7. Brooke
Brooke
Meemaw. Is. On. My. List.
The woman is treating the hospital staff like she’s royalty, and they’re letting her get away with it? Does no one understand that this woman is crazy? Being Meemaw’s favorite granddaughter is fun. Being Meemaw’s emergency contact and caretaker is not .
I scrub my hand along the tension in my cheekbones and jaw, trying not to scream.
Meemaw just asked the nurse for extra-hot blankets, and also a mason jar of moonshine since ‘that Dr. Whistler with the nice behind didn’t give her any pain meds.
’ The reason he didn’t give her any pain meds is that she drank moonshine before coming to the hospital, and we don’t know how much. She certainly won’t admit it.
In the meantime, she’s ready to be discharged with nothing more than a scare, a light sprain on her previously good ankle, and apparently no common sense.
The nurse with the pretty brown hair and the brown eyes that look like she can see into your soul comes into the room. “Miss MacCord, I have your discharge papers.” She turns to me. “I can tell you’re ready to get out of here.”
She doesn’t say it unkindly, but it’s 6:45 a.m., I’m still in my pajamas, hospital rooms are cold, I’m tired, I’ve been here all night, and who knows what mischief Meemaw’s going to get up to now.
I did not realize that being at Meemaw’s meant I had to watch her every move, including in the middle of the night. So yes, I’m ready to get out of here.
“Yeah,” I snap. “Isn’t everyone?”
Peony arches one perfectly shaped brow before turning back to Meemaw.
“Miss MacCord, you will have to be very careful for the next few days as the swelling goes down. You can wear a walking boot or a very supportive shoe to walk around your house, but you cannot leave your house. No more baking in the middle of the night. If you need something, please ask your granddaughter.” Peony lowers her voice and stage whispers, “She doesn’t want to be here, you know. ”
Meemaw studies me. “You’re right. Brookie Cookie doesn’t want to be here. I’ll just take those papers and be on my way then.” She sits up on the bed, moving like she expects to hop off it.
“You’ll have to be wheeled out.”
Meemaw scowls.
“You can drive her home, Brooke? Miss MacCord should not do any driving until she’s cleared by her surgeon.”
“Yeah,” I say, exhaustion lacing my words. “I can drive.”
“Great, then just sign here saying that you received discharge papers, and then you’re good to go.”
Peony takes the papers and disappears, reappearing with a wheelchair just a moment later.
The lights are hazy, and everything has a fuzzy glow around it as Peony rolls a chipper Meemaw to the front of the hospital, and I shuffle in oversized pink slippers down the halls.
We reach the front of the hospital, and Peony calls over her shoulder, “Should I stay with Miss MacCord while you bring your vehicle around?”
My eyes blink in the strange light. Everything wobbles. What vehicle? We came in the ambulance. I stare at Peony’s face. How did she get her eyebrows shaped like that ?
“Brooke?” A deep voice interrupts my eyebrow-induced jealousy, and I turn my head toward the sound. It’s Dr. Beckett Whistler.
I feel the frown forming on my face, but then the floor is coming closer, and I can’t figure out why.
Strong arms steady me, and I’m instantly warmer.
“Peony? What’s going on?”
“Miss MacCord has been discharged, and I suggested we wait here while Brooke brings the vehicle around, but I don’t think Brooke is used to all-nighters. Clearly, she shouldn’t drive.”
I’m leaning against the warmth of the man holding me. I have a sense of the conversation happening about me, but I don’t care. I let my eyes close as I lean into solid warmth. The warmth sighs.
“I happen to live next door to Miss MacCord. I’ll bring my truck around and take the two of them home.”
“Do you think she’s ok?”
My eyes are still closed, but I sense the perusal of my face and flutter one eye open.
He laughs, and I’m surprised by the richness of the sound. It’s like turtle cheesecake, or even better—double chocolate cheesecake with peanut butter.
“She’s fine. She’s just tired.”
Meemaw says something under her breath, but I don’t catch it. I do catch Peony’s sharp intake of breath and her “Miss MacCord!” which tells me whatever Meemaw said was wildly inappropriate, but I’m too tired to care.
Dr. Whistler leads me to a bench and presses my shoulder until I sit on it. “Stay here, Brooke, ok? I’ll drive you and June home.”
“Ok. You sound like cheesecake.”
The low rumble of a laugh hits my ears, and I like the sound. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.