Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
LUKE
I would have to be blind not to have noticed that Lorelai has turned into a beautiful woman. Her tangerine hair is now a gorgeous auburn, which sets off her blue eyes beautifully. She’s tallish and quite graceful. But it’s not just physical attractiveness. I’ve noticed stacks of baby blankets strewn about which I’m sure she’s donating somewhere, which makes her super kind. She’s got a quirkiness about her that I find intriguing. And every once in a while, the thought of kissing her lands right in the middle of my mind. But none of that matters. She’s Noah’s little sister, and she lives in Elk Lake. There’s no way she and I are ever going to be a couple. No. Way.
Having said that, I do suddenly wonder what Lorelai is like on a date. I have to suppress a laugh at the image of her offering her romantic interest a Toaster Strudel for breakfast. If I’m honest, she’s endearingly unpredictable and that realization is not exactly welcome.
Trying to get us back on more comfortable footing, I tell her, “Noah said that you wanted to own a bed and breakfast someday. ”
“I thought it could be fun, but that won’t be in my near future. I’m not even sure I can afford rent, let alone a house.”
“Maybe you could find work in a hotel or something. You know, to further your education of what owning a bed and breakfast would entail.”
“I did work at the Elk Lake Lodge,” she says. “But I quit so I can get this place ready for sale.”
“Noah mentioned that. I was hoping to check out their restaurant some time.”
“You totally should. It’s great.” It’s obvious she’s still annoyed. I just don’t know if it’s directed toward me or Noah.
As soon as she’s done eating, Lorelai stands up and takes her plate to the kitchen sink. “I’m sorry about my brother,” she offers. “I’m horrified by what he did.”
“Don’t be.” I try to soften the blow of my earlier reaction by adding, “I mean, it’s not like it would have been totally out of the question had he tried to set us up another time. It’s just that … you know … there’s a lot going on in my life right now.”
I can’t tell if Lorelai is about to run across the room and throw herself into my arms or if she’s going to flee the kitchen. Either way, a sprint seems imminent. But before she can do either thing, the doorbell rings. Saved by the bell.
Lorelai looks as relieved as I am. “I’d better get that.”
Once she leaves the room, I stand up and make quick work of cleaning up after breakfast. I find a plastic container in the pantry and wrap some of the food to take to my dad. I figure if I share my creations with him, he might start to understand me better.
After packing a plastic grocery sack, I walk into the living room to get my coat. Lorelai is talking to a woman I recognize from high school. She was a senior when I was a freshman. “Anna?”
Our guest turns toward me wearing a radiant smile. “Luke Phillips?”
“That’s me.” I walk over to her and give her a quick hug. “How have you been? You’re still living in Elk Lake, huh? ”
“I was in Chicago, but my husband and I came back when we found out we were pregnant. This really is the perfect town to raise a family.” Lorelai is working hard not to look at me. So much so that she stares at the floor, the ceiling, and even her own hands, but she won’t make eye contact with me.
“I heard about your dad’s accident,” Anna says. “Please give him and your mom my best.”
“Will do,” I tell her. “It was nice running into you.”
I’m not sure why she’s visiting Lorelai, but I don’t stick around to ask. I just wave to both women and say, “Have a nice day.”
The drive to the hospital is quick. I wish I were more excited to see my dad, but the truth is that I’m dreading it. There’s only so much small talk we can make with each other. Getting out of my car, I grab the sausage crepes and then lock the door before walking into the hospital.
My goal today is to stay long enough to see my mom as we switch shifts. Looking at the clock, that means that I’ll need to be here for three hours. That might as well be three days for how smoothly I anticipate things going.
I don’t see Tony upstairs, so I’m guessing it’s his day off. Taking a deep breath, I walk into my dad’s room. I’m surprised to find an empty bed. Panic floods my nervous system. Did something happen to him? Dear God, please let him not have had a stroke or heart attack. I force myself to breathe deeply and try to calm down. Surely, if there had been an emergency, the hospital would have called my mom, and she in turn would have called me. Unless, of course, it just happened, and she hasn’t had a chance.
A short, middle-aged woman wearing green scrubs walks into the room. “Where’s my dad?” I don’t mean to sound as forceful as I do, but I’m ridiculously anxious.
Taking the chart off the hook at the end of the bed, she says, “He’s having another MRI. It shouldn’t take more than another thirty minutes or so.”
“Why does he need another MRI? ”
“The doctor wanted to make sure he wasn’t forming any blood clots.” She explains, “They’re sometimes a result of forced immobility.”
“So, he’s all right?”
“As all right as he was before.” She marks something on the chart before putting it back and walking out of the room.
Slumping down in the chair next to the bed, it suddenly hits me how very lucky it was that my dad didn’t break his neck when he fell, or worse. He could have died. I close my eyes while I wait for his return and try to formulate a course of action. My brain tells me to be calm and pleasant, but my heart is saying something much different. Which is why when my dad is wheeled back into the room, I practically shout, “Thank goodness you’re okay!”
He's lying face-up on a gurney, so I can see his expression clearly. Confusion is written across his features. “I wouldn’t call being in traction okay.”
“Of course not.” I stand up and move to his side while his attendants start to transfer him to his bed. They’re very careful to go slowly so as not to cause him more discomfort. As they reattach the pulleys to his arm and leg, I explain, “I just panicked when I got here, and you were gone.”
“Thought I bit the big one, huh?”
So much for being touched by my concern.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I tell him truthfully.
He remains quiet while the nurse puts a blood pressure cuff on his arm. She fusses around for a bit longer before telling him, “Call if you need anything, Mr. Phillips.” Then she walks out of the room.
“Did you have breakfast?” I ask my dad.
“They brought me some oatmeal a while ago, but I couldn’t eat it. It was awful.”
“How can you screw up oatmeal?”
He rolls his eyes before explaining, “You can overcook it, under-season it, and serve it soupy. They did all the above. ”
I reach for the grocery bag that I brought with me. “How do sausage and mushroom crepes sound?”
“You’d better not be joking around, Luke.” My dad’s warning nearly makes me laugh.
“I would never joke about crepes.” Walking toward the door, I add, “I’ll just go heat this up for you at the nurses’ station.”
It takes me a grand total of two minutes to transfer my dad’s food to a paper plate and give it a quick zap in the microwave. When I get back to his room, he says, “I hope you brought a lot. I’m starving.”
I put the plate down on the rolling tabletop next to his bed before cutting the crepes into bite-sized pieces. “You want me to feed you?” I ask him.
He lifts his good arm. “I got it.”
Sitting down on the chair next to him, I watch while he picks up a plastic fork. Stabbing it into a piece of crepe, he moves it around the plate to pick up the sauce, then he puts it into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he chews it and swallows before saying, “So much better than soupy oatmeal.”
“I’d like to take that as a compliment,” I joke. “But there really isn’t anything much worse than soupy oatmeal.”
A small smile begins to form, but he hurries to suppress it. “It’s good, Luke. Really good.”
His praise makes me feel like a little kid who just hit a home run in the ninth inning of a Little League championship game. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You serve this at your restaurant?” I detect a note of irritation.
“Not at Capon,” I tell him. “But I served it at the last place I worked.”
“I like the rosemary and thyme,” he says. “Very earthy tasting.”
We don’t say anything else while he finishes the food on his plate. Once he’s done, I ask, “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good. ”
“Dad …” I want to ask him a million questions, but I don’t want to make him angry.
“What, Luke?”
I want to ask him about the specials at Pop’s but I don’t want him to think I’m checking up on him. “I’m really glad you’re doing okay.”
His head bobs up and down slowly. “You know what I’d really like?”
“I don’t.”
“I’d love a burger for lunch. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stop by Pop’s and ask Jim to make one for me.”
“I’d be happy to, Dad.” Keeping up the pretense that I haven’t been into the diner yet, I tell him, “I’d like to see Jim again. How’s he doing?”
“He’s Jim. Always on time, always smiling …”
“He’s a great guy,” I say.
His only response is a grunt. Then he wants to know, “When’s your mom coming by?”
“She’ll be here at lunch time.” I suddenly wonder how we’re going to pass the time. We clearly don’t have anything to say to each other.
My dad surprises me by demanding, “Tell me about your restaurant.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
I can’t read the expression on his face, so I don’t know if I’m walking into a land mine or not. I simply start talking. “It’s down by the river …”