Page 27 of Flown in for Christmas

A commotion from behind has the three of us turning.

Two paramedics sprint down the sidewalk.

“All right, well, it was good seeing you, man.” Mark claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I say goodbye and head off to find Joy. Oddly enough in the same direction as the paramedics went a second ago. Ambulance lights catch my attention out of the corner of my eye as they take the long loop around the park…heading this way.

An uncomfortable feeling replaces my thoughts of Joy and settles heavy in my gut. I pick up the pace and weave through the onlookers in time to see my father receiving oxygen from one of the medics. Time stops.

Joy is sitting beside him. Her hand is on his back where a heavy blanket has been draped as she speaks to one of the paramedics.

“Dad!” I jog to his side. “What happened?”

I quickly learn that my father was short of breath and coughed up a significant amount of blood. Medical terms are thrown at me likehemoptysisandpulmonary edema, until the ambulance arrives and a cart is removed. The paramedics help my father to stand and get him onto the stretcher.

I watch, a lump in my throat, as he clutches Joy’s hand, refusing to let go as they wheel him toward the ambulance. “We’re going to transport him to St. Mavis Memorial for further evaluation,” one of the medics informs me. “We have room for one more if you’d like to ride with him.”

I shake my head, fishing out my phone. “I need to find my mother. She’s here…somewhere. She should—” The same helpless feeling I had when Dad was diagnosed engulfs me in a fog that I can’t seem to fight my way out of.

I feel like a fish out of water gasping for air.

My dad is in that ambulance.

Joy’s gentle voice consumes my racing thoughts and soothes my rapid pulse, “Go with him. I’ll find Betty and we’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“A-Are you sure? I can—”

“We’ll be right behind you,” she says softly. “I promise.”

I hand her the keys to my rental and pause. She stares up at me with those big, knowing eyes and I brace for the fall.

Because it’s happening.

Whether she knows it or not.

My arms wrap around her and I hold her tight to my chest. “Thank you,” is all I can say. It doesn’t feel like enough to express how grateful I am for her at this moment.

I kiss her cold cheek and climb inside the ambulance.

When we arrive at the hospital, my father is whisked away for several tests. Thankfully, Joy and my mother arrive a half hour later and Mom takes over—seeming to know every nurse and doctor by name.

A doctor later announces he’d like to keep Dad overnight for observation and Mom opts to stay with him. We make plans for me to return in the morning to either swap places with her or drive the three of us home.

I’m hoping for the latter.

By the time we get back to the house, it’s after midnight. I kill the engine and glance over to the passenger seat where Joy’s fallen asleep. I find myself watching her—once again—but not having the heart to wake her just yet.

The moment is short-lived as she rouses slowly, her head lifting. She blinks in my direction. “Hey.” Her smile is small as she sits up to gather our things from the day.

My tongue feels tied without a response. I get out and walk to her side to open her door. I carry the bag of fudge and take her handas we head inside. We’re silent as we leave our boots and coats by the door and make our way upstairs. The same routine from last night follows as she takes the bathroom first, then myself.

This time, however, she’s wide awake when I come out of the bathroom. My chest bare. I flex for a brief moment under her gaze, then call myself an idiot for even doing so. After the last few hours, the thought of trying to impress her feels…juvenile.

I’m about to climb into bed when I spare a glance at the loveseat and pause.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” she muses as she settles under the covers with a yawn.

“Is it all right with you if I sleep here?”

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