Page 136 of The Twelve Months of Christmas
“I’m in the mood to watch the ferries come and go,” she said.
“All right. That way I can get out of this costume. The Great Pumpkin can only last for so long.”
She followed him to his condo, parking in his extra space, and then up to his unit that overlooked the historic Turner Joy, a leftover ship from the Vietnam era. Next to it was the marina where his boat was moored.
He went to change and she walked over to the window to enjoy the view. A lit ferryboat was coming in from Seattle, gliding over the water as if by magic.
“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” he said, joining her. He’d changed into his favorite well-worn jeans and an equally worn Seahawks sweatshirt. “Do we want to live here after we’re married?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I can walk to the post office from here, plus it’s smaller than my place, easier to clean.”
She would want to put her own touches on it, though. Like the rest of his lifestyle, Reggie’s decorating tastes were simple. He had a leather sectional in the living area, arranged to enjoy the fireplace and the flat-screen TV that hung over it. The table in the dining area was small and one picture hung on the wall—that of a sailboat cutting through a choppy sea. His bedroom held a bed and a chest of drawers and that was it, and the guest bedroom had a sofa bed and a desk. No pictures in either of them.
“Do what you want with the place,” he’d said. “Make it homey.”
She intended to.
“So, what’ll we do? Cards? A movie?”
“I’m ready to sit and not think,” she said.
“You got it,” he said with a smile.
The smile suddenly changed, and he blinked and shook his head. Staggered.
“Reggie! What’s wrong?” she said, reaching for him.
His words game out a garbled foreign language she couldn’t understand.Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!
She guided him to the couch. “Reggie, can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying?”
She wasn’t sure whether he could or not. He looked at her, confusion plain on his face.
She raced to the hall table where she’d dropped her purse and fished out her phone and dialed 911. “I think my man is having a stroke!” She quickly gave the dispatcher the information, then raced down the stairs to the lobby to let the medics into the building, not wanting to wait for the elevator. There she paced and prayed and paced some more.
It took forever for the EMTs to come. What was taking so long? Were they in the middle of a hot poker game?
At last they arrived with a gurney and all manner of equipment. “Please save him,” Molly pleaded as she followed them across the lobby. As if they weren’t going to do their best to do exactly that.
All the way to the hospital she prayed and cried, tried to imagine her world without Reggie in it. For one despairing moment, her daughter’s words descended on her.He’s too old.
No, he wasn’t. He was too young for this, too fit. “You are not going to leave me, Reggie Washington,” she vowed.
From the Saint Michael’s waiting room, she called Sunny and told her what had happened.
“I’ll be right there,” Sunny said, and ended the call before Molly could tell her she didn’t need to come. She didn’t need to, but Molly was glad that she was.
Her next call was to Ava and she made it with a certain amount of dread, sure that Ava would say, “I knew this would happen.”
Instead her daughter said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can drop off Paisley somewhere.”
Neither her friend nor her daughter could change the outcome of this awful situation, but their comforting presence would be the medicine Molly needed to keep her going. She debated calling Arianna and decided against it. Arianna had enough on her plate. She didn’t need a helping of Molly’s misery added to it.
Ten minutes later, though, Arianna called her. “How are you doing?”
“I’m...a wreck,” Molly confessed. “Who told you?”
“Ava. She’s bringing Paisley over to spend the night. I figured that would be a better help to you than adding to the crowd at the hospital.”
