Chapter 10
10
His dad was going to fall—and there wasn’t a thing he could do to save him.
Heart slamming against his rib cage, Noah froze midstrike with his hammer. Sucked in a breath as his father tottered, arms flailing, on the edge of the deck that had lost its railing. Fought for air as Dad pitched over the side, out of sight.
As a word he never said strobed through his mind, he dropped his hammer, zoomed around the sawhorses that had been set up on the back lawn, and sprinted toward the deck.
The guy who’d been working beside Dad lowered himself from the four-foot-tall deck and disappeared too, while the other six volunteers converged from all directions.
As Noah flew around the deck and came to a halt, his knees went weak with relief.
Dad wasn’t lying on the ground, unconscious. Instead, he was sitting up and alert. But he was cradling his right arm.
Noah dropped down beside the two men. “Did you hit your head, Dad? Are you dizzy?”
“No.” His father’s lips contorted into a rueful twist. “But I think I did a number on my wrist. Guess I shouldn’t have tried to break my fall by stretching out my arm.”
“Where’s the closest hospital?”
“I don’t need a hospital. The urgent care center will do.”
“I’d rather take you to a hospital.”
“Not necessary. Our urgent care is first-class.”
“That’s true.” The guy next to him spoke, and Noah looked over. The police chief’s husband, unless he’d mixed up the multiple introductions that had been offered upon their arrival. “The doc there worked in emergency medicine in San Francisco before he took over the center. We all go there for anything that’s not life-threatening.”
But what if this was life-threatening? What if his father had hit his head, despite his claims to the contrary?
“Help me up, Noah. We’re delaying work on the deck.” His father aimed a strained smile at the concerned faces gathered around them. “I’ll be fine, folks. Don’t let this minor incident distract you from the job we came here to do.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” The police chief’s husband—Adam?—stood, leaving Noah no choice but to follow his lead.
Between the two of them, they got his father on his feet. Adam stayed with them, flanking Dad on the other side, until they reached the car.
After assisting his father into the passenger seat, Noah closed the door and turned to the other man. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. You could return the favor by texting me after the doc weighs in. Everyone will be wondering about Fred, and I can pass the news along.”
“I’d be happy to. What’s your number?” Noah pulled out his cell and tapped in the digits as the man recited them.
“Good luck at urgent care.” Adam bent down to give Dad a farewell wave, then walked back to the house and disappeared around the side.
Once Noah slid behind the wheel and started the engine, he glanced toward the passenger seat.
His father’s complexion had taken on a gray tinge, and the brackets etched at the corners of his mouth suggested he was in significant pain.
Stomach clenching, Noah put the car in gear. “Can you direct me, or should I call up navigation on my phone?”
“I’ll direct you. It’s only five minutes away.”
Noah made it in four, ignoring stop signs unless other cars were in sight despite his dad’s protest that an injured wrist wasn’t an emergency worth the risk of a ticket.
“Sit tight until I come around.” He swung into a parking place at the center and set the brake.
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Humor me, okay?”
His father gave a disgruntled sigh but complied—sort of. He remained seated but opened the door, released the seat belt, and swung his legs to the pavement while Noah circled the car. He did, however, deign to take the offered arm once it came time to stand.
“If I had to fall and injure a wrist, why did it have to be the right one?” His father made no attempt to hide his annoyance as he heaved himself to his feet.
“I’m more worried about other possible injuries. Come on.” Keeping a firm grip on his arm, Noah urged him toward the door of the center.
“I don’t have any other injuries.”
“No offense, but I’d rather hear that from the doctor.”
“Suit yourself. But I’ve lived in this body for seventy-five years, and I know it inside and out. Nothing’s hurt but my arm.”
Noah didn’t argue—but he wasn’t going to rest easy until he heard that verdict from the doctor.
Once inside the building, he filled out the required paperwork for his dad, then cooled his heels in the waiting area after a nurse took his father to an examining room.
As the minutes turtled by, he picked up a magazine. Set it back down. Rose and began to pace.
Hopefully his dad’s injuries were confined to his wrist, as he claimed. After the heart scare, neither of them needed any more worrisome health issues to rear their ugly heads. Wrist damage, while inconvenient, would heal.
But with Mom gone, how was his father supposed to cope with a hand that wouldn’t be of much use until his wrist was back in action? And if it was broken, that could take weeks.
Noah forked his fingers through his hair.
If he’d wanted an argument to bolster his case for a move back to St. Louis, this was it.
Yet it didn’t solve the more immediate challenge of finding short-term help for Dad with day-to-day living if the wrist was going to be out of commission for a while.
Could he hire a home health care company to provide support during the day? Who would handle meal preparation? How would Dad get to doctor appointments and therapy? Who, besides paid help, would keep an eye on his general well-being once he was alone at the house?
As questions swirled through his mind, Noah’s panic ratcheted up.
For a trip that was supposed to be at least partly a chance to chill out, this visit had been a total bust.
By the time a nurse summoned him to confer with the doctor, he was as tense as he’d been last month running interference for a client with an obnoxious guy from the IRS.
A tall, sandy-haired man in a white coat rose from a workstation in the corner as he entered the examining room. “You must be Noah.”
“Guilty.” He returned the man’s solid grip.
“Logan West. Nice to meet you.” The doctor motioned to the extra chair in the room. “Have a seat.”
As Noah took it, he inspected his father, who sat in the chair adjacent to the workstation.
His color had improved, and the lines of strain in his face had eased—but the sling, and the cast on his arm, didn’t bode well.
“What’s the verdict?” He braced.
“Your father has a break in the distal radius.” The doctor swiveled toward the computer screen on the desk and pointed to an X-ray. “It’s a very common fracture. The good news is that it’s extra-articular. That means it doesn’t extend into the joint, which makes it simpler to treat. No surgery required.” He rotated back. “The cast will stay on about six weeks, and we’ll x-ray it again during the healing process to ensure everything’s aligned. Once the cast is off, physical therapy will help restore function and motion. It’s not a difficult injury to treat.”
Noah rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and twined his fingers together. “Will he be able to use his hand while he’s healing?”
“Not much. Aside from being painful, especially at the beginning, too much use can be detrimental to recovery. Wiggling fingers is encouraged, carrying things isn’t.”
This break was going to complicate Dad’s life. Big-time.
His too.
“Were there any other injuries?”
“None that I saw in the exam I gave your dad.”
“What about his head?”
“Noah.” His dad scowled at him. “I told you I didn’t hit my head.”
“He told me that too.” The doctor stepped in. “But just to be safe, I ran him through a head injury assessment protocol. He passed with flying colors.”
“See?” His father arched an eyebrow at him.
“I’m glad to hear that. So how do we take care of this at home?”
“We’ll send instructions with you. Ice or a cold pack on the wrist for a few days would be helpful, and propping the wrist on a pillow while sitting or lying down to keep it above the heart will reduce swelling. Over-the-counter pain medication should keep the discomfort under control.”
“Should he see an orthopedic specialist?” Maybe the man across from him would be insulted by a query that could be construed as questioning his competence, but Dad’s well-being came first.
If the doctor took offense at the question, he gave no indication of it. He leaned back, manner relaxed, tone conversational. “For a break like this, it shouldn’t be necessary. But I always encourage patients to do what makes them most comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable with your care, Logan.” Dad spoke up again. “You have impressive creds and a solid track record. I haven’t told this to Noah, but you’re the one who suspected I had a heart issue and got me into a specialist in Coos Bay straightaway.”
The doctor smiled. “I just knew to ask the right questions.”
“You also have superb instincts.” His dad gave the man a thumbs-up. “You ready to go, Noah?”
“Yes.” He stood, but before he could extend an arm to his dad, the doctor took care of that chore.
“Thanks for the assist. And thanks for providing all of us here with first-class medical care.” Dad directed that remark to the physician, then aimed a reproving glance across the room.
Brow furrowing, Noah turned to open the door.
The doctor may not have taken offense at the question that could have implied a lack of confidence in his abilities, but clearly his dad had.
Did he owe the man an apology?
“Don’t do anything strenuous this afternoon, Fred.” The doctor handed his father off to him.
“I won’t.”
Noah took his dad’s arm. “When I asked about a specialist, I, uh, didn’t mean to suggest that your skills weren’t sufficient for this task, Doctor.”
The man hitched up one side of his mouth. “No worries. This is a small town, and small towns can have difficulty attracting top talent in any field. I understand your concern. But the vibe here happens to suit me to a T. And it’s Logan to the locals. We’re all friends and neighbors in Hope Harbor. Call if you have any concerns. My cell number will be on the instructions waiting for you at the front desk.”
A doctor who gave patients his cell number?
Where in twenty-first-century America did that happen?
Noah stayed close beside his dad as they walked down the hall, and after picking up the instructions at the desk, he settled him in the car.
Once behind the wheel, he pulled out his phone. “I promised to let Adam know the outcome.”
“I sure did hate to cast a pall over the deck job today.”
“No one’s the worse for wear except you.” After texting Adam a quick summary of the diagnosis, Noah put the car in gear.
“I’ll heal. Logan took great care of me. We’re blessed to have a doc of his caliber here.”
“What’s his story, anyway? Going from a San Francisco ER to Hope Harbor would be a seismic career shift.” He pulled out of the parking lot and aimed the car toward his dad’s house.
“He got guardianship of his niece after his brother was killed in the Middle East, and he didn’t want to raise her in a big-city, high-rise apartment. During his search for a more family-friendly place, he found us.” His father cradled his injured arm as they turned a corner. “Funny how he came here for her but ended up benefiting from the move himself.”
“How so?”
“He met the love of his life. They’ve been married about three or four years now.” As his father looked over at him, Noah caught the glance in his peripheral vision. “Isn’t it interesting how life can bring us blessings when we least expect them, and sometimes in the most surprising places?”
Noah’s phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it. “I suppose.”
“You never know where romance may lurk.”
He ignored that too. “After all the excitement this morning, you should take a nap as soon as we get home.”
“You’re reading my mind.”
The car fell silent after that, and Noah didn’t attempt to prolong the conversation. If he did, his dad might return to the subject of romance—and what was the point in discussing that, when his goal for this trip was straightforward?
Namely, convince his dad to move, using today’s incident as rationale.
And there was no room for romance in that agenda.