Chapter 3 – Bea
“I think it’s really nice that you and Marco are dating,” Caroline randomly says as I drive her to the local hospital.
I look back at her in the rearview mirror. Her demeanor is much more lucid and aware. I wonder if her erratic behavior was the result of the head injury, simply a symptom of the Parkinson’s, or a combination of both. “Aw. That’s really sweet of you to say. Thank you.”
“I mean it. You take care of him. My Clara never did that. Well, not well enough.”
“I’m sure she did the best she knew how.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
I don’t either, but I don’t want to bad mouth her own daughter in front of her.
“The girls are a little confused about your relationship.”
“What?” This genuinely catches me off guard.
“They asked why you spend so much time with them but aren’t married to their dad.”
“Oh.” I suppose that’s a reasonable thing for a small child to think. “And what did you say?”
“Well, I know Marco doesn’t want to tell them that you’re together yet.”
Don’t remind me.
“So, I just said that you were their dad’s special friend who liked to be around the whole family.”
That wasn’t the most inaccurate way to classify me.
“Did they seem okay with that?”
“I think so.”
Before we can continue talking, we arrive.
“Please just stay back there. I’m going to get you a wheelchair.”
I walk inside, request one from the man standing at the reception desk, and then go out and help her into it.
When I come back, I let Caroline introduce herself—partly because I have no idea what her last name is.
“Caroline Kressly.”
“Okay, and what are you in the ER for today, ma’am?”
I jump in to answer. “Um, she had a fall in the closet. She was playing hide and seek with her grandkids—”
He looks up at me slowly and then back at her. “Is that an accurate account of what happened?” By his tone, he’s skeptical of the story I told. It’s like he suspects me of pushing this little old lady down the stairs or something.
“I guess so.”
He types something on the computer and then asks us to wait for a nurse to call her name.
“Okay, thank you,” I say in the sweetest way I can.
I wouldn’t hurt a fly, buddy. Nevertheless, this innocent woman, I think as I grind my teeth and push her to an empty part of the waiting room.
We sit and watch the infomercials on the TV before she pulls something out of her pocket.
“Look what I found in the closet.”
She opens the box to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring inside.
My jaw drops, and my hands raise to cover it. “Oh, my—”
“Do you think it’s for you?”
“Um . . .” I take it from her and inspect it. “I, I don’t know.”
“I don’t see who else it would be for.”
I’m speechless. I never considered that he’d want to ask me to marry him. Heck, he hasn’t even told his daughters about our relationship yet, and although incredibly important, that feels like less of a milestone than an engagement.
But then the reality of the situation hits me. “Wait? Why do you have this?”
“Well, I was looking at it before I fell, and I wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost. So, I slid it in my pocket.”
It isn’t the most sensical explanation, but she did hit her head, so who knows what her logic was telling her at the time.
“Okay. But why don’t I keep it for now?” I insist.
“Okay.”
Then, I realized that I would have to find a way to sneak and put it back in the closet without Marco knowing that the surprise was ruined before he had the opportunity to propose.
Oh, my God. Me? A bride? The whole concept was almost too much to wrap my mind around.
“Caroline Kressly?” a small woman calls from an opened door.
“That’s her,” I say.
She comes over to start pushing the wheelchair back into the examining rooms.
“Wait! She can’t come?” Caroline asks with an arm outstretched to me.
“She can if you want her to, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, please. My daughter can’t be here, and she feels like my quasi-daughter for the day.”
I’m really touched. And I resist giving the man who treated me poorly before a smug look as I walk by.
“Thank you for being here with me, Beatrice,” Caroline later says while we’re waiting for the X-rays to come back.
“Of course. I’m happy to be.”
“Do you think my brain is okay?”
“I hope so. They said the fact that you’ve been able to hold such steady conversations with me and the staff is only a good sign.”
“I know. I’m still just worried. It was so stupid of me to even get in that closet in the first place.”
“Yeah. Do you mind me asking why you did that?”
“Oh, you’ve seen my angel granddaughters. They kept pushing for me to play hide and seek with them—”
“They are pretty hard to say no to; I’ll give you that.”
“Exactly.”
“But maybe next time, you should try a little harder?”
“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” She laughs a little.
Soon after, a man who announces himself as a radiologist comes in.
“Great news, Mrs. Kressly. You only suffered a mild concussion.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She grabs my hand and squeezes.
“So, we should be able to get you out of here soon. But I want you to focus on getting as much rest as possible over the next few days. No strenuous activity, no reading, stuff like that. I assume your daughter will be able to monitor—”
“Oh, I’m . . .”
“Yes, she will make sure I’m good.”
The doctor smiles. “Good. Please understand that minor symptoms like headaches, nausea, and light sensitivity are all common when they’re just that . . . minor. If you notice any of them persisting for a long time, I want you to contact your primary doctor right away, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Great. Well, you two have a great rest of your evening.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You bet.”
We get into the car when we’re okayed to leave, and I call Marco before putting the key in the ignition.
“Hey.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. It’s just a mild concussion.”
“Okay. So, what does that mean?”
“Well, she’s going to have to sit tight the next couple of days. The doctor said she can’t do anything too strenuous to her body or her mind.”
“But what if she forgets? You know, with the Parkinson’s, her memory isn’t always the best.”
“Well, what if she stays with you?”
“That would be fine if she’s comfortable with that.”
“Hey, Caroline?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Would you be okay with staying at Marco’s house for the next couple of days? So that we can check up on you more easily and stuff like that.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, okay. Sure.”
“She said yes.”
“Okay.”
After that, instead of going straight to his house, we stopped at her retirement home, and I packed a bag for her.
Then, we head over and get her situated.
When she’s all tucked into bed, I ask Marco if he has any kind of gate that we can put at the top of the stairs.
He finds one that he used when the kids were babies, and he installs it.
“God forbid she gets confused and takes a tumble,” I say.
He walks over, hugs me from behind, and then kisses me on top of the head.
“You’re so smart.”