Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2) Page 8

  “Okay, I’m going,” Nash announced, shaking away the troubling thoughts. He started down the stairs, in a hurry to get home where he could actively work on clearing his head.

  “Good night, Nash,” Vivian said softly to his back.

  Pausing with one foot on the bottom step and the other resting on the hard-packed cold earth, Nash twisted to look up at her. He’d always heard that candlelight was a woman’s best friend, but he couldn’t imagine a better backdrop than the soft yellow glow of the porchlight bathing her now. Once again, Vivian stole his breath.

  Feeling the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly, Nash returned, “Good night, Viv.”

  ELEVEN

  If there was anything higher than a cloud nine, Nash would say he was flying high around a twelve. Except that feeling of elation was blown to hell an hour into his sleep when he got the phone call he’d been dreading.

  “How is she? Any news?”

  It was late, around three, maybe four in the morning, he couldn’t be sure. When he woke up to Vivian’s voice on the other end of the line, frantic and telling him that Ms. Gretta was having a heart attack, he hadn’t taken much time to think, let alone check the clock.

  As Nash bounded out of the house and down the porch steps in a mad dash to Gretta’s house, the ambulance lights danced across the frosted grasses and bare trees as it raced back down the road toward the hospital.

  Realizing he’d missed his window, he ran back into the house for his keys and revved up the old Chevy, forcing it to go his speed despite its protests to go easy, give it time to warm up a little. What he didn’t have was time, and he was even more worried that Ms. Gretta had less.

  The ambulance arrived before him, and by the time Nash made it into the emergency room lobby, they were nowhere to be seen.

  Vivian’s tear-stained face met him, the only indication that she was upset. Somehow, she’d managed to pull herself together, while Nash was ready to fall apart.

  Memories tugged at him. He hadn’t set foot in a hospital since…Carlene’s accident. Nothing had changed—not the sights or smells or sounds. It was like a time capsule, threatening to take him back to that single moment in time when everything in his life suddenly changed.

  He supposed it might well be happening again tonight…

  If anything happened to Ms. Gretta—

  Vivian’s hands landed on his shoulders, shocking Nash back to the moment. “They haven’t updated me since we got here, but she’s in good hands. She’ll be okay. You have to believe that. We both do.”

  Nash must have been in shock. He felt numb. His ears felt like they’d been stuffed with cotton. He heard everything she was saying, but none of it felt real. She must have noticed he wasn’t quite right because Vivian steered him to a row of empty seats and forced him to sit.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Nash sat and stared at his hands until she returned. He had no idea how long she’d been gone.

  “Here. Drink.” When Nash looked confused, she shoved the bottle of water at him impatiently. “You look like you’re about to pass out, and sorry, but you’re way too big for me to pick up. And I don’t think I can deal with two people I care about in a hospital bed right now. So, drink.”

  Nash accepted the bottle and, somewhat robotically, cracked it open and took a small sip.

  “Tell me what happened,” he grunted.

  Vivian let out an elongated, heavy breath that revealed more than her collected features. She was under just as much stress as Nash; she just wore it better.

  Clasping and unclasping her hands, she stared at her fingers as he’d done moments before, withdrawing into the memory that shook them both so hard.

  “I was in my room like I always am at that hour, but I couldn’t sleep, so I was pissing around on my phone. I heard something fall downstairs—”

  “She fell?” Fresh fear spiked in Nash, causing his temples to throb.

  “No, she bumped into a table. Knocked over that old candy dish and broke it.” She waved her hand through the air, as if to get herself back on topic. “I opened the door, and that’s when I heard her calling for me. She was so quiet, I thought I’d heard wrong at first. You know how old houses can be,” she said, glancing up at him for reassurance. He gave it to her with a firm nod.

  “When I realized it was her, I just knew. I knew something was wrong. God,” she breathed, “I don’t think I’ve ever ran so fast in my life. I’m lucky I didn’t fall down the stairs or I would have been in the back of that ambulance right along with her.”

  Nash couldn’t help himself. He reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tight between his.

  “How do you know she had a heart attack?”

  “I don’t for sure. Just with her health problems recently and the shortness of breath, pain in her arm…when she collapsed, that’s the first thing that came to mind. I assume that’s what they’re checking her for now.”

  Their gazes lifted to the double doors and focused there for so long, neither knew how much time had passed. By the time the doctor came out and pulled them aside, Nash was so tired his eyelids drooped and his eyes burned.

  “Well, I have good news and bad news. Bad news is she’s had a heart attack,” the doctor, a young man who inspired thoughts of Doogie Houser, stated so matter-of-factly, Nash’s anxiety was instantly diminished. If the doctor wasn’t upset, then the news had to be good, right?

  “The good news is we were able to stabilize her and she’s alert. We’re going to keep her for a few days, though, run a few tests, but for now, your mother is doing well.”

  Nash was so relieved, he didn’t even bother correcting him. “Why did this happen? I thought she just had angina. Shouldn’t her doctor have known this was coming? Prevented it somehow?”

  The doctor’s expression remained neutral, blank even. “Unfortunately, there’s no way of predicting exactly when this sort of thing will happen. However, from her records, I didn’t see any mention of angina. It could be something they forgot to include, so I’ll have the nurse check into it,” he said as he flipped through a clipboard of papers Nash assumed held Gretta’s history.

  “What I can tell you is that, with her extensive history of heart disease and high blood pressure, coupled with advanced congestive heart failure, which I see she’s being treated for, it was just a matter of time. It’s lucky you called 9-1-1 when you did. Timing is critical with this sort of thing.”

  Nash and Vivian shared a look—shock, mostly, but also confusion followed by a dawning realization that Ms. Gretta had been lying to them for some time.

  Wanting to avoid a big confrontation, Nash simply shook his head and asked, “So, what does this mean? Is she going to be okay?”

  “Right now, she’s in good hands and is doing well. As with any major cardiac event, it’s taken a toll and you can expect her to be extremely tired and maybe even a bit disoriented, which she doesn’t seem to be.”

  “When can we see her?” Vivian interjected.

  “Well, we’d like to start running tests as soon as possible…but I can have the nurse take you back for a few minutes. Just be sure to keep things calm. It’s important to keep her blood pressure down right now until we can come up with a plan for treatment moving forward.”

  An older woman with hips that swayed dramatically led them back, sliding open pale-blue curtains to reveal Ms. Gretta lying on a hospital gurney, appearing frighteningly pale. Nash hesitated, before making a cautious approach. He’d never seen Gretta so frail looking, all hooked up to IVs with oxygen tubes shoved up her nose. For the first time ever, she didn’t possess that strength he was so used to seeing.

  Then those milky gray eyes landed on him, and despite her currently weakened state, Nash spotted that little flare of fire in her spark to life.

  “Don’t go lookin’ at me like that,” she said, her words sharp despite how strained and rough her voice sounded.

  “Like what, Ms. Gretta?” Vivian asked as she ap
proached the opposite side of the bed and took Gretta’s hand in hers.

  “Like I’m walkin’ the Green Mile.”

  Vivian looked to Nash, not understanding the reference. “Just a movie she likes a whole lot,” he explained. He felt himself grimace as he looked her over. Gretta did look like she was knocking on death’s door.

  “An’ don’t you look at me like that neither. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” Vivian scolded. “You had a heart attack. You could have died.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “But you could have,” Nash repeated firmly, hoping she’d stop being stubborn for one damn minute and accept the gravity of the situation.

  “I don’t need no one makin’ a fuss,” Gretta grumbled. “Everyone got their time to go, and this ain’t my time.”

  Nash wanted to reiterate that it could have been, that they’d come too close to comfort to having her gone from his life forever, but he recalled the doctor’s words about not upsetting her, and he shut up.

  “The important thing is that you’re still here.” He patted her hand affectionately.

  “Exactly.” Gretta drew a breath and glanced up at the clock on the wall. “So, when do we blow this popsicle stand?”

  “The doctor said he wants to keep you for a few days.”

  Gretta looked up at Vivian with a teasing smile and hummed thoughtfully. “I should have known. No man can resist me. It’s the legs, I think.”

  “Oh, Ms. Gretta,” Vivian laughed, “you’re the best.”

  “Well, hell, I know that.”

  “And so humble, too,” Nash added, winking at Gretta.

  “Excuse me.” A nurse with brown hair cropped up to her ears stepped through the curtains, drawing them aside as she entered. “The doctor would like to start running tests. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Nash and Vivian each gave Gretta a hug, Nash’s maybe just a touch longer than usual, and told her they’d be back as soon as the hospital allowed. And in typical Ms. Gretta style, she made him promise that one or both of them would return with a thermos of sweet tea and “real food” or they need not bother wasting their time.

  Why he loved the old biddy was anyone’s guess. She was abrasive and pushy and downright annoying at times, but it was all just a cover-up because hers was also the biggest heart he’d ever come across, and when she let someone into it, she made sure they felt the full weight of it. It took a long time for Nash to realize why she was the way she was. When a person cared as much and as deeply for someone like Gretta did, it left them open and vulnerable to the deepest, harshest pain. Keeping that tough outer shell was sometimes the only thing that kept a person moving each day.

  He thought back to when he was just a kid and he’d first met Gretta and her husband, Pete. He’d been surviving off bread and cheese for days, rationing what was left of both to make it through the week.

  He’d never met his dad, so it was never much of a loss to him. But when his mom left…No, when she abandoned him, he had no one. The school lunches got him through the afternoon, but the evenings were the hardest. The day he’d met Pete, his stomach had been twisting itself into knots, the light-headedness and nauseated feeling coming and going so often he spent most of his time lying down.

  That day he’d been walking home from school, taking longer than usual because he didn’t have the strength to walk any faster, when the smell of barbequing meat reached his nose. Mindlessly, he followed it, up the long road to the drive where it twisted around to the back of the house.

  Pete had been in his fifties then, strong and full of life. When Nash looked back on it now, Pete knew he was there, watching, salivating. He’d ignored him, pretended he didn’t have a clue. Just worked away at turning the food, making it just right. Each time he disappeared into the house for a tool or a plate or some other thing he needed for the meal, Nash crept a little closer, until he was just feet away, hidden behind a garbage can, within reaching distance of the grill.

  His mouth watered for a taste of real food, something heavy in his stomach instead of that empty, cavernous feeling of hunger that chewed away day and night like a rat in a cage. And when Ms. Gretta came out, setting out far more dishes than two people needed on the old picnic table, Nash wondered who would be joining them.

  That was soon made apparent when a group of men vacated the nearby field, each taking a seat at the table. Nash recognized most of them from town, some parents to the kids he went to school with. As they sat down and started loading their plates with more food than Nash had ever seen, his stomach grumbled with longing.

  He watched as everyone helped themselves, like one big happy family, talking and laughing with one another. Secretly, he hoped some of them would drop something that he could scoop up later when they were all gone.

  But that wouldn’t be the case.

  Out of nowhere, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning a startled Nash around. It was Gretta, younger then, in a pretty sundress covered in giant yellow sunflowers. She smiled down at him in that way of hers that made you feel comforted, and instead of scolding him or running him off, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

  All Nash could do was nod mutely.

  With a gentle pat, she placed her hand on his back between his shoulder blades and began guiding him toward the table. “Come join us, sweet pea. There’s plenty to go around.”

  His arrival garnered a few curious looks as she sat him down at the end of the table closest to her and Pete, but then they all just kept right on talking and eating. It wasn’t soon after that, that Gretta and Pete unofficially adopted Nash into their home and family, and before Nash knew it, years had passed, with each day beginning and ending with a seat at the table, surrounding by good food and good people.

  So maybe the doctor was right. Gretta was, for all intents and purposes, his mom.

  TWELVE

  The news wasn’t good. It was far from anything Nash had expected or ever wanted to hear. And since the doctor revealed all while he was in the room with her, Gretta had no way of hiding the truth this time.

  She was dying. The old bat, tough as nails and just as wily, had a year, maybe less.

  Nash couldn’t reconcile that.

  How could someone with so much fire be snuffed out so early? Sure, she was in her seventies, but that was young for a woman. Right?

  Maybe not, but Nash wasn’t ready to say his goodbyes. He hadn’t had enough time with Pete, who’d been a kind of surrogate father to him, and he sure as hell hadn’t had enough time with Gretta.

  Apparently, she’d been living with congestive heart failure for years, as far back as when old Pete had been alive. She’d kept it to herself, following her normal routines but following doctor’s orders in private. It was why she’d been such a picture of health for so long. Or so Nash thought. He couldn’t recall a time when she ever slowed down or acted sick, before the dizzy spells had started. Before all of that, he’d kind of just thought she’d live forever because, in a childlike way, he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it.

  The same had been true for Carlene, though, and look how that’d turned out. So, yeah, when she was gone, he would survive—somehow. But it would be a hard blow dealt, and he didn’t think he would do too well. Who would be there for him to lean on, to cry to, to talk to when his mind was too muddy to see clearly? Who would counsel him through the rough patches, help him navigate choppy waters? No one. Nash would be totally and completely on his own, just like when he was a boy and his momma left him.

  At least this time he would get to say goodbye. That was about the only consolation he was going to get.

  Life was cruel, he surmised. Though, he’d already figured that out long ago, too.

  “I said I don’ want no one fussin’ over me!” Gretta complained, slapping at Nash and Vivian’s hands as they tried to help her out of the front seat of his truck.

  They backed off, but only slightly, afraid she might fall a
nd do more damage in her weakened state.

  But in classic Gretta fashion, she was determined to live life on her own terms and carry her own weight—quite literally—and that’s exactly what she did.

  With slow, methodic steps, she made her way to the porch and up the stairs to the front door, pushing the wide slab of solid wood that she never kept locked aside, and stepped into the house.

  Nash followed behind both women, choosing to keep his coat on because it was damn cold outside and the chill had crept into his bones.

  “Take your coats off and stay awhile,” Gretta invited. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

  “Why don’t you go rest,” Vivian offered. “I can take care of the tea.”

  “Nonsense, I can do it. It’s not like I’m dyin’ or anything.” She cackled, and when they didn’t join in, she turned to look at their morbid expressions and scoffed. “Oh, pish. You two are a couple of fuddy duddies if you can’t find a little humor in that.”

  “It’s not exactly funny,” Nash informed her. “On account of you actually dyin’ and all.”

  She cut her hand through the air and turned to hobble her way into the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Been dyin’ since the day I was born. Same as you. Same as everyone. Who wants sugar in their tea?”

  Nash and Vivian followed slowly, sharing concerned looks that neither put words to. Gretta wasn’t the kind of woman who could be argued with once she set her mind to something. In this case, she was determined to leave this world on her own terms, which apparently involved her ignoring it entirely and living out her remaining days with as much vigor as possible.

  Nash was actually pretty proud of her. He wasn’t so sure he could do the same.

  After putting on the kettle, they passed the time with some cheesecake covered in cherry pie topping Vivian had purchased from the grocery store on her way home the prior afternoon. It was a treat Nash hadn’t enjoyed in a long time, having always eaten the homemade kind Gretta would make on special occasions, like his birthday, since it took a lot of time and effort to get it just right.