Ricky loved the fact that Gia loved his tree house as much as he did. When his family had moved in here, there'd already been a platform with a railing up in the sprawling oak, left behind by the last family who'd lived in the home. Fred and Patricia Zander were a powerhouse husband and wife motivational speaker team, specializing in corporate business, and they were away more often than they were home, sometimes for weeks at a time.
The couple loved their work and had waited to have children until after their business was well-established. The moment they learned Patricia was pregnant, they began a hunt for the perfect nanny, whom they found in a woman named Nita Weirsma, a grandmotherly type who had recently retired from her position as a school librarian. But when Patricia's advanced maternal age brought on a slew of complications, and they determined there would be no more children after Ricky, he'd been delegated to the life of an only child being raised by a nanny.
Nita stayed with them for the first eleven years of Ricky's life, but then her own health problems began to interfere with her ability to drive, and eventually, she moved into a lovely assisted living community, leaving the Zanders without anyone they trusted to care for a boy who too old for a babysitter and too young to be left alone for extended periods of time. The Zanders had been at a loss. Business was good, but not good enough for either of them to slow down. So after almost a year of an unsuccessful hunt for a live-in housekeeper who would be willing to play nanny part time, they'd moved to Midtown to be close to Fred's side of the family, who were only too happy to help out with the well-behaved but lonely Ricky. So even though he had his parents, it was his extended family—he thought of Nita as family, even though he hadn't seen her in years—who had raised him, something else that linked Gia and him together.
When his parents were home, they had little time to spend with him, so he took on the project of the tree house. It had taken him less than a week after meeting Gia to know she'd be the first—and possibly the only—girl he'd invite up there to see it. At the time, it had been little more than the pre-existing platform and the four walls he'd managed to erect on his own. She'd been completely awed by the project and had jumped in wholeheartedly, making him love her even more. Over time, with the help of Gia, and sometimes Trevor when his older cousin was available, they'd created a fortress in his back yard, and even though she still called it his, in Ricky's heart, it had become theirs.
He couldn't help but wonder what would become of it when he moved out. Every time he thought about it, his stomach knotted uncomfortably. He'd miss the tree house and all its memories far more than he would his parents.
By a quarter after five, Ricky had the thrift store coffee table they'd painted Bronco orange covered in a tablecloth he'd snagged from his mom's meager linen closet. The Zanders never entertained at home, so what was there was rarely used and wouldn't be missed for the evening. Paper plates, tall plastic pirate booty goblets, and the two halves of a coconut bra Gia had turned into serving dishes, one filled with their favorite chip and pretzel mix, the other with Hot Tamales cinnamon candy, looked gloriously juvenile paired with the ornate candelabra Gia had found at an estate sale in the older part of Midtown. She'd draped it with strings of beads and random pieces of costume jewelry she'd collected over the years. In an ice bucket on the floor, a bottle of sparkling lemonade chilled, and there were several cans of soda and bottled water in the mini fridge nearby. It had been a grand day, indeed, when they'd strung up a heavy-duty electrical cord from the garage to the tree house. He'd wait until Gia got here to plug in the twinkle lights; they'd strung them up to look like fallen stars in the branches around the structure—there was nothing more magical than lighting up their tree after the sky had gone dark. Inside, where the table was laid, were a few more strings of lights, but tonight, he'd opted for candles. He busied himself lighting the seven tapers in the centerpiece; surely she'd be here soon.
Half an hour later, as the sun was bidding farewell in west, Ricky blew out the candles and shoved the bottle of lemonade in the fridge. Sprawled in the hammock hung between two branches over the balcony, he fixed his gaze on the gate at the side of the house. In one hand he held a can of ginger ale, in the other, his phone, debating whether or not he should bother texting Gia. What had happened to change her mind this time? Did he really want to know? Did it have anything to do with Barista Boy?
And yet, she was the one who'd orchestrated this whole thing.
His chest hurt the way it did after too many sprints, like he couldn't quite catch his breath. He couldn't bear the back and forth, the not knowing. Where was she?
He set his soda on the rail nearby. "What have you got to lose, man?" he muttered to himself, keying in his phone's password. He pulled up her text—it was the last one he'd received—and started tapping in a brief message when he noticed the three dots indicating she was texting him at the same time.
His thumbs stilled and he held his breath, waiting to have his heart broken again, but hoping she was on her way even more.
So sorry. At the hospital. Gramps passed out and hit his head.
Ricky sat up so suddenly, he almost toppled out of the hammock. With clumsy thumbs, he keyed a message back to her. What hospital? Where are you? I'll come to you.
It was several minutes before she texted again, telling him where they were, but it was more than enough time for him to batten down the hatches in the tree house and hurry inside to grab his jacket and keys. He hollered to his folks to let them know he was heading out for a bit, but didn't bother waiting for a response. They probably wouldn't even notice he was gone.
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the hospital. He texted Gia from the parking lot as she'd asked, and headed to the front entrance of the hospital. Gramps had been admitted and had been carted off for some tests while the girls—Juliette and Phoebe had already arrived and Renata was on her way—were keeping vigil with Granny G in Gramps' assigned room. By the time Ricky passed through both sets of doors into the front lobby of the local community hospital, Gia was stepping out of the elevator. He heard her heartbreaking sob when she saw him, and without a word, he crossed the room and enfolded her in his arms.
"Thank you," she whispered against his chest. "I'm sorry I didn't text you earlier. You must have thought some awful things about me."
Ricky grinned to himself, his cheek pressed to her hair. She knew him too well. "How's Gramps?" he asked instead of admitting anything.
"Oh, Ricky," she murmured, pulling back a little to wipe at her face. From the puffiness around her eyes and her bright red nose, she'd obviously been crying for some time. "It was awful. I went outside to call him in for supper right as I was getting ready to head out the door. He stood up and—and you know how they say the color drained from someone's face? I always wondered if that was a literal statement or not. Now I know it is." She paused, and Ricky watched her eyes grow unfocused. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a little jostle to snap her out of it. She was beside herself. This wasn't his normal goofy-yet-solid Gia.
"Hey, Georgy Girl. Look at me."
"What?" She looked shell-shocked, her skin pale beneath the blotchy redness from her tears.
"Have you seen him? How is he?"
"Oh. Gran and I got to sit with him in the emergency room. She had me drive her to the hospital instead of riding in the ambulance with Gramps. I think she might have been more worried about me than him, though. I was kinda freaking out at first." She covered her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "Anyway, when we got there, they were getting him all hooked up to stuff and getting him prepped to go back for some kind of a head scan and to clear his neck so they can take off the stabilizer brace. I think they just put it on as a precaution? I don't really know how all that stuff works; I'll have to look it up."
Knowing Gia, she'd be on Google before the night was over, collecting a slew of interesting facts about neck braces, spinal cord and head injuries, and a myriad of other emergency procedures. She was a sucker for 'Fun Facts' websites and a diehard Wikipedia junkie.
"Anyway, he was awake and responsive by the time the paramedics got to our place, but he was really confused, even when we all got to the hospital. He asked the same questions several times, wanting to know what happened, why we were all there, and stuff like that. He seemed to get better as time passed, so that's good, I guess. He remembered me coming out to call him to dinner, but he doesn't remember falling. They're doing a CT scan to check for bleeding or bruising or even swelling on the brain, among other things."
"Did they say why he fainted?" Ricky smoothed her hair back from her face. It was all loose and wild, silken coils beneath his palms. He brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.
"The doctor said it could be any number of things, or even a combination of things, but she mentioned possibly a relapse of his pneumonia, dehydration, even a stroke, God forbid."
"Oh, wow."
"Yeah, I know. Scary. But he's old, you know? And I guess being sick for so long and after the stress of last year with John dying, followed by all the weddings—we still have Phebes and Trevor to marry off next month...." She shook her head. "Gramps has been tired a lot since he was sick, now that I think of it. He's been taking long naps every afternoon, and I've noticed that he goes to bed quite a bit earlier than he used to these days. I should have known something was wrong. His doctor said his lungs sounded clear, but she wants a chest X-ray anyway, just to be sure. So yeah, they're looking for evidence of a stroke, a brain bleed or bruising from the knock on the head, ruling out pneumonia, and clearing his spine so they can take off that neck brace. Poor guy. He kept pulling at it like he couldn't figure out what it was. I hated seeing him so confused." Gia made a sound like a whimper and gripped his biceps. "Oh, Ricky. It was awful. I was on the other side of the fence and couldn't get to him. I just stood there and watched him keel over. He went down so hard, too." Her voice rose in pitch, her hands tightened on his arms. "I keep seeing it over and over in my mind. And the sound of his head hitting the shovel—"
"Sh, stop," Ricky said, pulling her close again. "Enough. What can I do? Do you want me to take you back to his room? Or do you want to go outside for a walk?" He glanced around at the nearly empty lobby. "It's pretty quiet if you want to sit down here for a bit."
Gia took a deep breath and stepped back again. "I could use some air. Let me text Jules to let her know." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started keying in her message.
While she waited for a response from her sister, Ricky asked, "Do you want something to drink? Or eat?" He pointed at the sign that directed visitors to the cafeteria. "The sign says they have a courtyard. We could hang out there."
"I don't know if I can eat anything right now, but you must be hungry. Our sandwiches are still in the fridge at home."
Ricky bought them both a green drink smoothie in lieu of food for the time being—the cafeteria had a surprising variety of vendors and options for such a small hospital—and they found a bench out under the shade of a purple plum tree in full bloom. Ricky let Gia tell him everything that had happened from the moment she'd walked out the back door until she'd met him in the lobby. He'd thought to grab a handful of napkins on their way out of the cafeteria, and Gia made good use of them to wipe her face and blow her nose throughout the telling.
"It was awful," she said for what must have been the dozenth time. "There was so much blood, Ricky. And it seemed like it took forever for him to come around. I knew not to try to move him just in case he'd hurt his neck, but it was all I could do not to shake him. It's just what you automatically do, you know?" She put a hand on his leg and jostled him on the bench in demonstration. "I kept yelling in his face like an idiot, shouting at him to wake up, wake up! And poor Gran. She had to do all the important stuff like calling 9-1-1 and holding a towel over the cut to slow the bleeding. I was a worthless basket case." She sighed deeply, and then rested her head on his shoulder.
He wanted to put his arm around her, but instead, he took her hand and held it between both of his. Her fingers were chilled from her drink, and he thought they trembled a little, too. He didn't speak, but smiled contentedly when he felt her body begin to relax against his side.
Even though the chill of evening settled gently around them, they sat that way for several minutes until Gia's phone chirped with a text message.
"Gramps is back," she said, pushing to her feet so suddenly, she stumbled a little. "Ooh! Head rush."
Ricky stood, too, and steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. Even in the glow of the lampposts in the courtyard, she still looked a little shell-shocked and blanched. "You okay?" he asked, not wanting to let go lest she keel over.
"Sorry. Yeah." Gia took a shuffling step closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest, ducking her head so it fit into the hollow under his chin. "I'm good now that you're here, Rickaroni. I love you." A moment later, she pulled away from him and turned to head back inside. "Come on."
Although Ricky followed her closely, it took his breathing a little longer to catch up. In fact, it was still a little ragged when they arrived at the door to Gramps' room, and Ricky hoped the rest of the Gustafson gang would assume it was because of the haste they'd made getting there.