Page 46 of The Unforgiven
Phoebe suddenly looked up at Gabe, her eyes pleading for understanding. “Oh, Gabe, the wedding.”
“Don’t worry, Mum. The wedding can be postponed. Quinn will understand. I’ll tell her today.”
“Gabe, go to New Orleans. I’ll look after your father.”
“And who will look after you?”
“I don’t need looking after,” Phebe retorted.
“Of course you don’t, but I’d like to all the same. I’ll stay here with you until Dad wakes and then I’ll take you home, where you will rest. While you’re sleeping, I’ll take apart the bed in the guest room and set up a bedroom for Dad downstairs, so he won’t have to climb stairs when he comes home.”
“But, Gabe,” Phoebe protested.
“No buts, Mum. I’m staying.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Staying in his old bedroom always made Gabe feel like an adolescent, but his problems had come a long way from worrying about exams and not making a fool of himself in front of some girl. He was grateful that his father had survived the heart attack and would be coming home in a few days, but he felt a deep sense of unease at not being able to get to Quinn. He was being ridiculous, he knew that, but something about this whole situation continued to trouble him. He was desperate to speak to her, but it was still very early in New Orleans, so he’d have to wait several hours until he was sure she was up.
Gabe sighed and folded his arms behind his head, staring at the cracked ceiling. The house needed major repairs, but his parents were in no condition to deal with contractors and workmen, and Gabe hadn’t been around enough to help as much as he should have. Just another thing for him to feel guilty about as his father remained in Urgent Care, hooked up to machines. He had been disoriented and woozy when he finally woke up, but Dr. Spencer had assured them that Graeme was doing as well as could be expected.
It had taken Gabe nearly an hour to persuade his mother to return home for some food and rest. She was currently napping in the library, huddled beneath her husband’s favorite blanket. Gabe had come up to his room for a kip but, despite the sleepless night, couldn’t fall asleep. He’d promised his mother that he’d wake her no later than one in the afternoon and take her back to the hospital. It was now half twelve, so Gabe decided to go downstairs and make some sandwiches for when Phoebe woke up. She’d be in a rush to get back to his father, and she needed to eat, since she’d fallen asleep before he could even offer to make her breakfast.
Gabe found some bread, ham, cheese, and tomatoes. That would do. He popped a piece of ham in his mouth and reached for his mobile. It’d be after seven in New Orleans, so hopefully he wouldn’t wake Quinn. The call went straight to voicemail, so Gabe left a neutral message and returned to the task at hand.
Phoebe appeared in the doorway precisely at one o’clock. She looked tired and her hair stood up on end, but the look in her eyes was one of pure determination. “It’s time to go back.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you eat,” Gabe replied. “I made some sandwiches, and you will have two. Understood? I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”
Phoebe made a face at him and shrugged, but obediently took a seat at the old kitchen table and reached for a sandwich. “You’re starting to sound like a parent,” she observed as she accepted a mug of tea. “I like it.”
“Well, all children eventually start to parent their parents.”
“Is that so? I’m not senile yet, son. You don’t need to parent me. Just drive me to the hospital.”
“Sorry, Mum. I wasn’t implying that you’re senile,” Gabe replied with a guilty smile. His mother was as sharp as ever, and that included her tongue.
Phoebe bit into her sandwich. “Not too bad. I should teach you how to make some simple dishes, so you can help Quinn once the baby comes. I hear you can now boil an egg,” she added with an impish smile. Once she finished her meal, she ran a hand through her hair to tame it. “I’ll just pop into the loo and meet you outside. I hope your father has eaten,” she added, checking the time. “Do you think we should bring him something? I can’t imagine he’ll be very pleased with the lunch choices at the hospital.”
“I don’t think Dr. Spencer would approve. You can make him all his favorite dishes, minus fat, salt, and taste, once he’s back at home.”
Phoebe nodded. “You’re probably right. He’ll have to suffer hospital food if he hopes to get better, but he won’t be happy about it.”
“No, he won’t be.”
Gabe held the door for his mother and followed her down the corridor toward his father’s room. The hospital was much busier now, with patients being wheeled or escorted down corridors, harassed nurses dashing from place to place, and a lunch cart making its rounds. The corridor smelled of mashed potatoes and some sort of meat. Phoebe hurried along, narrowly avoiding a collision with a nurse who came out of one of the rooms. She stopped dead when she reached Graeme’s room.
“He’s not here,” she said, turning to Gabe.
“They probably took him for some test.” Gabe walked over to the nurses’ station. The nurses from last night had been replaced by a young blond woman and an older black nurse, the latter on the phone. “Excuse me. We’re here to see Graeme Russell,” Gabe said.
“Are you next of kin?” the blond nurse asked. She looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet Gabe’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“I’ll just page Dr. Spencer for you,” the other nurse promised, having finished the call. “She’s just down the hall, I believe. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Gabe led Phoebe to a row of plastic chairs and took a seat next to her. His mother’s head swung from left to right like a pendulum as her gaze searched for either her husband or the doctor, but she spotted neither. It took a good ten minutes for Dr. Spencer to finally appear. She walked briskly down the corridor, her face unreadable.
