Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Wren’s dad still had on his blue polo from work when she spotted him in the waiting room. His hair had gone even grayer since Wren had last seen him six months ago, and he’d lost weight he didn’t need to lose.
He’d always been on the shorter side, but when Wren was growing up he’d seemed bigger than he was. His gregarious personality helped with that.
But he wasn’t so gregarious lately. He hadn’t been in a long time.
He stared as if unsure what to say.
And her dad had always known what to say.
Wren’s mother stood—Wren wasn’t sure when she’d left Christian’s side. Mom locked eyes with Dad, and neither said anything for a moment.
Wren didn’t know when the two of them had last seen each other. The divorce had been ugly. Really ugly.
“Where is he?” His voice came out rough, and Wren noticed then that his eyes were red.
“They’re finishing his discharge papers,” Nora said.
“Discharge,” he repeated. “So he’s all right?”
“All things considered, he’s doing pretty well,” Nora told him.
Dad’s jaw tensed then loosened as his eyes traveled back and forth. They briefly skimmed over Nash, who’d joined them a few minutes ago. But Dad didn’t ask who Nash was.
“When did Christian come back?” Dad asked.
“Saturday morning.” Wren knew how the words would probably be received, and she braced herself for his reaction.
“Saturday?” He looked at each of them. “It’s Sunday night.”
“I know,” Wren murmured.
“And I’m just hearing about his return now?” His voice rose.
“A lot of things were still unclear,” Nora explained. “We didn’t . . . we didn’t know if it was really Christian. We didn’t want to get anyone worked up if it turned out to be a really bad joke or a mistake. There was so much we were unsure about.”
“Of course, it’s him!” His voice climbed. “You all saw him with your own eyes, didn’t you? It’s Christian! God has finally answered our prayers!”
He threw his head back, tears streaming down his cheeks. Then he squeezed the skin between his eyes as if he was having a spiritual encounter.
Just then, the door down the corridor opened and Christian was wheeled through it, a nurse behind him.
Dad crossed the corridor faster than Wren thought possible and stopped a foot short of his son.
Christian stared up at him and blinked as if he didn’t trust his own eyes. Then he said, “Dad?”
That was all it took.
Dad lunged forward and threw his arms around him.
Wren watched, tears filling her eyes.
How could she question the authenticity of the moment? Why couldn’t she just enjoy it? Instead, she’d been so skeptical. Part of her still felt skeptical, which made shame fill her.
Would she regret this one day?
Finally, a nurse—a blonde in her fifties named Wanda—called one of them over to go over aftercare instructions. Wren volunteered, and Nash went with her. His presence, though he didn’t say a word, offered her a surprising comfort.
Wren listened as the nurse went through everything—keeping the wounds dry, watching for red streaks, coming back in ten days.
“Oh—by the way, somebody stopped by and asked about your brother earlier,” Nurse Wanda said, gathering the pages.
Wren froze, uncertain if she’d heard correctly.
But she knew she had.
Nash heard the nurse’s words and stepped closer, alarm sounding in his head.
“Ma’am.” Nash kept his voice easy. “What exactly did this man ask you?”
Nurse Wanda looked up from the paperwork. “He wanted to know the status of a young man brought in this evening with a hand injury.”
“He used those words?” Wren shifted as if uncomfortable with the conversation.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Near enough.”
“Did he give you a name?” Nash asked. “Say who he was?”
“No, he didn’t. He wasn’t family, so I told him I couldn’t give out any information. He said he’d try back later.”
Nash didn’t like the sound of any of this. “What time did he come in?”
“Probably around half past nine or so.”
Nash shifted his weight and put his forearm on the counter. “Can you describe this man?”
“Ordinary. Maybe in his thirties or forties. Hard to say.” The nurse thought about it. “He had on a jacket and a baseball cap. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more than that. We get a hundred people through here in a night.”
Wren sucked in a breath beside him. “You said a baseball cap?”
Nurse Wanda nodded. “That’s right. But I couldn’t tell you what was on it.”
“What are you thinking?” Nash asked, sensing she had a thought.
Her gaze met his. “Marlowe said she saw Coach Ferris here at the hospital earlier.”
“Tate Ferris? Mason’s soccer coach?”
She nodded. “It’s probably a coincidence, but . . . he does love his baseball caps.”
Nash stored that information away.
He glanced up and saw a security camera.
He knew he didn’t have permission to look at the footage, but he needed to let Luke know ASAP.