeat was there, just slow.
“Am I allowed to…” Flora looked around to see if anyone was watching. “No one to stop me.”
Carefully, she slid into the narrow hospital bed, mindful of the wires, the sling, the IV. She rested her head against his good shoulder.
“Wake up, Finn,” she whispered.
A few minutes passed.
Flora was humming Silver Springs, not sure how long she should stay like this, wondering if a doctor would burst in and throw her out.
Just as she was about to get up, she felt pressure on her hand.
The hand that was holding Finn’s hand.
She looked from her hand to his face. His eyes were open.
He was looking at her like it was all a dream.
“Finn?” she whispered. “Are you here?”
“Are you here?” he asked.
“I am.”
“I’m not dreaming?”
“No.”
He exhaled, relief breaking through. “Thank goodness… but bloody hell.”
“No kidding.”