Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (11 page)

T
he room is small
, with no furniture for visitors, but Moby’s away from the creeps downstairs and will now have the proper medical attention. I can’t ask for more right now.

The light is fading from the window and it’s nearing eight o’clock. When his parents find us, I’m rather confused by Patty. She tells us about her plans for the week to shop, soak up the sun, and essentially enjoy an unexpected vacation. I look at Brooks who shrugs not knowing what’s going on with her either and seemingly as surprised as I am at her focus not being on Moby. Maybe this is her way of saying, if he doesn’t need her because he has me, then so be it. She will do what she wants. I roll my eyes, silently communicating the absurdity of it all with Brooks.

They make their exit with Brooks in tow, confident Moby is now in good hands to retreat to the comfort of their respective hotel rooms. None of them ask me what my plans are for the night, and I certainly don’t want to worry Moby, so I make no mention of it. The nurse comes in shortly after they leave telling us visiting hours are over, essentially noting it’s time for me to depart as well. She informs me I can return at eight tomorrow, and they plan to move Moby to the stroke ward before lunch.

“I’m going to get going. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Tugging me down to him with his good hand, he kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Moby.”

* * *

W
ith no way to
pay the parking bill and therefore no escape, I walk to my car to hang out for the night. I pray the parking lot will be relatively safe. I unlock the car and sit in the driver seat with the heater running for a bit to warm up the interior, listening to the radio. I pass some time while reading through comments on Facebook about Moby, well wishes, people asking for updates. I respond to a few, post a vague update about his status in hopes my phone will stop blowing up with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, who has ever met either of us asking for information. Unable to hold my eyes open any longer, I turn the car off, retreat to the backseat, lock the doors, and lie down to sleep for the night with a jacket as my pillow.

The sun shines through the openings in the garage, peeking into the car windows. Finding my phone, the clock reads 6:04 a.m. Looking in the rearview mirror, I see exactly what I had hoped not to, a woman who looks like she slept in the back of her car in a parking garage. With a heavy sigh, I release my hair from its messy ponytail to retie it, hopefully looking more presentable before going to find a restroom and freshen up. Riffling through my change, I manage to scour up a little over four dollars and pray I can at least get myself a cup of coffee with my findings. Sometime during the night a chill set in and I can’t shake the ache buried deep inside. The wind rushing through the parking garage only makes it worse.

The hospital is much quieter than the emergency room was, there are a few people roaming the floors, mostly staff, and medical personnel. I locate the nearest restroom. A first morning pee has never felt so glorious. I wash my hands and face in the warm water, scrub my teeth with a paper towel, and rinse before asking the next person I see for directions to the cafeteria.

The aroma of food about knocks me over when I pass through the double doors causing my stomach to grumble. Waves of flavor pass through the air, eggs, bacon, sweets…and coffee. There’s a flurry of people buying and eating food—mostly doctors. I step up to Cup o’ Joe to look at the menu when a familiar voice calls my name.

“Piper?” I turn in the direction of the man speaking to me. “Piper Pritchard?”

“Will? Wow, is that really you?” Will and I went to high school together. We dated my freshman year if you can call his mom taking us to the movies dating. It was an innocent romance. We never kissed, both of us too shy to embark on that endeavor.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, concern taking over his features. He turned into a handsome man. He was a cute guy in high school but in a goofy way. He was a brainiac, which obviously paid off since there’s an MD after his name on his badge. Now, he’s tall, dark, poised, confident, and not at all quirky.

“My husband had a stroke. He’s here for a brain stent.” I say as if he’s having a hangnail removed.

“Let me buy you some breakfast and a cup of coffee and you can tell me what’s going on.”

As much as I don’t want to agree, I haven’t eaten since dinner the day before yesterday, and I can’t afford anything more than coffee. “That would be nice. Thank you.” I order a cup black and a blueberry muffin.

Sitting down at a table at the side of the room, Will probes me. “Tell me what happened. Are you still living in Greenville?”

I give him the condensed version of the story leading up to this moment, minus the sleeping in my car and having no money. “Dr. Ryan is the best Nephrologist in the state and one of the best in the country. One of the cool things about this hospital is it’s a teaching facility for the University, so they draw talent from all over the world. Your husband couldn’t be in a better place.”

“I hope so. No one has really told us much. I don’t know what to expect or how long we’ll be here. It’s hard being away from family and friends.”

“Where’s your clan? What do you guys call each other, ducks?”

I laugh. Will knew us when we first met outside of high school, we were an odd bunch. “Fish. They’ll be here sometime tomorrow, I hope.”

“Let me give you my number. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. Even if it’s just a friend. I’m sure my wife would love to keep you company if you need someone to talk to as well.” He writes his number down on a prescription pad.

“That wouldn’t be awkward at all,” I mumble sarcastically under my breath.

“Not at all. You know her. Danielle Tucker, she went to school with us.”

“Small world, huh? Please tell her I said hello. And thank you again for the coffee and muffin. I can’t tell you how nice it was to run into you.”

“Likewise. I hate to run off, but my shift starts in ten minutes. I’ll find your husband’s room later and check on you. What’s your last name now?” he asks, backing away from me toward the door.

“Cooper. Moby Cooper.”

* * *

“
M
ay I speak to Piper
?” I hear when I answer my phone.

“This is she.” I don’t recognize the voice on the other end, nor the number on the caller ID.

“This is Renee. I work with Moby except I’m at the Greer facility. I don’t think we’ve ever formally been introduced.”

“Hi, Renee. Moby’s mentioned you before. He thought I should get together with you to work on kickboxing.” I’m an idiot; this girl isn’t calling to hear about Moby’s work out ideas for me. “I’m sorry. What can I do for you, Renee?”

“I hate calling so early in the morning, but I’m a couple hours from Charleston and was hoping I could meet you. I won’t take but a minute of your time. I have a seminar I have to be at before noon.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely, just want to give you a card for Moby from the guys at the gym.”

It warms my heart to know they thought enough to get him a card. I realize she was already coming, but men just don’t think about these things. I know it’s going to do wonders for Moby’s mindset.

“That would be great. I’m sure he’ll love getting it.”

“Great! I’ll call you when I get close. Would you mind meeting me at the front door? I’m behind and am afraid I’m going to be late if I come in and start running my mouth.” She seems like a sweet girl.

“Sure. See you then.”

* * *

R
eturning to Moby’s room
, it’s after eight o’clock and he’s nowhere around. A nurse informs me he moved to another room down the hall. Pointing me in the direction, I find him propped up in bed, eating what the hospital might describe as breakfast, watching television.

“Hey, babe,” he calls out in much better spirits than I’ve seen him in the last couple of days.

“Hey! They gave you food. That’s great.”

“I don’t know if you can call soup for breakfast food, but it’s not coming through an IV so I’ll take what I can get.” I look at the liquid cautiously. “They’re still afraid I’m going to choke, so we’re starting with liquids. I was told there’s noodles in here too but someone lied.”

“Did you sleep well?” I inquire, hoping he had a better night than I did.

“I’m not sure you can call it sleep so much as napping since there’s a nurse in here every hour checking my vitals. Every time the blood pressure cuff inflates it wakes me up. But I did the best I could with what I had. What about you?”

“Not bad, all things considered.” I’m hoping in typical male fashion, he won’t realize I’m wearing the same clothes and haven’t washed my hair. “When did they move you?”

“Last night. The nurse was in right before you got here and said a team of doctors will be in shortly.” As if he summoned them, the door opens to a herd of people. His speech isn’t perfect but it’s now intelligible to most.

Dr. Ryan is leading the pack. She introduces her entourage, including a neurologist, and several interns. She explains the teaching aspect of the hospital although I had already heard it from Will. Dr. Tau, the neurologist, appears to be of Hawaiian descent, I would never have pegged him for a doctor with his jovial cheeks and robust belly. His skin is sun-kissed as if he just stepped off the beach, his dialect more of a surfer than an MD. I instantly take a liking to him and I can tell Moby does as well.

Dr. Ryan will be working closely with Dr. Tau on Moby’s case. They need to do another MRI but not before tomorrow. The contrast dye used is very hard for the kidneys to process. Having a third MRI in as many days could be catastrophic. His kidney function isn’t good; we already knew that. After consulting, they believe the stent may cause more damage if there’s a tear in the artery.

“Well keep an eye on him today and do the MRI first thing in the morning. In the meantime, he’ll keep getting the Heparin twice a day to prevent potential clotting, and we’re working on a prescription cocktail to lower his BP. Right now we have him on some pretty powerful medications but aren’t seeing much of a result. Unfortunately, with hereditary hypertension, it’s a guessing game.”