Page 135 of Ten Years and Then…
Daniel wasn’t sure which was more concerning—what he was hearing in her voice, or the fact that she was asking for a favor in the middle of the day. She never did that. He couldn’t remember the last time Bee had actually asked for help, on anything. If she was now, then it was serious. And it couldn’t wait until five-thirty.
He scribbled a note and taped it to Mr. Dellaplane’s monitor—his boss was famous for overlooking emails, missing texts and losing voicemails, but he could hardly ignore an 8.5x11 sheet covering his screen. And then he was off.
Daniel, forty minutes later
He didn’t have a key to his cousin’s house; he’d been meaning to ask for one since he moved to Charlotte, and give her a key to his condo, just in case.
But there was an advantage to knowing someone, and loving them, from before you learned to walk. You got to know how their mind worked, and there was only one place Bee would hide an emergency spare key. And there it was, inside a little gray waterproof envelope taped underneath her mailbox.
He let himself in, along with the $120 worth of pills, capsules, powders, bottles and everything else that even vaguely seemed like it might be useful. She could have been wrong about food poisoning, so he had cold medicine, digestive remedies, and a couple of things the pharmacist said would be helpful against the flu.
But when he saw her propped up on the sofa, eyes barely focused and leaning against a stack of pillows as though she didn’t think she could hold herself upright, he knew nothing he’d bought was going to be useful.
How he knew what he was seeing he couldn’t say. Some instinct deep down, or some memory of a TV doctor show, maybe. Whatever it was, he was certain Bianca did not have food poisoning, or the flu. This was appendicitis.
“Bee, we’re going to the emergency room right now. Where are your shoes?” She was wearing sweats, which she’d never normally leave the house in, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He didn’t want to take her out barefoot, though.
“Why?” her voice was weak, weaker than he’d ever heard it. “It’s just—just a bug or something. I don’t wanna go!”
Daniel nearly grinned despite the situation. “Thirty-two year old women don’t say ‘wanna,’ Bee. And you’re going because you’re really sick, and that’s all there is to it. Now tell me where your shoes are, and then we’ll go.”
She tried to answer, but before any words came out, she yelped—high and sharp—and collapsed onto her side on the sofa. He ran to her, put an arm around her, but as he tried to sit her back up, she shrieked.
Now he was truly worried. Because the sound that just came from her wasn’t something he thought a human could even make. He wasn’t going to be able to get her out to his car.
Daniel grabbed his phone with one hand, squeezing Bianca’s hand tightly with the other, as he dialed 911.
Daniel, three hours later
He checked his watch again. Seven-thirty. Only two hours since they’d taken Bianca back to surgery. It felt like he’d been here in the waiting room all night. He’d called her parents, and his, and his sister, and then left a message for Mr. Dellaplane that he was going to be out tomorrow and likely the rest of the week, and then he’d had nothing to do but sit and think.
The thought that came to him wasn’t about Leanne. Maybe it should have been; she was a nurse, after all. But this wasn’t her hospital, or at least it hadn’t been when they’d been dating.
No, it was a much older thought. Eleven years old. A memory. An argument with his parents, and his father’s words afterwards.
“Because you haven’t seen what happens when things get hard. When you can’t pay the rent. When someone gets sick.”
He’d taken those words to heart, and that had been the first seed of doubt, the first crack in the foundation he’d thought he was building with Nora back in college.
“You were wrong, Dad,” he whispered to himself. There was no reproach or bitterness there. But there was pride. “It was hard today, but I stood up for Bee.”
He held onto that for a while, sat with it, until he noticed the shadow looming over him. He looked up, into the tired but relaxed eyes of the surgeon he’d spoken to earlier tonight. How long had she been standing there? It didn’t really matter.
“How is she?”
The woman put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it. “She came through just fine. Your cousin is going to be all right. She’s still in post-op, but she ought to be back in a recovery room in an hour or so, and you can see her then.”
“Everything went well?” The doctor had just said so, hadn’t she? But he needed to hear it again anyway.
“Perfectly.” She squeezed his shoulder again, and this time it was more reassuring. “But I want you to know—she owes you her life. You got her here just in time. Her appendix was about ready to burst.” Daniel felt his stomach lurch, and the doctor must have noticed. “I said about ready. We got it out, and she’s going to be good as new before you know it.”
He nodded. Of course Bee would be fine. It was a routine procedure, wasn’t it? They probably did a dozen of them a day here. “Thank you. For everything.”
The doctor sat down next to him, gave him a gentle smile. “It’s what we do. She’s lucky she has you.”
“We’re both lucky.” How many times had Bee saved him over the years, even if it was just by sitting there on the other end of the phone and talking sense to him?
Now the doctor met his eyes, held them. “I can see that.” She laughed, then continued. “But this is kind of a big deal. If you want my advice, give her a month or so until she’s back to normal, and tell her she needs to take you out for a nice dinner to thank you. Have her take you to Shanna’s Modern Grill downtown. Just opened last month. The lobster is amazing. You earned it tonight.”
