“But you think there’s more to it than that.”
Michael stared at his glass, his brow furrowed. When he spoke again, it was with carefully considered words. “I think it’s improbable that, given the damage we found, Dad wasn’t aware there was a problem.”
“So what are you saying? That Dad knew and didn’t do anything about it?”
“I’m not saying anything at this point,” Michael clarified. “But, if it was me...”
Whatever Michael was going to say was pre-empted by his vibrating pager. He checked the number, spewing a few choice swear words while shooting to his feet. “It’s Dad,” he said, running out of the room, Shane right on his heels. They ran to the stairwell and took the steps two and three at a time up the three flights to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.
The nurse on duty caught them right outside the unit, shoving a gown and mask into Michael’s hands. “His pressure bottomed out. Rhythm’s erratic. Pulse is practically non-existent.”
“Jimmy?”
“On his way.”
“Mick...” Shane’s eyes mirrored the same dread he felt. And once again, Michael couldn’t tell him what he wanted most to hear.
“I know.”
––––––––
Fifteen minutes later, Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Another bullet dodged. His father’s heart was beating steadily again and his vitals had evened out. Once again, the waiting room was filled.
Michael held up his hand when they all jumped to their feet. “He’s stable.”
“What the fuck, Mick?” Jake asked, looking as weary as the rest of them. “I thought we had this.” Thankfully, they were the only ones in the room.
“We’re adjusting the meds. It takes a while to regulate the anti-clogging agents, get them just right. Too much and he bleeds out at the insertion points, too little and he strokes out.”
“But he’s out of the woods, right?” Kieran prompted.
“For now. How did you all get here so fast?” Michael asked, removing his cap and sinking into one of the well-worn chairs.
Sean handed him a cup of coffee. Not the crap from the automatic drip machine in the far corner, but the good stuff. “We never left. We’ve been down in the cafeteria.”
Michael sipped the coffee and leaned back, closing his eyes. “I thought we agreed to take shifts.”
“We did, but no one wanted to leave. You stay, we all stay.”
Michael nodded. There was no sense arguing about it. “So. I guess we’re all hanging out here tonight?”
“I guess we are,” Kieran grinned. “Maggie’s got everybody staying out at your place tonight. She’s already dispatched Nicki with the care packages. Looks like we’ll take turns camping out in your office, Mick.”
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January 1975
Pine Ridge
Jack sat in Mrs. Fitzsimmons’s kitchen, waiting while she puttered around with the tea kettle. Jack remembered that kettle. They’d been twelve, maybe thirteen at the time. Fitz had dragged him all over town that day, looking for the perfect Mother’s Day present. They’d scoured the five and dimes and downtown shops for hours for something useful and affordable, the money from delivering papers and mowing lawns burning holes in their pockets. When they’d come upon the tea kettles with the hand-painted roses at the farmer’s market, Fitz had declared their efforts a success. Jack thought it was such a good idea, he’d gotten one for his mother as well.
The older woman reached up into the cupboard for the tin of tea – a special blend created by the healer that lived farther up the mountain—– and pulled out a bottle of uisce beatha, commonly known in English as Irish whiskey.
Bringing it all to the table, she placed the kettle on a trivet, the tea next to that. But it was the whiskey she poured into two mugs, handing one to him. “You were with him?”
Jack didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. He had been waiting for that question for years. The last time he’d seen her, at his father’s funeral, she hadn’t asked, and he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to bring it up.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the grief. “Did he suffer?”
“No,” he answered honestly. If she really wanted the details, he would give them to her, but he hoped she didn’t. It was enough that he had seen it, relived it every day. He didn’t want that for her.
Thankfully, she nodded, drained her mug, then poured them both another. This time she added some tea. He waited patiently for the words he didn’t want to hear. As long as she didn’t say them out loud, he could believe for a little while longer.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Jack, but your mother passed.”
And poof, just like that, his pipe dream scattered. “When?”