Page 129 of Sweet Caroline
He nods, wincing in pain.
As I connect to the dispatch operator, I spot a throw blanket in the living room and jog over to grab it before returning quickly to George’s side. I relay the basic info to the operator and get asked to wait on the line.
“Where is she?” I ask George, tucking the phone into my shoulder as I carefully lay the blanket over him. “Caroline. Her car’s outside.”
“Out for a run.”
I frown and tilt my head, glancing at all the half-prepped food.
In the middle of making dinner?
George must notice my confusion, because he adds, “She’s been… running a lot lately. Working through some things, she says.”
My heart squeezes at his words, but I try to shake it off.
He goes on. “Dinner was under control and she thought?—”
“Don’t—” I cut him off, “Don’t worry about explaining, okay? I’ll call her when I’m off the phone.”
“Thank you,” he says, visibly relieved.
I grab his hand, squeezing tight, and nod. “Of course.”
It doesn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive and I can end the call with dispatch. Paramedics take over with practiced ease, splinting George into a supported position before transferring him onto this two-part plastic stretcher, which they carry outside.
“It’s good you didn’t move him,” one EMT says as she passes me. “You don’t wanna mess with a hip fracture.”
“Shit, yeah,” is all I can manage, then force a reassuring smile for George. “You’re in capable hands, alright? I’ll follow you to the hospital.”
“Thank you,” he says again, shaking a little as he reaches for my arm. He gives me a light squeeze. “You’re a good man, son.”
Son.Somehow, when George calls me that, it carries none of the condescending vitriol I’d felt from Pete. If anything, the older man’s stoic approval fills me with a sad kind of warmth that makes me miss my dad—and my own grandpa.
I make sure the oven’s turned off, then follow them outside to lock up, replacing the spare key above the door frame as the paramedics carefully navigate George into the ambulance.
Jogging through the rain, I try to brace myself to hear Caroline’s voice. I slide into the driver’s seat and pull out my phone, my stomach clenching as I hit the call button next to her name.
“Miles…” She sounds out of breath and a little uneasy, surely remembering the last time I called. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say quickly, trying not to fixate on how her voice—her concern—is like a salve for the wound that’s stubbornly refused to heal these last few weeks. “But George isn’t.”
Caroline rushesthrough the emergency room doors, wild-eyed, with her puffy winter coat billowing unzipped around her running clothes.
She doesn’t see me right away. Quickly zeroing in on the reception desk, she jogs over.
I can only watch from across the waiting room as she exchanges frantic-sounding words with the nonplussed nurse behind the desk. The magnetic pull in my chest begs me to go to her, but I know it isn’t my place.
Caroline rummages in her purse before thrusting her ID through the hole at the bottom of the plexiglass divider. The nurse eventually returns it, gesturing toward the waiting area.
And when Caroline spins around, our eyes lock.
I slowly stand, clutching my bunched-up coat in my hands. “Hey.”
She crosses the waiting room with tentative steps, like she doesn’t know what she’ll do when she reaches me. Her approach stutters to an awkward stop about a foot away.
“Hey,” she says, her voice breaking a little.
We share a pained look before she launches forward, wrapping her arms around my waist.
