Chapter Thirty Rosalynn
Chapter Thirty
Rosalynn
By the time they’d parked at the hospice facility, Rosalynn ached big-time from her fall off the park bench. She was pretty sure she’d been stepped on by the Great Dane before Dusty had shielded her with his body.
Her mother had insisted on driving, and for once, Rosalynn hadn’t argued.
The brick facility looked more like a hotel than a hospital, a place for someone to rest for the final leg of their journey. Her throat went tight at the thought and she waved for her mom and Elsie to go on ahead while she took Dusty for a break.
Hopefully the quiet moment would help her muster the nerve to go inside.
She rolled her chair across the parking lot as an ambulance pulled up to the main entrance. A gurney was wheeled out from the lobby with a patient attached to all sorts of IVs and oxygen.
Her wheels jostled along stray rocks on the walkway, and she winced. Finally, she reached the shade of a tulip poplar tree. She gave Dusty the length of his leash, but he stuck close to her, his head swinging back and forth as he scoped the lot. No doubt checking for other animals.
“Dusty-fellow, we’re okay,” she said, leaning forward to scratch his ears in reassurance. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe back there. I tried my best to find us a secure spot to relax.”
She prayed he would be able to shake off the incident, but she would be watching him all the closer in the days to come and doing her best to keep his workload as light as possible.
“Free time . . .” She made a waving shoo gesture with her hand until he inched away, casting frequent baleful looks back at her. That made her heart ache all over again, being reminded that he was more concerned about checking on her than watching out for himself.
At least she’d suffered nothing more than a few bruises.
Physically, she was fine. But emotionally?
The tumble had taken a toll. As she’d pitched to the ground, her mind had exploded with her most recent nightmare.
Of pitching off the stage and the excruciating pain of landing on the front row of seats.
Even if she didn’t have an active memory of the event, she’d heard the details.
Not from her parents. Even mentioning that night had made their eyes well with tears for years afterward.
But her friends? With a juvenile lack of tact, everyone else onstage with her that evening had shared their own vivid memories with her, the horror they’d felt, so much so that over time her mind had created a reality out of their recounting.
How she’d sailed through the air, only to land too close to the edge of the stage. The reflective tape hadn’t been placed far enough back.
They’d each told her what they did too .
. . The Sugar Plum Fairy, who’d rushed to peer over at her, only to notice how Rosalynn’s body had landed at a “freaky weird” angle.
The Mouse King, who’d jumped off after her to protect her—or so he’d said.
Reports varied on that, some insisting he’d been running down the aisle out of the auditorium.
One thing she did remember with absolute certainty, aside from the worried faces of her parents.
When she’d come out of the three-day coma, someone had placed the flowers from her performance in her room—a bouquet of miniature roses from her parents and red carnations with sprigs of holly from Nana Della.
To this day, receiving flowers threatened to give her a panic attack. Something else Seth hadn’t ever been able to recall. Like the futility of dumping sugar into his iced tea.
“Mom?” Elsie said softly, shuffling up alongside her.
“Hey there.” She looked up sharply. “Where’s Grammie?”
Elsie slumped against the fat tree trunk. “She’s talking to the guy who runs this place.”
“Benjamin Nguyen?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, Ace is off getting a breathing treatment, but he should be back in his room in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Elsie didn’t move or scamper off or ask for change for the vending machine.
Strange. “Is everything okay? I mean, other than the obvious here.”
Fidgety, Elsie tugged a low-hanging branch. “I know you’re busy and probably tired. But do you think after we visit Ace, you and I could have a talk? It’s really important.”
Rosalynn’s exhausted, achy body cried out for a delay until tomorrow, insisting she should take her max allowed dose of gabapentin, curl up in bed with her dog, and sleep for at least twelve hours straight.
But how could she say no when she’d spent the past day and a half wanting just this reaction?
And of course, Seth’s concern about Elsie asking for money piled worry on top of her own.
“Of course, Elsie. Once we have a quick visit, we can leave Grammie to enjoy time with Ace on her own. There’s a lovely little garden over there.”
Elsie gave a wobbly smile of thanks. “Fresh air rather than hospital air?”
“Exactly.” Another swell of dread filled her over passing through those electric doors and seeing the dear man they all loved so much fading away. She tamped down her feelings and focused on her daughter. “We can even raid the vending machine beforehand.”
Elsie’s eyes welled with tears and she lunged forward, hugging her hard. Rosalynn breathed in the familiar scent of her, the citrus smell now mixing with the memory of the lavender lotion from her babyhood.
For the first time in so very long, Rosalynn had hope when it came to her daughter. They could sort through anything as long as they were communicating. “Come on now. Let’s go inside.”
Elsie eased away. “Sure.” She scrubbed her wrist under her nose, then nodded toward the entrance. “There’s Grammie now with that Mr. Nguyen guy.”
Rosalynn pivoted her chair enough to see, standing under the covered porch . . .
Whoa. She hadn’t expected Benjamin Nguyen to be so . . . unconventional.
So hot.
She’d assumed—wrongly—that he would be more her mother’s age, that he would be a suit-wearing administrative type. This guy, though, was more casual in his jeans with a T-shirt and a sports jacket. His thick, dark hair brushed his collar.
Purely an objective observation, because of course this would be the weirdest time to feel attracted to a total stranger. She decided to just chalk it up to emotions being raw on so many levels and the sexual dry spell since her divorce.
Her mother waved at her. “Rosalynn? Rosalynn, over here.”
Rosalynn cleared her throat and her thoughts, moving closer while Dusty trotted alongside, her daughter trailing. As she drew nearer, her mother’s voice drifted on the wind.
“I just wish he was at home. But my husband insists this is where he wants to be because he thinks it’s easier on me. Silly.”
“Not at all,” the director answered, his voice deep and slow. “Many of our patients need to feel in control of what they can.”
Rosalynn stopped beside them. “That sounds familiar.”
Her mother clutched her stitched bag closer. The afternoon sun glistened off the image of Rosalynn as the young maid of honor beside the bride and groom. “Mr. Nguyen, you’ve already met Elsie. This is my daughter, Rosalynn, and that’s Dusty.”
He extended a hand, his brown eyes warm and kind, the perfect eyes for his line of work. “Call me Ben. Nice to meet you. You have a wonderful family.”
“Thank you. I’ve heard great things about your facility from my mother.” She pulled her hand back and closed her fingers into a fist as if to hold in all those raw emotions threatening to spill over. “But I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’m on my break.” He turned back to Lillian. “If you’re ready, I’ll escort you all there to wait until he’s finished the breathing treatment.”
Starting toward the entrance, Ben smacked the faceplate to open the automatic doors. Dusty cast a baleful look her way at having missed the opportunity to execute his favorite cue. She passed him an extra piece of kibble and a smile of encouragement.
A smile that faded the instant those doors closed behind them.
The facility smelled of antiseptic, flowers, and a hint of cafeteria food.
Sure, the place sported a wall fountain and soothing colors.
But she’d spent so much of her teen years in treatment centers, no amount of floral upholstery could ease the tension building inside her.
The past and the present were both tag-teaming her.
Ben waved to the receptionist, waiting by a wall fountain while they signed in and received visitor passes.
He continued down the corridor, narrating the perks of the facility and the credentialed staff, but Rosalynn couldn’t hear much beyond the ringing in her ears and the squeak of his gym shoes on the tile floor.
They moved deeper into the building, past a small room with a stained-glass window and a dozen pews. A couple knelt at the altar, where a row of candles flickered.
Rosalynn looked back over her shoulder to check on her daughter.
Elsie stared ahead, her eyes wide and glazed.
She clutched her cell phone to her chest like a lifeline.
She must be missing Willow. Rosalynn remembered all too well those lonesome days after her accident, when one by one her friends abandoned her.
She understood they’d shared little in common once dancing was in her past. But at the time?
The loneliness on top of the grief had been overwhelming.
Over time, she’d established relationships again, a more balanced life of professional and personal. But those lonely days stayed with her in the corner of her heart, reminding her how quickly everything familiar could be stripped away.
Maybe that was why she’d stayed with Seth long after their marriage was over on all but paper.
Rosalynn forced herself to slow the rambling thoughts, most likely her mind’s attempt at distraction from the pain waiting inside that room.
Pausing outside the door, she grasped her mother’s hand, then took Elsie’s as well while keeping the leash steady between their clasped palms. She wasn’t sure who was trembling or if they all were.
The hospice director waited to the side until Lillian nodded. He pushed the door open for them to enter, her mother and Elsie first, then Rosalynn with Dusty.
The door closed with a gentle shoosh behind him as he left them in the hospital room, filled with personal touches. A bright quilt was draped over the foot of the bed. A stack of books towered beside the recliner.
Photos lined the windowsill, each one stealing air from Rosalynn’s lungs.
A group shot of Elsie, Rosalynn, and Lillian.
A professional photo of him in his firefighter uniform, with Ace stitched in neon yellow—his work nickname, one his granddaughter had overheard and chosen to call him.
An image of Rosalynn as the maid of honor at her parents’ remarriage, the same picture on Lillian’s purse charm—
The door opened, and Rosalynn sat straighter just as an aide pushed Ace inside in a wheelchair, his shoulders stooped and his skin ashen.
But the love lighting his deep brown eyes burned as bright as ever.
Rosalynn wheeled her chair toe-to-toe with his. “Hi, Daddy.”