TWO
HANNAH
He complained about the view, which the nurse took as a good sign.
I stood beside his bed while Dr. Shah explained that one of the arteries supplying his heart appeared badly narrowed.
They wanted to take him to the cardiac catheterization lab first thing in the morning.
If the images confirmed what they suspected, they would treat the blockage then.
“Treat it how?” Dad asked.
“Most likely with a stent.” Dr. Shah kept her voice even. “There are other possibilities, but I don’t want to get ahead of the imaging.”
“And how long will he be here?” I asked.
“At least tomorrow night. Possibly longer. That depends on what we find and how he responds.”
“You’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” Dad said.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Hannah.”
“Don’t waste your energy.” I pulled the thin blanket higher over his legs, although he had already pushed it down twice. “You won’t win.”
He gave Dr. Shah a weary look. “She’s been like this since she was six.”
“Then you know better than to argue.” She closed the chart on her tablet. “A nurse will come by soon with instructions for the morning. Press the call button if the pressure in your chest returns, even if it feels mild.”
After she left, Dad reached for the cup on his tray. I moved it into his hand before he had to stretch.
“I’m stable,” he said.
“You had a heart attack.”
“A small one.”
“That’s not a reassuring size.”
His mouth twitched, then flattened when he saw I wasn’t going to smile with him. “Go home tonight, at least.”
“We’ll see.”
I checked the lid on the cup and the placement of the call button.
The nurse had written my number on the whiteboard beneath Daughter.
Daniel’s name was nowhere on it, though he had handled everything that happened outside the room: he drove us to the hospital, took my suitcase out of the trunk when I realized it was still there, called my sister, and brought back coffee I had forgotten to drink.
He was in the hallway now, arranging for Grace to spend the weekend with her. I could hear pieces through the open door.
“Her overnight bag is packed... yes, the blue one... I’ll bring her over.”
Dad followed the sound. “He’s good in a crisis.”
“He is.”
“Go with him tomorrow. Your sister can sit here and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
“I’m staying.”
This time he let the answer stand.
Daniel came back into the room with his phone in one hand. He had turned it on to make the family calls, and it had been lighting up ever since.
“Grace is all set,” he said. “She wants you to call before she goes to bed.”
“I will.”
“Your sister said she can come here after breakfast.”
“She can come, but I’m not leaving.”
His gaze shifted to my father and back. He nodded.
My phone buzzed with Grace’s name before I could call her. I answered in the hall so Dad could rest.
“I heard Grandpa had a heart attack,” Grace said. “Auntie said he’s stable, but she says stable when she doesn’t want me to freak out.”
“The doctor says he’s stable too. They’re going to look at his heart in the morning and fix the artery that’s causing the problem.”
“Is he awake?”
“Yes. He’s complaining about the view.”
For a beat, I heard only the call connection. “Can I talk to him?”
“In a little while. The nurse is with him right now.”
“Okay.” A zipper rasped near the phone. “Are you sleeping there?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You should take your charger. The long one, not the broken one in the kitchen.”
“I will.”
“And his glasses. Grandpa leaves them everywhere.”
I looked through the doorway. His glasses were folded beside the untouched gelatin on his tray. “They’re right here.”
Daniel stood a few feet away, listening. Grace asked whether he was still bringing the blue bag, and he took the phone from me.
“It’s already in the car,” he said. “I put your tablet charger in the front pocket.”
“What about Mom’s?”
He glanced at me. “I’ll get hers.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Grace made him repeat the cardiologist’s name so she could write it down. Then she asked us to tell Grandpa she loved him and ended the call because my sister was waiting to order dinner.
Daniel handed the phone back. “I’ll go home after I drop her off. What else do you need?”
“A change of clothes. Dad’s toiletry bag. The charger.”
“I’ll bring everything.”
Through the doorway, Dad closed his eyes, either tired or tactful. I took the cream envelope from my bag. Daniel followed me to a recessed waiting area where two vinyl chairs sat beneath a television with the captions on.
I opened the hotel confirmation. The cancellation number was printed at the bottom.
“They may be able to move the reservation,” Daniel said.
“I don’t want to move it yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. I need to tell them we may have to cancel.”
I called before he could turn that into a discussion. A reservation agent named Marie found the booking and stopped speaking while she reviewed it.
“I’m very sorry about your father,” she said. “Because check-in is tomorrow, the room charge is no longer refundable. I can make a note on the account and ask the manager to review it in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to cancel now?”
Daniel leaned closer and shook his head.
“Not yet,” I said. “Please add the note. I’ll call again in the morning.”
When I ended the call, he sat beside me. “Good. We don’t have to decide tonight.”
“We do know I’m not going.”
“The procedure could be simple. He could be resting comfortably by noon.”
I looked through the doorway toward my father’s room. A nurse was checking the monitor while he tried to ask her where she was from. He could make conversation through almost anything. That didn’t mean I was willing to be several hours away if the cardiologist found something worse than expected.
“I’m not going,” I repeated.
“Okay.” Daniel rubbed a hand over his face. “The room is paid for. The restaurant charged the deposit, and the other reservation is inside the cancellation window. I already took the days off.”
“Then we lose the money.”
“It isn’t just money.”
“What else is it?”
He looked down at the papers in my lap. “You spent weeks putting this together.”
“For us.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I slid the hotel confirmation back into the envelope. “Because you’re talking about the room and the restaurant as if using them is what matters.”
“I’m trying not to throw away everything you planned because tonight is awful.”
“The plans aren’t sitting in those reservations.”
“Hannah, I understand that.” His voice dropped as an orderly passed with an empty wheelchair. “I’m saying there might be a practical answer.”
I waited.
He rested his forearms on his knees. “I could still go.”
The television above us showed a smiling meteorologist pointing at a row of yellow suns. I read the same caption twice before I lifted my eyes to Daniel.
“Alone?”
“Yes. Unless your dad needs something more serious tomorrow. If he does, I won’t.”
“Why would you go without me?”
“So the whole thing isn’t a loss. I can check in, deal with the reservations, maybe talk to the manager in person. You won’t have to worry about any of it while you’re here.”
For a few seconds I heard only the television and shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Daniel was still solving the reservation. I was asking whether he could hear me.
“Cancel it,” I said.
“We can decide after the procedure.”
“No. Listen to me now.” I held the envelope between us. “The money can be lost. The room can sit empty. But this trip belongs to us. I chose that hotel, that restaurant, that table for our anniversary. If I can’t be there, no one takes my place. Not for dinner, not in the room, not anywhere.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Who would take your place? I said I’d go alone.”
“I’m telling you what I need.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then say you’ll cancel.”
Daniel glanced toward Dad’s door. “Your father has a procedure in the morning. Let’s get through that. I’ll handle the trip after we know what’s happening.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer I have tonight.” He reached for my hand, but I closed my fingers around the envelope. His hand fell back to his knee. “I’m not trying to fight with you in a hospital.”
I had no room left for a fight either. Dad needed me to remember what the doctor had said, Grace was waiting to talk to him, and my sister needed the weekend schedule. All I had asked Daniel to do was cancel four days that could no longer be ours.
I stood. “I’m going back in.”
He rose with me. His phone lit on the vinyl chair before he could pick it up.
The message preview showed Lauren’s name.
It’s final. The divorce went through. I can’t be alone this weekend.
Daniel read it over my shoulder.
The anniversary envelope remained in my hand.