Page 68 of Ten Christmases Without You
As the first model stepped onto the runway, Emmy’s phone lit up with a text from her sister. Were they lost? The music pulsed through the venue, while Emmy opened the text. All the blood drained from her face.
Emmy stood in the wings, her heart pounding, the room beginning to spin.
There was applause, but it was as if someone had plugged her ears.
“You all right?” Mitchell asked.
Emmy swallowed. “No,” she croaked. “My dad just had a heart attack.” When the words came out, tears sprung to her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Emmy was on a plane to Richmond, Virginia.
“I triedto call you all day,” Madison said as they walked through the hospital at a clip, passing a few sparsely decorated Christmas trees in the lobby.
Emmy had taken the cab from the airport straight to the VCU Medical Center.
“I’m so sorry. I was caught up in preparations and the show, and I didn’t check my phone. It started at 9:00 a.m. and the events went back-to-back. How is he?”
“Critical,” Madison said. Her eyes were red. “He’s got a team monitoring him.”
“Oh my gosh,” Emmy said in a whisper.
The thick gray panic that engulfed her when her mother passed had been resting quietly in the back of Emmy’s mind, but now, that fear was alive and well, pecking at her from the inside, collapsing her lungs and not allowing them any air.
“What did the team say?” she managed.
“They’re keeping an eye on his cardiac function. His heart is struggling, withirregular rhythms, and he’s got dangerously low blood pressure. He’s on a ventilator because his breathing is compromised.”
Emmy took a jagged breath, her chest aching.
They went through the security desks and up to her father’s hallway. When they arrived, the hospital room hummed with the quiet beeping of monitors. Her dad lay still in the bed, his skin colorless under the fluorescent lights. Wires and tubes snaked from his arms and electrode patches dotted his chest as the monitor traced his every heartbeat.
Uncle Brian and Aunt Elsie rushed toward Emmy, embracing her. Uncle Stephen stood up with Aunt Charlotte, who was wringing her hands nervously. Jack stayed seated in the corner, but he gave her an appreciative nod, clearly letting the family have a minute.
Emmy walked over to her dad.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slightly labored. The scent of plastic circulating with the medicinal sharpness of antiseptic stung her nose.
A nurse came in quietly and stopped by his side, checking his vitals. Emmy searched his face for some sign of reassurance. She lay her hand on his wrist and his finger twitched, as if he were responding.
Aunt Charlotte whispered into Emmy’s ear, “He’sweak and exhausted. They’re worried his kidneys might not be receiving enough blood, but we’ve all been praying.”
Emmy focused on a defibrillator nearby, her vision blurring with tears. She blinked in an attempt to clear them.
“He was awake earlier,” Charlotte continued. “But he’s a little disoriented. The doctors are focused onstabilization and interventions. They might have to put in a stent.”
This wasn’t how Emmy had imagined Christmas this year. She’d had a lot of things go right in her life lately. How could something like this have happened?
“They’re callingfor snow in a couple of days,” Madison said, handing Emmy a mug of tea as she sat with her aunts, uncles, and Jack in Madison’s family room. “Jack’s been chopping wood all week.” She winked at her husband, evidently trying to lighten the mood. “Anyone hungry?”
Charlotte stood up. “Madison, you’ve been so busy. I’ll put a couple of pizzas in the oven.”
“I’ll help,” Uncle Stephen said.
Aunt Elsie and Uncle Brian followed suit, leaving Jack with Emmy and her sister.
The sparkling Christmas tree next to them was at odds with the mood in the room. There weren’t any presents to exchange, no dishes spread over Madison’s kitchen. With the sale of her dad’s house, they had all planned on flying out to New York as a way to spend the holiday together. They were going to do Christmas early again this year because of Emmy’s debut at the Fashion Innovation Conference. They’d planned to see her designs at the Harlow and Ash show, and the next evening catch a musical with dinner to celebrate the season.
Their worried state carried on through supper. They all ate slices of pizza on paper plates, sitting in near silence in Madison’s family room. Emmy’s bites of food barely registered, the task of eating methodical, her mind on her dad. She couldn’t lose him. Her dad had gotten her through so many difficult things—things he’d had to do in the absence of her mom. He’d been both parents to her, and he’d done an incredible job. Her mom might miss him and perhaps she’d petitioned to call him home, but Emmy was digging her nails into his arm, selfishly begging him to stay.
