Page 30 of A Tinsel Tale

JAMIE

“I’ve packed a loaf of crusty bread in with the casserole,” Mom says. “Tell Evie to pre-heat the oven to 350° for the casserole and bake it for forty minutes then throw in the bread for the last ten minutes.” Mom made her homemade chicken and noodles casserole which is neatly tucked in an insulated tote to drop off at the Parkers’.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “Gotta go. Don’t want to be late.” Hux follows me to the door his ears perked up until I say, “Hux, you’re staying here with Grandma. I’ll be back later.” When he gets the message I’m leaving him behind, his ears go back. He is not a happy camper with this turn of events. I’m getting the stink eye. “I’ll take you next time. Three dogs are three too many for Coach today.” I guiltily close the door in his face and take off. My body is humming as I drive over there.

Coach came through surgery like a champ. I visited him at the hospital all three days and got to meet his new friend, Gwen, yesterday. The first time I showed up, Coach was still in surgery and when Evie looked up and saw me, she slumped with relief. Made me feel pretty good. Cranked up my alpha male protector for sure. What hot blooded male on earth is immune to a little adulation from a smokin’ hot woman? I sat with her until Coach was out of surgery then we both went to the recovery room to see him. I was surprised when Evie asked me for help getting him into the house today. I’m meeting them over there now.

Bill has a couple days of physical therapy under his belt, so I’m not worried about him getting up the porch stairs. But I figure it’s better that I be there. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Plus, I don’t want the dogs jumping up or tripping Bill. That would be terrible. His bed and the main bathroom are on the first floor, so Evie didn’t have to set up a hospital bed.

Bill will be on a walker or crutches for the next month. Then a cane until he can walk with an even stride. Just ask me about knee surgery. I can tell you all about it. Painful as fuck. I don’t envy Coach one bit. I didn’t have to have a full joint replacement like him, but the rehab was still brutal.

I drive down the lane and see that they aren’t here yet. Good. I have time to let the dogs out to blow off their excess energy. I use the key Coach gave me shortly after Ginny died and call to them. Mags and Bruiser greet me like I’m their best bud until I let them out. Then I’m yesterday’s burnt toast the second they hit the door. They zoom around the yard like they’ve been cooped up for days. Bruiser finally stops to hike his leg while Mags sniffs daintily until she finds the perfect spot to squat. I go inside and take the casserole out of the cooler, placing it in the fridge, then head back outside.

I trudge around the barn to the back pasture to check on the horses. They’re huddled together towards the tree line and perk up and come running when I whistle. I pull out a few oat treats from my pocket and give one to each of them. Randy flattens his ears while trying to hog Bunny’s but I’m top dog here.

The dogs bark and then I hear tires crunching over gravel and see Evie’s flashy white car coming slowly down the lane. My pulse kicks up a notch. I call the dogs and secure them in the paddock until we can get Coach settled inside.

Evie looks tense, her face pinched with worry. Bringing a loved one home from the hospital is not for sissies. I remember bringing Dad home after his back surgery. It can be overwhelming. You feel like you aren’t qualified to handle patient care. The ole ‘what ifs’ can take over.

I approach the passenger side and open the door where Coach is sprawled, his seat pushed all the way back, injured leg stretched out. “Hey, Coach.” I see why Evie is stressed. Bill is as white as a sheet and in obvious pain. “I’ve got you,” I say. “Is the walker going to be enough or should I get the wheelchair?”

He forces a tight smile. “Walker is fine,” he says.

Evie is already setting it up. Coach pushes himself to the edge of the seat and I say, “How about if you wrap your arms around my neck and use me to stand?” He nods so I lean down and help him up. Evie positions the walker beside us, and he lets go of me and grips the bar.

“I’ll be right behind you going up the stairs,” I say. Evie hovers nervously wringing her hands. I squeeze her shoulder. “He’s doing great. We’ve got this. I’ll be right behind him.”

She chews on her bottom lip and nods. We make it inside and Bill wants to go directly to bed. Evie sprints ahead of us to turn down the bedding. I see she’s already removed the throw rugs in preparation for the homecoming. I help Coach into bed. “Mom sent a chicken and noodle casserole for supper. It’s in the fridge. Be prepared to be wowed.”

Bill smiles through obvious pain. “Tell her thanks. You’ve done too much as it is.”

“I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me Coach,” I say, choked up at seeing my hero so vulnerable. “I’ll leave you to it. Get some rest. Might not seem like much but being discharged and transported takes its toll.”

“Thanks, son. I do have one more favor to ask.”

“You name it.”

“I was hoping you might help Evie set up and decorate the tree. It’s in the barn. I can supervise from my recliner, but I won’t be of much use otherwise.”

Evie’s eyes go round. “Dad, I can do it myself. Jamie has…”

I quickly interrupt, “I’d love to help.”

“That’s a relief,” Coach says weakly. I narrow my eyes at him. Did I detect a bit of subterfuge? That crafty fox. When he winks at me, I’m sure of it.

Evie rolls her eyes and says, “Dad, I’ll walk Jamie out then get you set up.”

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

When we reach the living room I say, “I’ll go get the dogs.”

She stops me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t listen to Dad. I’m a big girl. Danny can bring it in, and I can decorate the tree by myself.”

“A promise is a promise. Friday night work for you? It’s my weekend off at the fire station.”

Her brow wrinkles. “Are you sure?”

“Are you kidding me? I love decorating Christmas trees.”

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