Chapter 6
ETHAN
The ticking of the wall clock was getting to me.
More than an hour had passed since they did an EKG.
Fifty-three minutes since they drew my mother’s blood.
Nobody had come in to check on her again, and I’d stalked back and forth in the narrow space of the exam room so much that my feet had started to ache.
“How long does it take to read a damn EKG?” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “You’d think they would move faster when someone might be having a heart attack.”
My mother sighed delicately from the exam bed.
“Patience, Ethan. I’m sure they’re just being thorough.
Good care takes time.” She reached out to pat my hand, her manicured nails gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
“And having you here makes me feel so much better. I’m sure they’ll take good care of me now, with you at my side. ”
Her words should’ve soothed me, but something about them hit wrong. Like she wasn’t as scared as she should’ve been under the circumstances.
The machine they had her hooked up to beeped steadily. Her color was fine, and if not for the hospital gown, she could’ve passed for someone on their way out for dinner with her hair set and makeup flawless.
I sat down in the chair beside her. “I was so worried earlier, I didn’t think to ask what you were doing when the pain started.”
“Oh, just the usual. Having herbal tea while I put on one of my shows. Then I felt this dreadful pressure in my chest and a flutter in my arm.” She sniffled and patted the corner of her eye with a tissue. “I—I was so scared, I called you right away.”
My brows drew together. “You called me first? Not 9-1-1?”
“Well, yes,” she drawled, as if it were obvious. “I wanted you to know what was happening. You’re my son, Ethan. Who else would I call?”
Someone who could actually save your life.
I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing the thought.
Sharing it out loud would do me no good, so I stood again, too restless to sit still.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the closed curtain that separated us from the hallway.
The faint sounds of gurneys and voices drifted through.
Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped.
“Would you mind, darling?” I glanced at her over my shoulder, and she shifted slightly on the bed, pointing at her purse. “My compact is in there. I must look ghastly.”
I blinked. “You’re in the ER.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep up appearances.” She smiled faintly. “It’s always important to look your best, even in the hospital.”
The curtain swished open at last, and a doctor stepped inside. He couldn’t have been much older than me—mid-thirties with a calm face and dark-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose.
“Mrs. Prescott?” His tone was polite but brisk. “I’m Dr. Kirk. I have your EKG and lab results.”
My mother straightened immediately, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s been such a frightening ordeal.”
“I—”
Before he could finish, she waved a hand toward me. “My son doesn’t need to stay for this part. My medical information is private.”
I was headed to her side but froze mid-step. “What?”
“It’s not appropriate, Ethan.” On the surface, her tone was sweet, but there was an edge beneath it. “You shouldn’t hear the details of my—condition.”
Dr. Kirk’s brows lifted. “Mrs. Prescott, when your son arrived, he presented us with power of attorney paperwork, including the ability to make medical decisions for you if you become unable to communicate them yourself.”
Her mouth tightened. “As you can see, I’m perfectly able to communicate my needs without my son’s help.”
My patience snapped, a low burn of disbelief in my gut.
“I’m staying.” My voice came out harder than I intended. “You wanted me here, remember? You called me before the ambulance. Said you felt better having me at your side because I’d make sure you were properly taken care of.”
The doctor glanced between us, the tension palpable. My mother’s carefully painted expression wavered, and she let out a huff of irritation.
“If you insist on making a scene,” she murmured, shifting on the bed. “Fine. You may stay.”
Dr. Kirk gave me a curt nod, then turned his attention to his tablet. “The EKG looked good—no signs of ST segment elevation or depression, Q wave abnormalities, or T-wave inversion. Your troponin levels were also normal, which indicates there’s no evidence of heart damage.”
My fists clenched at my sides. The medical jargon washed over me, but all I cared about was whether my mom was okay.
Margot blinked. “Then why did I feel that awful pressure in my chest? I could hardly breathe!”
“We’ll repeat the troponin test in ten hours since increased troponin levels usually don't show up for about two to three hours after a heart attack begins,” he explained. “If those results remain normal, we’ll likely run a stress test or chest X-ray to rule out other causes.”
My jaw tightened. “So you don’t actually know what’s wrong with her yet?”
Dr. Kirk’s gaze flicked to mine. “Not definitively. Anxiety or panic attacks can mimic cardiac symptoms—tightness in the chest, shortness of breath, and dizziness. Your mother’s vitals have all been stable since she arrived, and her initial test results are normal, so that’s one possible explanation. ”
My mother’s spine snapped straight. “Are you suggesting this is all in my head?”
“I’m saying it’s possible stress caused what you experienced,” he replied, unfazed by her outrage. “We’ll continue monitoring overnight to be certain.”
Her hand flew to her chest, and she gasped softly—as if the word stress itself offended her sensibilities. “I see. Well. I hope your staff intends to take my case seriously. I’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“We take the health of all of our patients seriously, Mrs. Prescott.” Dr. Kirk’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll check back in a few hours.”
He nodded to me and left before she could reply. The curtain swished closed again, and silence filled the room except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor.
My mother exhaled in an exaggerated rush. “Honestly, the nerve. Accusing me of being hysterical.”
I didn’t respond, had no clue what I’d even say. The monitor kept its steady rhythm, same as it had since I arrived. The more I watched, the more I felt like I was missing something obvious.
“Unbelievable,” my mother muttered, adjusting the thin blanket over her lap. “Hours in this place, and no one’s brought so much as a cup of water. You’d think a hospital could manage basic hospitality.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing my voice to stay even. “You’re not at the Four Seasons, Mom.”
“Well, perhaps they could take a few lessons.” She sniffed, smoothing the fabric over her knees. “The doctor was dismissive. Imagine implying I’m anxious. I’ve never had a nervous temperament.”
Considering how she’d fallen apart for months after my father died, that wasn’t exactly true. But she’d lost the love of her life, as she had told me many times, so it didn’t seem fair to judge her based on how she acted back then.
I sank onto the chair beside her, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. “Maybe you should try to get some rest before they come back to run the second round of tests.”
She huffed softly, ignoring me as she reached for her purse on the bedside table. Her lipstick was still flawless. Not a hair out of place. And the longer I sat there, the more obvious it became that she didn’t look like someone who’d just had a cardiac scare.
Before I could give voice to my suspicion, the curtain slid open again.
“Margot?”
Sophie stood there, holding two takeaway cups. Her expensive purse was slung over her shoulder, and she’d changed into something that was more oddly professional than what she’d worn to the office this morning.
My mother’s transformation was instant. One second fragile, the next beaming. “Oh, Sophie, darling! How thoughtful of you to come.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my brows drawing together.
Sophie smiled, the picture of innocence. “I was nearby when Margot called. So I thought I’d drop by to make sure she’s comfortable.”
I glanced at my mother, my unease growing. I’d arrived at the hospital only five minutes after the ambulance and hadn’t left her side. She hadn’t made a call in all that time. “Nearby?”
“Dinner with my parents,” Sophie explained as she moved closer, her fingers bruising mine as she handed me one of the cups. “Mom would’ve come too, but she and Dad had cocktails with an investor after our dinner.”
“I’m just grateful that you came to check on me.” My mother reached out to pat Sophie’s arm. “It was so kind of you. Don’t you agree, Ethan?”
“Mm hmm,” I hummed noncommittally. “But when did you find the time to call her, Mother?”
“I don’t remember the exact moment.” She pressed her hand against her forehead. “Everything happened so quickly.”
My eyes narrowed as Sophie rushed to reassure my mother. “Which is completely understandable, Margot. You were rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for goodness sake. Ethan can’t possibly expect you to remember every tiny, insignificant detail.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded, giving her a pointed look. “But you should remember.”
Sophie hesitated just a fraction too long. “Oh, right around the time she called the ambulance, I think.”
Margot beamed a smile at her. “And you came here as soon as you could, just like I knew you would. You’re such a reliable young woman. Always there when you’re needed.”
My jaw clenched. She didn’t say it outright, but the implication that my wife hadn’t come to the hospital was there, hidden behind her kind words to the woman she often complimented.
And they were never backhanded, like the ones she tended to give Callie.
Not that I’d noticed until she’d pointed it out to me after I missed her doctor’s appointment.
I might be a great son and CFO, but I needed to become a better husband.