Page 27 of Always Be an Us

We hurry right alongside them and the young nurse from before turns to me.

"What happened?" she asks.

"We were having a conversation at his home. My daughter and I that is. And then he started holding his chest and collapsed."

She nods and I notice one of the other nurses, a male, attaching nodes to read his vitals. "Certainly seems like a heart attack."

"Yeah, we figured."

"What are you, his son? Or son-in-law?"

"No, I’m…" I don’t know how to explain it. I'm not family and I’m not a friend either. I just met them. "I’m nobody. That’s his granddaughter over there."

She turns to glance at Emma who is pale-faced and hasn’t taken her eyes off her grandpa.

The nurse nods. "Alright. Well take him in now and get him stabilized."

"He’ll be okay right?" Emma asks as the nurse gives her a kind smile.

"We’ll try our best."

And with that, they wheel him in through curtains that swish closed in our faces.

There’s silence for the beat of a few seconds and then Emma lets out a ragged breath.

"Oh God." She puts her hand over her face and her shoulders tremble. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. I knew this would happen. I knew something terrible would happen. This is all my fault."

"Hey hey." I head over to her holding her elbows and drawing her arms down from her face. Her eyes are filled with tears and I’m not sure why but it makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest. "Stop that. A heart attack is no one's fault."

"You don’t understand." Her lips quiver, her voice shaky as she cries harder. "I should have been here. He doesn’t like going to the doctor so I should have been here to make sure he got regular checkups. I should never have gone to California."

I'm not entirely sure what she's talking about but I feel a powerful need to soothe her grief. I can't stand watching her cry anymore.

"It’s not your fault," I tell her firmly, tipping her chin so she can meet my eyes. "It’s not anyone's fault. And don't worry too much. He’ll be fine."

"How can you know that?"

"I just know," I tell her with a confidence I don’t feel.

Through the curtains, we hear yelled-out but muffled medical jargon and the clatter of movement. The chatter from the next-door hospital rooms only lends to the cacophony surrounding us.

The tears flowing from Emma's big blue eyes remind me of a waterfall, and my chest aches.

Without thinking, I draw her into my arms, hugging her tightly. I want to block it all out for her.

Her body stiffens for a brief second, and then she wraps her hand around my waist, sobbing into my chest.

I absorb her cries as Amelia looks at both of us. My daughter is teary-eyed too. I open my arms for her and she walks forward joining in the embrace.

After the sobs subside, I direct Emma to a seat next to the wall allowing my daughter to sit next to her. I lean against the wall.

And then we wait.

The clock ticks by in the corner accompanied by the constant hum of machines. A sterile smell overpowers my senses. The low din ebbs and spikes with the tension in our bodies, our heartbeats syncing to the clock. Waiting.

Our eyes are focused on the curtains, watching people move in and out of them.

An hour passes. Two. The sun shifts in the sky, casting right on us through the large opposing windows.

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