Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts (14 page)

He raises his eyebrows. “That might be difficult. The movie starts at nine.”

“I don’t know why I bother to set a curfew,” I say with a sigh.

He grins. “Moms always push back when you try to set rules, don’t they?”

Okay, I’m kind of liking this guy. He’s a lot more engaging than Paul. Better looking, too. I try to telegraph my approval to Mom, but she’s tugging him toward the door. “Let’s go,” she says. “Uh, Tom? There’s one more box in the car.…”

“No problem.” Tom goes down with them, and when he returns with the box, I say, “What did you think?”

“About what?”

“Mom’s date.”

“That was a date?”

“Of course. What else?”

“I don’t know.” He heads toward the bedroom. “I hadn’t really thought about it much. I guess I just assumed he was a friend or something.” He disappears into the bedroom.

Sometimes I wish I lived with another girl.

* * *

A couple of hours later, I’m reading the
New Yorker
on our bed, trying to block out the loud noise of the ESPN highlights show that Tom’s watching, when the phone rings. Tom picks up the handset, glances at it, says, “Your dad,” and tosses it to me.

Only it’s not Dad. “Keats? It’s Jacob. I wanted you to know there’s an ambulance on its way in case you wanted to meet us at the hospital. I can’t reach your mother and—”

“Wait,” I say. “What’s going on? Is Dad okay?”

Tom looks up, concerned. “What?” he whispers. “What’s happening?”

I put my hand up to keep him quiet so I can hear Jacob.

“I think it’s his heart,” he says. “I have to go. Can you meet us at St. Christopher’s?”

I’m already on my feet.

* * *

Tom insists on going with me. He drops me off in front of the hospital and goes to park. I race into the emergency room and tell the nurse who I’m looking for. She lets me through, into a web of hallways and examining rooms in the back, where I immediately spot Jacob pacing in front of a closed door. I run over and we hug briefly.

“They’re examining him,” he says. “I don’t know anything yet except that it’s his heart. The EMTs gave him oxygen and some kind of blood thinner, I think.”

“What happened? Did he pass out? Was he in a lot of pain?”

“I don’t know all that much. I wasn’t around. I’d been teaching all afternoon and called him just to check in, and he sounded awful, so I asked him if he’d eaten anything all day and he said no, so I picked up some food, and when I got there, he was on the floor, but conscious. He couldn’t get up, said it felt like something huge was pressing down on his chest, and he wasn’t strong enough to get to the phone.”

“If you hadn’t gone over—”

“I wish I hadn’t stopped to get food.”

“Yeah,” I said. “If he dies, it’ll be all your fault.”

He manages a bleak smile. “Thanks, Keats. You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

I touch his arm. “You’re the only one who’s been checking up on him. I feel awful. Grateful to you, but awful. Did they say how serious it was?”

“The EMTs seemed pretty calm, for what that’s worth.”

“So you came in the ambulance with him?”

“I didn’t want him to be alone. I left a voice mail for your mom by the way.”

“She’s at a movie—her phone’s probably turned off.” I’ll have to track her down somehow. I need her here with me. “Can I go in and see him?”

“I don’t know. They shoved me out. But I’m not a relative.”

“I’ll go ask a nurse. If you see Tom before I do, tell him to wait here with you.”

He nods and sags against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed.

* * *

The nurse is useless, just says I should sit tight and wait for the doctor.

I feel pretty stupid for having left to go talk to her when I come back to find the doctor already deep in conversation with Jacob and Tom. I rush over in time to catch the word
stable
.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask.

“This is his daughter,” Tom tells the doctor.

The doctor shakes my hand. “Aman Malik.”

I mutter something about how it’s nice to meet him even though it’s an absurd thing to say under the circumstances. “How is he?”

“We need to insert a stent as soon as possible. The meds we’ve given him aren’t doing the trick.”

Everyone’s looking at me. I realize I’m supposed to say something. “Yeah?” is my brilliant response. God, I wish my mother were here.

Dr. Malik tries to explain. I hear, “The heart, as you know, is a muscle” and then after that, he sounds pretty much like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. He’s waaa-waaa-waaaing, but the words don’t coalesce into anything meaningful. Jacob and Tom are nodding like they understand what he’s saying, so the problem’s clearly in my head, not with the doctor.

I feel more and more desperate. When he pauses and looks at me, I can think of only one thing to say, which is
I want my mommy
, only I try to make it sound more grown-up than that. “I’d like to have my mother in on the decision making.”

“Will she be here soon?”

“I think so.”

“We’ll get started with the paperwork. It always takes longer than you think. Tell the nurses to page me once your mother gets here.” He starts to move away.

“Wait,” I say. “Can I see him?”

“Of course.” He seems vaguely surprised I’m asking. “He’s right in there.” He nods toward the door.

I start to go, stop, look at Jacob. “Come with me.” I can’t go in alone. I’m scared of what Dad might look like. Jacob nods, and we move toward the door together. “Tom, will you try to get hold of my mother? Call the theater if you have to.”

“Which theater?”

“Coolidge Corner.” He was standing right there when Michael told us that’s where they were going. “Don’t you remember? The Kurosawa movie?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He pulls out his phone and Jacob and I go into the exam room.

My dad’s lying on the bed with his eyes closed, covered by a thin blanket, his hair rumpled, his face pale and sunken. There’s an oxygen line in his nose and an IV in his arm. “Hey,” I say.

At the sound of my voice, his eyes flicker open. He manages a smile. “How can it not be indigestion?” he says in a voice that’s not much louder than a whisper. He has to take a breath between every couple of words. “It’s always indigestion. You think you’re having a heart attack, and you go to the emergency room, and they tell you it’s just indigestion and to go home and relax. I’ve been waiting for them to say that.”

“Sounds like you’re going to be waiting awhile longer.” He seems too fragile to kiss, so I just pat his arm. He nods briefly, but his eyes close again like he doesn’t have the energy to keep them open.

“It’s a good thing Jacob came by the apartment,” he murmurs.

“I just wish they’d made that sandwich faster,” Jacob says. “The guy at the counter was taking forever. If I’d known—”

“You’d have skipped the mayo?” I say.

“Yeah. Stupid mayo.”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” Dad whispers. “Why does no one ever listen to me?”

“You might have mentioned that you were having a heart attack,” I say. “He would have listened to
that
.”

“It must have slipped my mind,” my father gasps out.

* * *

Tom appears at the door a few minutes later and beckons to me. When I join him in the hallway, he tells me proudly that it was hard work, but he finally got a message to my mother and now she’s on the phone. He hands me his cell so I can talk to her.

“I’m on my way,” she says. “Sorry you had trouble reaching me. How’s he doing?”

“You mean aside from the near-fatal heart attack?”

She ignores that. “Have you called Hopkins yet?”

“No.”

“That should have been the first call you made. She’s the only one of us who knows anything.”

“She’s not a cardiologist.”

“She probably remembers more from her cardiology rotation than most cardiologists ever know. I’d like her to talk directly to the doctors there. Actually, what I’d really like is for her to come right away, but I don’t know how likely that is.”

How ironic. All this time I’ve been wanting my mommy, and she just wants my big sister.

Mom is going on. “I’m also going to call our internist and see if he can meet me at the hospital.” Maybe she notices I’m being quiet. “Don’t worry, Keats. People have heart attacks and recover all the time. Your father will be fine. Maybe he’ll even start taking better care of himself—sometimes a scare like this is the best wake-up call.”

Her calm tone irritates me. “We’re lucky Jacob stopped by when he did,” I say. “Otherwise, we’d never have even known Dad was lying there unconscious.”

“Yes, we owe Jacob a lot,” she says evenly. “And I promise you that I’ll still be able to sleep at night despite any attempt on your part to make me feel guilty.”

“Wow,” I say. “Really?”

She sighs. “Just call Hopkins for me, will you?”

I hang up, hand Tom his phone, then pull out mine and start dialing.

“Who you calling now?” Tom asks.

“My sister. Mom wants her to talk to the doctor because apparently she’s the only person in our family who knows anything about anything.”

The call goes directly to Hopkins’s voice mail.

I leave a terse message explaining the situation and telling her to call either me or Mom. I don’t have to worry about scaring her. Hopkins doesn’t get scared by stuff like this.

My mother arrives twenty minutes later. I’m relieved to see her but slightly weirded out that Michael Goodman is accompanying her.

“This is a fun date,” I say to her when he excuses himself to go to the men’s room.

“Don’t start,” she says. “He had to drive me here, and he was nice enough to say he’d come in and see if there was anything he could do to help.”

“He doesn’t find the whole thing a little awkward?
You
don’t?”

“We’re grown-ups, Keats. He understands the situation.”

“Which is what exactly?”

“That I needed to come to the hospital immediately because my ex-husband was having a heart attack. Oh, thank god, you’re here.” That last isn’t addressed to me, it’s to a middle-aged man who, despite his off-hours slacks and patterned sweater, still channels
doctor
with his distinguished white hair and little black bag. They greet each other warmly, and then she introduces him to me as Dad’s internist Dr. Hanson.

He informs us that he’s already spoken to Dr. Malik and feels confident that he’s making all the right decisions. He and Mom go to see Dad together, and Tom asks me if we can leave now that my mother’s here.

“I feel better staying. But you go ahead.”

He hugs me tightly, kisses me, says, “He’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” I say, and he heads toward the exit.

I’m getting a little paper cone cup of water at the bubbler when Michael reappears.

“She went in to see my dad,” I tell him. “I’m sure she’ll be out soon.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “No rush.”

I wonder how long he plans to hang around. “Did you get to see much of the movie?” I ask as we sit on a bench in the hall outside Dad’s room. I feel like I’m at a cocktail party and have to make polite conversation with a stranger. A really bad, stressful cocktail party.

“Enough,” he says. “Especially since I’ve seen it several times before.” He downshifts suddenly. “I’m really sorry about your father, Keats.”

“Thanks. No one seems too worried.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. But it’s never fun to spend time in a hospital—as a patient or a visitor.”

Before I can respond, Jacob emerges from Dad’s room and joins us. “You going to go back in there, Keats? They’re discussing the operation.”

“What’s the point? I’m no Hopkins.”

“They’re not checking degrees at the door.”

I shrug and don’t move.

Mom comes out of the room a moment later, her cell phone to her ear. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s listening intently, and I’m guessing it’s Hopkins on the other end. Eventually she ends the call and comes over to us. “She’s going to talk to Malik now, thank goodness. Michael, you don’t have to wait around.”

“Are you sure?” Michael stands up. “If I can help in any way…”

“You’ve been a huge help already,” she says. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

Michael shakes my hand and says good-bye to Jacob, and then he and Mom walk down the hallway, so close that their arms brush against each other. Neither of them moves any farther apart.

“Wow,” I say, watching as they turn the corner. “There’s nothing like your husband’s having a heart attack to make you feel all young and flirty again.”

Jacob just sighs, which annoys me.

“I can’t believe her,” I say. “It’s sick.”

“She was on a date, Keats. And she’s divorcing your dad. Some women wouldn’t have shown up at all under those circumstances.”

“Maybe that would have been better than her showing up and being all over that guy.”

“She wasn’t exactly all over him,” Jacob says. “Come on, give her a break.” Then more gently, “I know this is all really hard on you—”

“Oh, just be quiet,” I snap, so he stops talking, and we sit there in silence.

After Mom rejoins us, Dr. Hanson invites her and me into the room, where he informs us that he’s already talked to Hopkins and she’s in favor of the stent procedure, so of course, Mom immediately signs the necessary paperwork.

Dad mostly seems to be listening to the conversation, but sometimes he closes his eyes, maybe dozing, maybe not, it’s hard to tell. When they’re open, his gaze follows Mom around the room. She’s kind to him, pats his hand, asks the doctor lots of concerned questions about the operation and his prognosis, but she’s very calm and seems more like a fond sister than a wife of thirty years.

Dad’s eyes are hungry for her under his crazy eyebrows, devouring her features whenever he can keep them open. When she touches his arm, his hand reaches for hers, but he’s too weak to hold on for more than a moment or two, and when his grasp slips, she moves her hand away.

After the consultation, there’s a bustle of activity as the nurses come in to prep my dad for the surgery. Dr. Hanson wishes us well, promises to follow up with the attending doctor, claps Dad on the shoulder without actually making any eye contact with him, and leaves.