Page 63 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

I shook my head. There was no time to speculate.

I needed to find him.

*****

Sitting in the waiting room was one of the hardest things I’d done in alongtime. My adrenaline started to wane, and I was alone except for a young couple huddled together and nearly asleep on the other side of the room.

I’d found Peter in his bedroom breathing rapidly and confused about his surroundings, and his pulse was off the charts. Panicked, I’d called 911, and we’d ridden together in an ambulance to the small hospital in a neighboring town. I wasn’t allowed to accompany him further than check-in, and when thereceptionist assured me we’d fly him to St. Paul if needed, fear gripped me.

Was this a heart attack? Something similar or even worse? I had no experience dealing with heart-related symptoms, as we had no heart issues in my family—though we had breast cancer and leukemia, which were arguably just as bad if not worse.

I tried asking questions to the receptionist, but she knew nothing. When a doctor with a tablet in his hand finally came into the waiting room what felt like hours later, I jumped to my feet, but he turned to the young couple instead. I plopped down, defeated. Taking out my phone, I checked my texts again. I’d texted both Mari and Terry, and they hadn’t responded yet. I’d also texted Nora and a few local friends, but I wasn’t going to ask them to come wait with me—after all, they didn’t even know Peter. He wouldn’t like to have unfamiliar visitors, probably.

I clutched my stomach as it cramped, my fear worsening the longer I sat in wait. Would the doctors come find me if things were dire? I hoped so, but … I couldn’t think about that. It couldn’t be dire.

He had to be OK.

I needed him to be OK.

I tried some slow breaths to calm down, but the results were limited. During my fourth set of counting breaths, a nurse appeared in the room.

“You’re here for Peter Auclair? You can see him now. Come with me.” She looked tired and wasn’t smiling, but her voice was friendly enough.

I practically ran over to her. “Is he OK? Is he going to die? Please—”

She eyed me with sympathy. “He’s not going to die. Don’t worry.”

Relief coursed through me until I remembered death was not the only dire outcome here. “Is he—”

“He’s in this room,” she interrupted as she stopped and pointed.

I bit my lip. “Can I … is it OK to talk to him? Or should I stay quiet?”

The nurse chuckled. “Oh, you can talk to him all you want. I don’t know if he’ll talk back though.” At my expression of terror, she added, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. He’s fully capable of speech. I think he’s just the quiet type. You know, reserved.” Then she mumbled, “And stubborn.”

Relief started to seep in as I managed a small smile. “Yes, he is. Thank you so much!”

I didn’t hear what she said as I darted into the room. When I closed the door with a click, his gaze swung from the window to me.

He looked tired, a bit dazed, as he reclined on the hospital bed that looked tiny relative to his substantial height.

“Peter.” My voice was barely above a whisper, as I didn’t want to alarm him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine now,” he said. “Sorry you had to witness that.” I watched as he tried to sit up but then decided against it.

“Don’t apologize, Peter. I was so worried—but never mind that. You’re going to be OK, and that’s what matters.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

“I’ve never seen you look so relaxed,” I said with a small smile.

He took a moment to respond. “It’s the drugs. Some kind of sedative, I don’t recall.” He frowned a bit. “I don’t like it.”

He’d lost his usual iron grip on his feelings, thoughts, and expressions, and my heart broke a little for him. Of course, I’d always wanted him to relax more, but not under these circumstances.

Because …

My heart skipped a beat as the realization sunk in.

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