“Hurry. I don’t want to wait long.” I lick my lips. “Can you call Dad? Please. I need both of you.”
By the time Brody arrives dressed in shorts and a hoodie, I’ve made to-go coffees for us. He takes a deep sip. “Dad’s on his way to the hospital and will meet us there.”
My leg bounces up and down. I’ve already confirmed that she’s a patient at Mount Sinai.
We leave the quiet building and catch a cab.
My head is throwing around ideas, and my eyes can’t seem to stay off Google Maps as I estimate how long it’s going to take us to get to the hospital.
Brody studies my profile. “You left the game? I’m assuming you aren’t in trouble for that?”
I flick my hand. “I’ll get back to football when I know she’s all right.”
A deep sigh comes from him, and I look at his face. “What?”
“Emmy, me, Dad, the people who care about you the most, it’s hard to watch you play, G. I don’t enjoy it anymore. It’s a death match out there every time you line up.”
I bow my head, the tic in my jaw working. “You don’t have to like it. It’s my passion.”
He scoffs. “Maybe a year ago, but now? Have you thought any more about dying on the field, on what you might have seen? Maybe there was a message there.”
“From a higher power?”
He shrugs. “Who can explain anything in this world? Why we’re here and why we die and why we love? Your near-death experience ended with a mystery person. Sure, your doctor wants to say it could be your brain shutting down, section by section, using your own experiences, but we both know it wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you saw someone you didn’t know. She wasn’t me or Dad or Mom or Divina. You saw her, and she pulled you back. Think about it, Graham, she was in the same hospital as you, you found her in the middle of the desert, and she stole your car and I knew her. These aren’t random acts of coincidence. It’s the fucking universe. Maybe sometimes, things really are meant to be.”
I recall the girl from my dream, the long blonde hair, those big green eyes, the serene smile.
I rub my temple, a rough sound coming from my throat. “I don’t know.”
His words tug at me, digging up emotions that frighten me. We get out of the car, and I leave Brody behind as I run to the entrance. Dad is already there in the lobby.
The nurse at the front desk informs me of Emmy’s room number in ICU on the eighth floor. We step off the elevator and enter the family waiting room.
The room buzzes with anxious energy. The smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, and the sound of beeping monitors mixes with the hushed conversations of visitors.
In the corner of the waiting room, I spot Jane, her face pale and drawn. She paces, her hands restless as she swings them, her brow furrowed in worry. I approach her, heart pounding and palms sweating. Her eyes widen in surprise as she says hello to us.
“So. You came,” she murmurs, tidying up the jogging pants and fuzzy jacket she’s wearing.
“Is she okay?” I ask. “What happened? Is she out of surgery?”
She does a hair flip and curls her lip at me. “Like you care.”
“I do care. A whole fucking lot, Jane, so tell me what’s going on. Please.” My voice rises, and one of the nurses in the hall turns to look at us. I exhale and lower my voice. “Can I see her?”
She sighs and looks away. “She’s still in surgery. Nobody knows for sure how long it will take.” She glances back at me, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “The thing is, I don’t know what I’ll do if she . . .” She trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
I swallow thickly. Obviously this is a procedure she’s planned. “Why . . . why didn’t she tell me?”
Her face tightens. “You know why, Graham. She didn’t want to bother you. You just fly off to your game and do what professional athletes do, even though it might kill you.”
I sink down in a seat with my head in my hands. “I never would have left her if I’d known. Never. Not in a million years. Has the doctor been out?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
Dad tells us he’s going to get us breakfast, and Brody tags along with him. They’ve just gotten back from the cafeteria with muffins and fruit and coffee when Jane gives me a hard elbow in the ribs. “Here comes the doctor,” she says as we stand up together.
A small man wearing a white jacket over blue scrubs approaches us and smiles compassionately at Jane. Clearly, he’s spoken to her before. “Morning, all.” He shakes my hand. “Graham Harlan, right? Emmy’s husband? I’m a big Pythons fan.”
“Right, how is she?” I ask, brushing off the “Pythons fan” part. The last thing I want to do right now is talk about football. In fact, it feels pretty damn unimportant. “I’m a little out of the loop here.”
He nods. “Everything went exactly as it should. A perfect procedure. We did a mini-maze surgery and targeted the upper chambers of her heart, the atria, with cold energy to create a maze of scars to correct the faulty electrical issues with her heart. We used a small camera through one of the incisions to direct us to her heart. A second tool was used to create small areas of scar tissue. She’ll have stitches on her sides that will dissolve. I’ll see her back in a week for a postop to make sure everything’s okay.”
“So it didn’t work last time?” I ask, my tone insistent as I try to drag out the information.
“It’s not uncommon to get another procedure. Emmy is a careful person. She was fully aware when she felt the signs of her A-fib recurring.”
I frown, wondering when that happened.
“What if this doesn’t work? What happens?” I ask.
Jane nods, agreeing with me for once.
“Her main issue is that most of the drugs for A-fib don’t work with Emmy. Right now, we’re giving her fluids and pain medication through an IV line. She’ll also be given medication to help control the buildup of fluids. She’ll do some deep-breathing and coughing exercises. This will help reduce the risk of fluid buildup in her lungs.”
My hands clench as I commit every detail to memory.
The doctor taps on his computer, then looks up and smiles. “Hopefully, we can get her up for a walk today. She’s young.”
“And strong,” Jane adds.
“She’ll need to keep her regular appointments for checkups,” the doctor adds. “There’s always the possibility of other ablation treatments, but considering how young and healthy she is, I’m hoping for a successful outcome.”
“Can I see her?” Jane and I say at the same time.
“Of course,” he tells us.
Jane and I walk into her room, a large single room with beeping machines and an IV attached to Emmy’s arm. Her hair is spread out on the pillow as she lies in a reclining position, sleeping.