A Mile in My Flip-Flops (10 page)

“Yeah.”

“So what’s up with
this?”
She pokes me in the arm with a sly look. “Something you haven’t told me?”

“No, not at all.” I quickly explain how Dad had wanted him to help, how I had declined the offer, and how he just happened to stop by the house.

She frowns. “So your dad had his heart attack at the house?”

I nod, swallowing back a lump in my throat. “I feel really bad about it, Holly. Like it’s sort of—no, not just sort of—almost entirely my fault.”

“You can’t blame yourself for—”

“If I hadn’t wanted to do a house flip, and if I hadn’t been set on that particular house, Dad would probably be out playing golf right now.”

“And maybe having a heart attack on the ninth hole.”

“Maybe … but at least it wouldn’t be my fault. I know it’s selfish of me to think that way, but I guess knowing it’s my fault makes me feel guilty on top of scared. And scared is hard enough.”

Holly nods sympathetically, then kindly changes the subject, telling me about last night’s shower and how everything seemed to go wrong. From the sheet cake Justin picked up from the bakery that said “Happy Bar Mitzvah, Sammy” to the shower-game booklet her mother brought, which turned out to be for baby showers.

“I think that was just wishful thinking on Mom’s part.” Holly shakes her head, laughing. “She’s dying to have a grandbaby—not that I plan to help anytime soon.”

“How did Tina take all that?” I ask as I imagine Tina’s face turning purple with rage.

“Not too well. And I’m sure she thought I was trying to ruin everything on purpose. Even the punch was terrible. I tried a new recipe and forgot to add the simple syrup until someone finally complained.” Holly’s laughing so hard now that she’s almost crying. “But I honestly wasn’t.”

We talk awhile longer, and although she’s a good distraction and I’m laughing with her, which feels nice, I know it’s time to check on Dad.

“I understand completely,” she says as she pats me on the knee. “And I should probably go home and clean up the condo. It’s still a mess from the shower.”

“Thanks for everything,” I say as we stand.

“No problem. And keep me informed. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Then I remember my car, still parked at the school parking lot. I barely mention this, and she promises me that she and Justin will take care of it. I hand her my car keys and hug her. “Thanks!”

I go to see Dad, hoping against hope that maybe he’ll be awake by now. But when I get to ICU and stand in front of the window by the nurses’ station, he is still motionless with his eyes closed. So quiet and still he could be mistaken for dead.

I
’m Dr. Swenson.” A woman not much older than me sticks out her hand to shake mine. “I’ll be keeping an eye on your father over the weekend. Dr. Fontaine told me that we’re looking to do a CABG on Monday, if not sooner.”

“So it’s scheduled for Monday?” I ask hopefully.

“As far as I know.”

“But if he needs it sooner, you’ll be ready?”

“Of course.”

“This is just so hard,” I admit. “Not knowing … and not having him conscious to talk things through. I mean, I signed the surgery release for him, but this is all so new to me. I don’t want to make any mistakes…”

She nods with a look of understanding. “It’s hard, I know. But we really do have your dad’s best interests in the forefront. And Saint Joseph’s may not be the biggest hospital, but our cardio unit is one of the best. Did Dr. Fontaine explain the cooling treatment to you?”

“Yes. Do you think it’ll help?”

“It should definitely improve his prognosis.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If you have any other questions, please feel free to ask.”

“Do you have any idea when he’ll wake up?”

“That’s hard to say.

“But it’s good for him to rest?”

“Well, that depends. But, don’t worry, he’s being closely monitored. He’s in good hands here.”

And that’s what I tell myself after my next five-minute visit with him. Because the truth is, I am beginning to doubt. His unconscious state concerns me. A lot. And I wonder what Dr. Swenson meant when she said “that depends.” Still, I don’t see her around right now, and the nurses look busy. Finally I wander back to the waiting room, which is beginning to feel like my home away from home. Only less cluttered.

“Miss Hanover?”

I turn to see a young blond girl peering curiously at me. At first I think it may be one of my students, but she’s not familiar. “Yes?” I say to her. “Are you looking for me?”

“Are you Miss Hanover?”

“I am.”

“Hank Hanover’s daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Hank Hanover’s daughter. Who are you?”

“Kirsten.”

I smile at her. “And you know my dad?”

She nods now, carefully looking at me… as if taking inventory. “You’re supposed to come with me,” she finally says, turning to head back to the elevator.

“Come where?” I ask.

“Downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because my daddy sent me up here to get you is why.”

“Who is your daddy?”

“Noah Campbell.”

“Oh.” I nod as I piece this together. “He sent you up here by yourself?”

“Im seven years old,” she proudly tells me as she punches the Down button. “I can do lots of things myself.”

“I see.” I smile as we go inside and she punches the 1 button.

We are both silent as the elevator goes down. But Im taking her inventory. For seven, she seems small. Not much bigger than my kindergarten kids. But she’s also very pretty in a delicate, blue-eyed blonde sort of way, and as far as I can see, she doesn’t look much like her dad. Wearing a pastel blue T-shirt and pale yellow shorts, she reminds me of cotton candy. And I get the impression that for a little girl, she is more capable than the average.

“This way,” she tells me, leading me out of the elevator.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I follow her, watching as her short, slender legs almost march toward the front entrance.

“Out there,” she points to the double-glass doors, and I can see a turquoise blue pickup.

“Why didn’t your dad come in too?” I ask as I push open the door. But as we step outside, I can see why he didn’t come in. He appears to be containing Riley in the back of his pickup. Riley is perched with his front paws on the wooden rails, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth in a goofy-looking grin. He barks when he sees me and begins to run back and forth in the pickup bed.

“Riley,” I say as I go around to the tailgate, where Noah is standing.

“I think he misses you,” says Noah as he puts down the tailgate.

Then, before I can say a thing, Riley lunges out of the pickup, coming straight at me. He plants both front paws onto my midsection, and I topple backward, tripping over the curb and landing not so gracefully in the bark-o-mulch.

“Riley!” scolds Noah, pulling my dog off me. “You weren’t supposed to kill her.” Then Noah extends his other hand to me, helping me to my feet. “You okay, Gretchen?”

“Sure,” I say as I brush bark off my back section and then lean over to pet my dog. “Silly thing.”

“I didn’t know he was going to take you out,” says Noah. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him as I squat down to give Riley the attention he’s demanding. “I just haven’t trained him very well.”

“I like him,” says Kirsten quietly.

“And I’ll bet he likes you too,” I say, still down at Riley’s level, which is also her level.

“We played on the beach. He’s good at fetching.”

“He is good, isn’t he?” I say. “I think it’s his favorite game.”

“Can we keep him longer?” she asks with hopeful eyes that are stunningly blue.

“Wow, you have pretty eyes,” I tell her.

She just shrugs it off. “Can Riley stay with Daddy and me for the weekend?”

I stand up now, looking curiously at Noah, and he looks slightly apologetic. “I didn’t promise anything… I just told her all we could do was ask, I mean, offer.”

“You don’t mind having him?”

“Not at all.” He digs in his pocket now. “And here are your keys.
I locked up the house, and everything looked pretty much like before.”

“Like a mess, you mean?”

He smiles. “It’s definitely in need of some TLC.”

“That’s for sure.” I don’t ask him for his impressions. I don’t think I want to know. I can’t imagine what he must think of me. I don’t even know why I should care.

Now Kirsten wraps her arms around Riley’s neck, giving him a hug that he doesn’t even try to shake off. I wish I had my camera turned on and ready to go, because this is a real Kodak moment.

“Can we take him home again, Miss Hanover?” begs Kirsten.

“Only if you promise me something,” I say seriously to her.

“What is it?” She gives me a very somber look now.

“Please don’t call me Miss Hanover,” I tell her. “You see, all year long I’m a teacher at Lincoln Elementary, and all the kids call me Miss Hanover. But school’s out now, and when I hear you say it, I think I’m back in school all over again.”

“Oh…”

“Just call me Gretchen, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I’d love for Riley to spend the weekend with you. It would actually take a load off my mind.”

“How’s your dad?” asks Noah.

“About the same.”

“Still unconscious?”

I nod, feeling close to tears again.

“Well, we didn’t want to keep you from him, but Riley needed to see you.”

“I appreciate it,” I say as I give Riley another good ear rubdown.

“And I had to send in Kirsten because I wasn’t sure that Riley would stay in the pickup.”

“That was wise.” I tell him about Riley nearly hanging himself from my car.

“Yep, I had a feeling.”

I turn my attention back to my dog. “Now, you’d better be a good boy for Noah and Kirsten,” I tell him. “Mind your manners, and don’t eat any shoes.” I glance at Kirsten. “You don’t have any expensive shoes, do you?”

She gives me a funny look, then shakes her head no.

“Good. You should be fine.”

“We’ll let you get back to your dad then,” says Noah.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll try to come by and see him sometime soon,” he says. “Keep me posted, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Tell Mr. Hanover hello for me,” says Kirsten politely. “I hope he’s feeling better.”

I want to ask Noah how Kirsten knows my dad but can’t think of a polite way to put it. Besides, I know that Noah is friends with Dad. Why wouldn’t his daughter be friends as well? It’s not like I spend all my free time with my dad. Especially these past eighteen months when I’ve been hiding from pretty much everyone.

“Thanks again,” I tell both of them. “Riley’s probably having such a great time with you guys that he’ll never want to come back home to me.”

“I doubt that,” says Noah.

I wave and go back inside the hospital, which seems stuffier than ever after I just spent a moment outside in the morning sunshine.

The day passes slowly. About every half hour I go in and spend five minutes with Dad. But I begin to wonder if my being here really makes any difference. My hope is that, one of these visits, he will wake up, open his eyes, and give me one of those great sunny smiles. But all I get in return is a blank, cool silence—like I’m standing at the edge of a frozen lake or very near death.

It’s late in the afternoon when I go to the chapel again. This time I don’t have any agenda. I don’t even have any words to pray. But I get on my knees and close my eyes, and for no explainable reason I feel certain that God can hear my heart—maybe even better than I can hear it. I no longer want to bargain with him. And I don’t want to give him my answers. I am too tired, too scared for my dad’s future—and my own—and I just want to surrender. I feel like letting go. “Do what you will,” I say out loud for no one but God to hear. “All I can do is trust you…” I don’t know how long I’ve been in the chapel, but my knees are stiff and sore by the time I stand up. But I feel strangely renewed. And even at peace.

I go back to ICU and into Dad’s room. I just stand there looking at him and thinking how lucky—how blessed—I have been to have such a great dad. Does that mean I’m ready to lose him now? No, not at all. But I know this is out of my control. I take his cool hand in both of mine and gently squeeze it, closing my eyes. “No matter what happens, Dad,” I say quietly, “I will always love you. You are the best.” Then I just stand there for a moment, knowing
that my five minutes are nearly up and that visiting time will soon be over too.

“I’m hungry,” I hear a gravelly voice say.

I look down to see Dad’s open eyes. “Dad?” I cry with excitement. “You woke up!”

“Where am I?”

“Saint Joseph’s Hospital,” I say, reaching for the nurse’s buzzer and pushing it hard.

“It’s freezing in here.” He reaches for the oxygen tube that’s going into his nose and pulls it off.

“I think you’re supposed to leave that—”

“What’s going on here?” asks the nurse as she pushes in front of me.

“He’s awake,” I tell her.

“Welcome back, Mr. Hanover,” she says as she reinserts the tube in his nose. “You need to keep this oxygen going.”

“I’m hungry,” he says again. “And thirsty.”

She chuckles. “We’ll see what we can do about that, sir.”

“And I’m cold.”

“I’ll bet you are,” she says as she checks his monitor.

“You’re in good hands,” I say, peeking at Dad from behind the nurse and smiling. “They’ve been doing everything possible to help you.”

He frowns at me now. “Did I have a heart attack?”

I nod. “You did. The neighbor lady called an ambulance for you.”

“I want you to stay quiet, Mr. Hanover,” warns the nurse. “I’ll let Dr. Swenson know that you’re conscious now. But take it easy, okay?”

“No dancing the Watusi?”

She laughs. “You know how to do the Watusi?”

“Sure. Want to see?”

“Not yet. You take it easy.”

“Is it okay if I stay?” I ask, knowing that my five minutes have expired.

“Yes. Please do. And he can have a couple of sips of water. Just to wet his throat.”

So while the nurse pages Dr. Swenson, I give my dad a little water. “Im so glad to see you again,” I say as he sips. “I missed you, Dad.”

“I’m right here, sweetie.”