Page 82 of Can We Try?

“I’m sorry to call at this hour. My name is Amy, and I’m calling from the Ashby Memorial Hospital. We have a Doris Ward who was brought in by squad about thirty minutes ago. We have Maggie as her next of kin.”

“Yes. Is she okay?”

“Are you family?”

“Maggie is my wife.” A little white lie that doesn’t matter in this instance. My heart is pounding in my chest. “Doris suffered a heart attack. She was able to dial 911. We have her here in critical condition. Once she’s stable, we plan to transfer her to the cardiac care center in Nashville.”

“We’ll be right there,” I tell her. I don’t wait for her to give me more information. I end the call and swallow back my own emotions as I prepare to wake Maggie and give her this news.

My feet feel as though they’re full of lead as I make my way back into the bedroom. Easing myself down to the side of the bed, I watch her sleep. I know that I’m about to break her heart. Grandma Doris is everything to her.

“Maggie, baby, I need you to wake up for me,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. “Baby, I need you to wake up,” I say again, this time louder, shaking her shoulder.

Her eyes blink open. “Lachlan? What’s wrong?”

“We have to go.”

“Go? Where?” she asks, confused. She moves to sit up, and I help her. “What’s going on? What time is it?”

“It’s just after four,” I tell her, reaching over and turning the bedside lamp on.

“What are you doing up? What’s wrong?” she asks.

I swallow hard. “It’s Grandma Doris. She’s in the hospital.”

Her face goes ghostly white. “W—What?”

“The hospital just called your phone. I answered. She was brought in by squad. We have to go.”

“Squad? Is she?—?”

“She had a heart attack. She called 911, and they’re waiting until she’s stable to transfer her to a cardiac unit in Nashville.”

“No.” She shakes her head as tears race down her cheeks. “No. Lachlan, no.” She sobs.

I pull her into my arms and hug her tightly. “We need to go to her,” I tell her. I wish I could tell her that everything is going to be okay, that Doris is going to be okay, but the nurse didn’t exactly give me that hope. Her voice sounded grim and uncertain, and I refuse to give Maggie false hope. “Come on. I’ll help you get dressed.”

I assist her in moving to the edge of the bed before going off to find her some clothes. I grab a pair of leggings and one of my sweatshirts, as well as some socks, and rush back to the bed to help her change clothes. When she moves to the bathroom to handle business and brush her teeth, I quickly slide into some sweats and a sweatshirt. I pick up both of our phones and meet her at the bathroom door.

“I need my phone.”

“I have it.” I hold it up to show her. She nods and allows me to lead her out of our room. I help her with her shoes, then slip into mine, make sure I have my wallet, and we rush out the door. “I should have started the truck,” I say, cranking up the heat, hoping that it warms up soon.

“It’s okay,” she says meekly.

Reaching over, I take her hand in mine. “We’ll be there soon,” I tell her. She squeezes back but doesn’t reply. All I can hear are her quiet sobs as she stares out the window.

Luckily, when we arrive, we are able to find a close parking spot. Hand in hand, we make our way to the reception desk. “Hi, we’re here for Doris Ward,” I tell the lady at the desk.

“And you are?”

“This is my wife, her granddaughter. She’s Doris’s next of kin.” Maggie doesn’t even flinch or look my way when I refer to her as my wife.

“One moment.” She stands and walks away. A few minutes later, a nurse is calling us back. We follow her down the hall to trauma room three.

“She’s weak and needs her rest. We’re waiting to see if her numbers stabilize to determine if we can transfer her or have to admit her here.”

“Thank you,” I tell the nurse.

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