Page 82 of Single-Minded
“Your IV bag was empty,” says the nurse. “For some reason it wasn’t connected to the monitor when they brought you back from post-op.” Michael’s eyes are closed before she finishes her sentence.
“Is he okay?” asks Fred.
“His pain medication will make him drowsy,” says the nurse. “He was alert before because it was wearing off. His body needs to heal. He needs to sleep.”
Darcy, Sam, and Carter stand up to leave. Darcy gives Michael a quick peck on his forehead.
“Feel better,” she says.
“We’ll be back later,” says Carter. They hug Fred and me, and Carter hugs Santiago. Michael is out when they leave the room.
I hate to even think about leaving when Michael is hurt and in the hospital. Where else would I be but at his side? But I don’t want to slow his healing either. And if the nurse thinks Michael should only have one visitor at a time for the next few days, we should probably listen to her.
“Fred,” I say. “Do you want me to stay, or do you want to stay and I’ll come back and sit with him later?” I ask. Pausing for a second, I consider Santiago’s feelings. “What about you, Santiago? How should we do this?”
“I’m going to stay either way,” says Fred. “I want to be here if he wakes up again.”
“Would you like me to bring you a change of clothes, or some toiletries?” I ask Fred.
“I’d appreciate it,” he says.
“I’ll go now,” says Santiago, “I can come tonight and stay here if Fred wants to go home to sleep later.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I say. “I have to go to Daniel’s opening tonight to make sure everything is in place, but I’ll stop by the hospital before I go. And I can come back afterwards if Michael is up to it.”
Fred nods.
“I need to swing by the restaurant to make sure the setup is on track, and I’ll pick up your things at your house and drop them back here in an hour or so if that works,” I say.
“Thank you,” says Fred. I kiss the top of Michael’s head as he sleeps. He doesn’t move at all. The nurse finishes checking Michael’s vital signs and leaves the room, apparently satisfied that we’re clearing out. Santiago kisses Michael again and we both hug Fred before leaving the room. We don’t say a word as we walk together down the hallway toward the elevator.
71
I need a shower, but I want to check on the Boudreaux project first, so I head up Bayfront Parkway toward the marina. The midday sun is shining brightly and the water sparkles in the distance, embellished by the collection of large sculptures that dot the waterfront, on loan from all over the world.
As I pull in to the marina parking lot, my mind is abuzz with nervous energy. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Or an adrenaline hangover from the fear and stress of Michael’s accident. But most likely it’s because just twenty-four hours earlier, I ran off that boat in a state of semi-undress, humiliated and ashamed, as a strange woman screamed at Daniel. It will be a giant relief when the project is finally completed and I can be done with it. Just one more night. I only have to make it through one more night.
I step across the gangway and the deck is bustling with workers finishing preparations for opening night. I’m happy to see the red event binders I provided to all the staff members are in use across the restaurant.
Nicky, my greenery artist, has already been to the site and worked his magic—lining the dock and walkway with fragrant potted white magnolias, and creating a more intimate environment inside with feathery palms. It’s perfect, just as I envisioned. The magnolias are not just beautiful and fragrant, a lush cue of the experience to come; they’re an homage to Daniel, and the old Southern home with the magnolia tree he spoke of so often. The environment is not only primed for patrons of the restaurant, but for Daniel as well. On board, workmen are busy securing the silver frames for the black-and-white photographs of Daniel’s family and culinary legacy inside. Timewise, it’s too tight for my comfort, but the framers were unable to come until today. So today it is.
“Alex!” says Tina, Daniel’s headwaitress. I spin around to find her behind me—in her arms, a box containing an eclectic mix of silver candlesticks.
“Can I help you with that?” I ask. She shakes her head.
“I’ve got it,” she says. “I’m blown away by the transformation here. This place is going to be gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s coming together. Is the staff having any questions with the event book? It looks like your crew is a bit ahead of schedule, which is always nice. It seems we’re right on track.”
“We’re all pretty clear on what you want,” Tina says. “The photos and diagrams in the red binders really helped a lot.”
“Great work,” I say. “I’m going to do a quick walk-through, and then I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Chef’s in the kitchen,” she says. “Do you want me to let him know you’re here?”
“Uh, no, thanks,” I stall. “I’ll check in with Daniel after I’ve had a look around.” I’m hoping to get out of here as quickly as possible. If I can avoid Daniel, all the better. It’s not exactly professional, but it is self-preservation.
The starboard side of the boat, which is what you’d see when you first come on board, is finished to perfection. The tables are set with vintage white linens, mixed in with pale blues and aquas at scattered tables. Smaller tables are adorned with mismatched silver candlesticks with pale blue tapers; larger tables have sea-blue vases and white hydrangea blooms.
