FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, armed with the knowledge that Rosie was safe with Tina and the doctor would meet them at the ER, Rena turned on the car’s emergency flashers and drove twenty miles over the speed limit.
And Grant, the classic backseat driver, didn’t even notice.
Parking at the hospital’s entrance, she raced inside and grabbed the first wheelchair in sight.
“Get in,” she said, opening the passenger door.
He climbed out. “I can walk in there under my own steam, Rena.”
Grant had no sooner completed the sentence than he had to grab the car’s roof for support.
“Get in,” she said again. And this time, he complied.
“It’s meningitis, isn’t it.”
“Could be. But Dr. Stewart said he needs to run some tests to be sure.”
She rolled him toward the registration desk as he said, “I really am gonna double-bill that jerk, Michaels.”
“Let’s get you checked in first, okay?” She faced the counter and told the woman behind it, “Dr. Stewart told us to meet him here… Grant VanMeter?”
The woman checked her log. “Yes, the doctor is on his way.” She buzzed for an intern, who took Grant into an exam cubicle. “You can join him,” the clerk said, “just as soon as you’ve filled out these forms.”
Rena hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “That’s my husband in there, and he needs me. So I’ll fill out these forms once the doctor gets here. Okay?” With that, she marched past the partition and found Grant already lying on a gurney.
A nurse joined them. “I’m Marian,” she said, smiling. “Dr. Stewart would like to get started right away.” She placed several empty vials on a stainless-steel cart. “We’ll need to get you undressed,” she told Grant. And after pulling the curtain around them, she handed Rena a blue gown. “Are you okay to help him, or do you need me to do it?”
Rena unfolded the gown, placed it beside Grant on the bed. “We’ll be fine.”
“Good. We need to get some fluids into him, so I’ll just grab a few things and be right back.”
The curtain was still billowing from her hasty departure when Grant said, “Man. They don’t waste time around here, do they?”
“That’s a good thing, wouldn’t you say?”
Dr. Stewart joined them a few minutes later, and after snapping surgical gloves over both hands, he stepped up to the bed. A second nurse followed him, and fired up the computer that hung on the wall.
“So when did you start feeling awful?” he asked Grant.
“Late last night.”
Marian returned, wrapped a tourniquet around Grant’s upper arm, and inserted the IV needle as Stewart continued. “Been around anyone with cold or flu symptoms in the last week or so?”
Grant told him about Michaels and his son, and Stewart nodded as the nurse entered the data into the PC.
“And who, other than your wife, have you been in close contact with?”
“My mother, my daughter, my secretary, couple guys at the office…”
He turned to Rena. “If it turns out he has meningitis, we’ll need to get in touch with all of them, so they can be tested.”
Because it’s highly contagious, she thought with a shiver.
Marian released the tourniquet and began filling vials with Grant’s blood.
“Put a rush on those,” Stewart said when she finished. “I want results within the hour.”
She looked dubious. “I’m nowhere near that good at schmoozing.”
He smirked. “Tell the lab techs I have a pocketful of gift cards. That oughta put Grant here, at the top of their list.”
Then he helped Grant sit up, pressed a stethoscope to his back. “Deep breaths,” Stewart said. Moving to Grant’s chest, he said, “Breathe normally.”
Next, he strapped on a blood pressure cuff, slid a finger pulse oximeter onto Grant’s forefinger. And while the equipment buzzed and beeped, he took Grant’s temperature.
The nurse, reading the screens, added the data into the computer.
“I have a couple of other patients to see,” Stewart said. “Soon as they text the lab reports, I’ll let you know what’s next.”
“Such as?” Grant asked.
“Lumbar puncture, scans…”
“How long does it take to get those results?” Rena asked.
“If the blood cultures lean toward meningitis, believe me, it’ll be fast.” He gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze.
“And if it turns out I do have meningitis?”
“Treatment will depend on whether it’s viral or bacterial.” He parted the curtain. “Don’t worry. I’m on this.” And with that, he disappeared.
“While we’re waiting, maybe you could bring Mom up to speed,” Grant suggested.
Rena agreed, and stepped into the hall to make the call. Doing her best to sound confident and unconcerned, she promised to call again when the test results came back.
“Rosie wants to talk to you,” Tina said.
“Mom? Is Dad okay?”
“He’s fine, sweetie. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“When will you guys be home?”
“The doctor is doing a few tests,” Rena said, “so he’ll know what kind of medicine to give Dad. It could take a while, because hospitals can be slow sometimes. I’ll call you and Grandma as soon as I hear anything, okay?”
“Okay. And Mom?”
“What, sweetie?”
“Tell Dad I love him.”
“I will.”
After a long pause, she added, “I love you, too.”
“And I love you. Could one family have anything more?”
“A baby brother or sister, maybe, or…or a puppy!”
“You’re a little nut, you know that?”
Rosie blew kisses through the phone, and after they hung up, Rena returned to the registration counter and completed the proper paperwork. When it was done, she went back to check on Grant, who’d fallen asleep.
She slid a stiff-backed chair closer to the bed and sat beside him, watching, waiting, listening to every raspy breath. He looked cold, so she stepped into the hall and searched for a blanket warmer. Spotting one, she half ran to it and helped herself to a short stack of blankets, then hurried back to Grant.
His tight-clenched fists relaxed when she covered him.
He opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Rena. You always know just what to do.”
Stewart pushed into the cubicle and announced that he’d ordered scans and a spinal tap.
“I’m fairly certain you have meningitis. And considering how fast your symptoms worsened, I’m guessing the acute bacterial variety. Someone will be here shortly to take you to the radiology department. I’m gonna sit on ’em, make sure I get the results back, fast.”
“What’s the rush, doc?” Grant asked.
He looked as worried as Rena felt.
“So we can get the right antibiotics going to nip this thing in the bud.” Facing Rena, Stewart added, “I’ll write prescriptions for you, your daughter and your mother-in-law once we’re sure. Strictly a preventive measure, mind you. But I’ll need some basic info about all three of you so I get the dosages right.”
“I need to call home with an update, anyway. I’ll have that information for you, soon. If we need the drug, when will we need to start taking it?”
“Immediately.” He glanced at Grant, looked back at her. “Personal question?”
“Of course.”
“When was the last time you two had marital relations?”
Rena took a step back, shocked by the question. “What does that have to do with anything!”
But she knew, even before he said, “Meningitis is transmitted through bodily fluids.”
“We kissed tonight,” Grant said. “Couple of times.”
Stewart nodded. “We could be whistling in the dark, here.” He shrugged. “Could be some other infection.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, Grant, I don’t think so.”
A burly orderly entered and announced he was there to take Grant for tests. As he rolled past, Rena clasped his hand. “I’ll be there just as soon as I’ve talked to your mom. And by the way? Rosie said to tell you she loves you.”
His smile was as weak as his grasp. “Tell her I love her, too, and that I’ll be home soon.”
The farther down the hall he went, the smaller and more vulnerable he looked. Soon, Rena repeated. Come home with me soon.
* * *
GRANT HAD REMAINED in the hospital for nearly a week, and Rena had been at his side nearly every moment, bringing ice chips, sneaking in fast-food burgers, making sure he always had a heated blanket. The only time she’d left him was on Rosie’s first day of school. Even then, she’d been in near-constant contact, texting pictures of their girl, backpack straps over her shoulders and lunchbox in one hand, standing beneath the big letters that spelled out Sentinal Lane Elementary.
Once Grant came home, his recovery had taken far longer than anyone, even Dr. Stewart, had anticipated. Grant had missed weeks of work, but thanks to Rena, who’d set up a temporary work station in the family room, he hadn’t fallen too far behind, even conducting Skype conferences with a few new clients. Strangely, his production increased while working at home, despite having Rena around to distract him with homemade cookies and fresh soups, the occasional back rub, and sweet humming as she went about her daily activities.
Several times, he’d asked if she missed working. And each time, she’d made it clear that she’d apply for a job at the hospital as soon as he’d fully regained his health and Danes assured them that Rosie was in no danger of backsliding, psychologically. If she’d seemed at all unhappy, would he have coaxed her to go back to nursing? Probably. But since she was apparently content with trying to make him fat, Grant decided not to rock the boat. Besides, he enjoyed the time they spent together, solving all the world’s problems and discussing Rosie’s steady progress.
His favorite time? When Rosie came in from school, flush-faced and excited to tell him all about her day. On Tuesday, Daniel Jensen had chipped a tooth while playing Keep Away on the playground; Joelle Hudson had come in on Wednesday sporting a short bob after donating a foot and a half of hair to kids with cancer; Thursday brought an author who’d taught them how to plot out a story; and on Friday, Ms. Gilmore had shown off her sparkly new engagement ring.
Rosie’s nightmares about the years with Barbara were happening less often now, and she seemed happy and self-assured in her new world. He and Rena had grown more secure about Rosie’s emotional adjustment, too, leaving her long enough to attend classmates’ birthday parties—even those of the sleepover variety.
Visitors stopped by to see him now and then, some bearing gifts, others just sharing the latest family and office gossip. Today, after Joe Michaels delivered a mesh sack of Florida oranges to make up for infecting him with meningitis—he himself had never exhibited any symptoms, and his son had recovered quickly—Grant decided to soak up some warm sunshine, a pleasant diversion from the usually chilly weather.
It would be Thanksgiving soon, and he’d been doing his level best to stay out of the who’s-hosting-dinner dispute between his mom and sisters. By rights, the family should gather here, since Rena had missed hosting several years running. But, as was her way, Rena had chosen to stay in the background, too, promising to help in any way she could once they’d made a decision. Trouble was, if they didn’t make up their minds soon, the holiday would come and go, and no one would get so much as a slice of turkey.
He inhaled the crisp scent of the pines that formed the side borders of the property. The sun would set soon, and when it did, it would take its pleasant warmth with it. Blue jays cawed from the now-leafless sugar maple, and cardinals peeped as they scavenged sunflower seeds that had fallen from the feeders. A light breeze riffled his hair, reminding him he needed to pay a visit to the barber’s…even though Rena said she liked the way it curled over his collar.
Smiling to himself, Grant admitted that life was good, real good. Admitted, too, that he was one lucky man. He thought of how close he’d come, in the hospital, to losing it all…
“Grant? Are you all right?”
Rena sat at the foot of the lounge chair, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You looked, I don’t know, pained, for lack of a better word.”
“Just thinking,” he said. “About how much has changed since this time last year.”
Rena nodded as a squirrel raced across the yard, cheeks all puffed out, and climbed the oak tree. The amusing sight broke the moment of tension.
“They built a nest up there while you were gone,” Grant said. “Bet it’s chocked full of nuts. And sunflower seeds.”
Rena laughed. “The squirrels eat more bird food than the birds.” She patted his shin. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yup. Turned out to be a real nice day.”
“It’s good you can enjoy this weather. Normally, you’d be trapped in the recirculated air at the office.”
“I guess a little meningitis is good for what ails ya, after all.”
“Not funny,” she said. “You had me really scared. For a while there, it looked like we might lose you.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
She stared deep into his eyes and shook her head. If he had to guess, Grant would say she was thinking something along the lines of I don’t want to get rid of you, easily or otherwise.
“So what’s for supper?”
“Meatloaf, baked potatoes and salad.”
“What, no dessert?”
“Ice cream with chocolate sauce.”
Rosie joined them on the deck and, sitting beside Rena, said, “What are you guys doing out here? It’s almost dark.”
“Oh, just talking,” Rena answered. “Have you finished your homework?”
“Everything but the report about Rosa Parks.”
She’d made a diorama that resembled a bus. Made a doll out of an empty water bottle, too, painting a Styrofoam ball for the head and drawing eyes, eyeglasses and a sweet smile on it.
“Did you find the yarn I left out for you to use as her hair?”
“Yup. And Grandma gave me a couple of quilt squares for her dress and coat. All I need now is to figure out how to make her a hat.”
In the past, Grant might have called a conversation like this small talk. And, in the past, he would have loathed it. Lately, though, ordinary banter had taken on new meaning, and he treasured every word between Rosie and Rena, between Rena and his mom, between all of the women in his life and himself. No words were more precious, though, than those spoken by Rena, especially when night had settled and they were alone in their room.
Their room. He was tempted to board up the guest room, to guarantee she’d never sleep there again.
“Shouldn’t we go inside? It’s almost dark,” Rosie said again.
Rising, Rena said “You make a good point. I need to set the table for supper, anyway.”
Rosie beat her to the door. “You coming, Dad?”
“In a minute. There won’t be very many more days like this before Old Man Winter shows up.”
His wife and daughter exchanged a knowing glance.
“I’ll call you when the food is on the table, then. Need anything in the meantime?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
When the door closed behind them, Grant stared at the dimming sky. A full moon tonight, he noticed. Later, when it was full-dark, there would be stars, too. Maybe even a Venus sighting. Feeling rested and relaxed, he let his hand dangle from the chair, as his eyes closed.
“Grant?”
He startled. Had he dozed off?
“Mom. Sheesh. You scared me half to death.”
“What are you doing out here, all alone in the dark?” Tina asked.
“What are you doing, walking around all alone in the dark?” he shot back.
“Rena invited me to supper.”
Instead of heading right inside, as he expected her to, she took a seat beside him.
“I’m proud of you, son,” his mother said.
“Proud? Why? I owe my recovery to Rena. And medical science.”
“Not that. I’m proud of you because you’re working hard to repair things between the two of you. I know it hasn’t been easy, but it does my old heart good to see you two together again. And Rosie… That little girl has come such a long way, and the pair of you are largely responsible for that.”
“Rena gets most of the credit. Her patience is infinite. Especially with me.”
“That’s a long sight from where you were a few years ago.”
He met her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“When you were stomping around like a raging bull, snorting accusations and blame until she felt the only way to help you heal was to leave.”
Leaning forward in the deck chair he said, “What?”
“No disrespect intended, but you behaved abominably. Never, not once since you were born, was I ashamed of you. Until you drove Rena away.”
“I need to go help get the roast on the table,” he said, standing. What better way to avoid her disapproving stare?
Tina put herself between him and the back door. “You’re my son, and I love you. Which is why I never said anything about this before. You were such a mess that I was afraid if I told you how I really felt, you’d go completely off the deep end!”
Grant had thought he’d buried all that. Evidently, he’d thought wrong.
“You realize, don’t you, that it was my idea to turn Rosie’s room into an office for you? Rena and I…we were at our wits’ end. You were suffering, inconsolable and taking your misery out on the one person who loved you most. I thought maybe if you didn’t have all the physical reminders of Rosie to deal with every time you passed her room, you could get on with your life…your life with Rena.”
“It’s ancient history now, Mom. Rena and I…we’re working things out.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So she knows you don’t blame her anymore.”
She couldn’t have stunned him more if she’d slapped him.
“Well?”
“I haven’t said it in so many words, but I think she knows how I feel.”
“You think she knows?”
“Mom, please. I’m whipped. Can’t this wait?”
“Until when?”
He started walking toward the house, intent on putting this sorry subject behind him. Where it belonged.
“Honestly, Grant. You’re lucky Rena doesn’t hold grudges. I hope you know that.”
“You’re right.” He spun around. “And I do know that. I know how lucky I am that she came back to me. Lucky she puts up with me. Lucky she was here when I got sick. Lucky she’s the kind of woman who’ll stick with me, even when stupid, hurtful things come out of my mouth.”
Grant felt guilty, taking his frustrations out on his mom. So he slung an arm over her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug.
“I’m lucky to have a mother like you, too.”
She waved the compliment away. “Oh, you…” She gave his cheek a maternal pat. “I’m getting chilly. Let’s go inside.” She paused as she reached for the door handle. “And by the way, I love you, too.”