Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Danielle

“Mom.” I gently nudge her. “We’re landing.”

She sits up, blinking rapidly, and looks around. Maybe she took more Xanax when I wasn’t looking, because she slept nearly that entire flight. I don’t know the last time I slept for a solid eight hours, and I know that’s entirely my fault. I stay up too late doing non-important things, like binging TV shows or finishing a book.

My phone is in my hands, waiting to get the all clear to turn it off airplane mode. It’s early in the morning here in Chicago, and I’m terrified for the news I’ll get once I get service again. I pack up my bag and look out the window, feeling an odd sense of relief to see Lake Michigan and the flat, green Midwest land below us.

Using my feet, I push the bag under the seat in front of me and grip the armrests. Landing always makes me a little nervous, and I don’t have Logan’s hand to hold this time.

I turn my phone back on the second we’re on the ground and check for updates. A text comes through, but it’s from Owen, saying he’s almost to the airport to get us. He’s here and waiting by the time Mom and I get off the plane. With no bags to get, we hurry through the airport and meet Owen outside.

He pulls me into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Danielle.”

“Thank you. And thanks for coming to get us.” I sniffle and straighten up, turning to Mom. She’s looking at Owen with her mouth hanging open. Right. She has no idea Logan has an identical twin.

“Mom, this is Owen. Logan’s twin, obviously. Owen, this is my mom.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

Mom, who’s still a little drugged up, shakes her head. “Yes. I wish so too.”

Owen takes our bags and puts them into the trunk of Logan’s car, which I’m sure he’s driving because it gets much better gas mileage than his truck.

“How’s Dexter?” I ask as I get into the passenger seat.

“Driving me crazy. I’ll be happy when Logan’s back.”

“Who’s Dexter?” my mom asks.

“Logan’s dog,” I tell her. “He’s a puppy. A giant puppy, but still a puppy.”

Owen glances down at my hand, looking for the ring on my finger before pulling out of the parking spot. I’m not sure if he knows what happened between Logan and me yet. Logan isn’t one to kiss and tell, but I know it’s basically impossible for him to hide anything from Owen. I’ll never understand the “twin thing,” but it seems basically like mind reading.

“Have you heard from Logan at all?” I ask.

“Yeah, he texted me right before he boarded. His plane left on time. He’ll land in a few hours.”

A few hours isn’t that long. But it seems like an eternity.

*

“Thank you again,” I tell Owen as he walks into the hospital with us.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But…thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Mom echoes.

Owen gives me another hug. “Want me to go up with you?”

I shake my head, heart racing. I’m so nervous my hands shake. I got a call from the hospital not long ago, telling me that Grandpa’s condition hasn’t changed, which is both good and bad.

He’s not getting better.

But he hasn’t gotten worse, either.

“No, it’s okay. Go home and get some sleep. Are you picking Logan up too?”

Owen shakes his head. “Our dad is. I’ll call later and check in, okay? And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, Danielle.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m sure my mom will call you later too. We’re all here for you.”

“Thank you.” My eyes fill with tears. Owen’s jaw is tense as he says goodbye, turning around and going back to the car. I know what room Grandpa is in, but I’m not familiar with the hospital at all. I ask the attendant at the front desk, and she directs us to an elevator.

“I didn’t realize how close you were with Logan’s family,” Mom says as the elevator doors close. Her voice is void of emotion, and I can’t tell if she’s simply making a statement or trying to take a jab at me.

“The Dawsons are good people,” I tell her. “All of them.”

“Logan comes from a big family?”

I nod. “He has two more brothers and a younger sister.”

“And one is the sheriff?”

“Yeah. Weston. He’s the oldest.”

“And you’re able to tell Logan apart from his twin?” She fiddles with the last button on her sweater. Mom is just as scared as I am, and asking me questions is a good distraction.

“I can. I’ve always been able to, actually. They have completely different personalities, and Owen has a scar on his forehead that’s hard to see, but once it’s pointed out, it’s obvious.”

Mom slowly nods her head up and down. “Five children. That’s a lot.”

“Yeah. It is. But they get along great and going over to Logan’s parents’ house with everyone is fun.”

The elevator stops at the third floor. This hospital is small, old, and more than ready to be knocked down when the new hospital is done. Mom and I hurry to the nurses’ station, and we’re led to my grandpa’s room. He’s in the ICU and is hooked up to a bunch of machines. The nurse says he’s asleep, but his vitals are holding steady.

Steady, but not improving.

I start crying as soon as I see him, lying there on the bed with his eyes closed. Grandpa naps on the couch at home quite often, and the way he’s sleeping now doesn’t look like how he sleeps at home.

There’s not much color in his cheeks. His arms are straight out at his sides, looking like he was posed and not lying naturally. I can hardly see his chest rising and falling as he breathes. Surviving a heart attack is exhausting, I know, and I just want him to wake up and tell me everything is going to be okay.

“Grandpa,” I whisper, and go to him. I sink onto the chair next to the bed and let my head fall down as I cry. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you.” I curl my fingers around his hand, careful not to bump into the IV line. I sniffle, trying to control my sobs so I don’t wake him up. “You wouldn’t believe the weekend I had even if I told you.”

I swallow hard and pick my head up, wiping my eyes. Mom is still standing in the doorway, tears in her eyes as she looks at her father. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through right now, and I don’t want to.

She’s the one who left.

Who turned her back on this town. On her family and friends.

On me.

Grandpa and I tried to get Mom, Dad, and Diana to come for Thanksgiving. And then Christmas.

Grandma’s birthday.

The guilt hits me. I spent so many years running from town to town. Hell, I even left the country for a few months. I should have come here from the start. Tears well in my eyes, and I turn my head, unable to keep from crying.

A nurse comes in to check on Grandpa, and Mom talks to her, somehow able to keep it together. I bend my legs up under myself, shivering.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Grandpa and put my hand on his again. “You’ll get through this, get back on your medication, and we can go back home. I’ll get you one of those ‘old person’ pill cases too. You know, the ones with the days of the week on them, and I will check it every day and make sure you’ve taken your pills.”

Exhaustion is starting to hit me.

“So,” I whisper so quietly I don’t think he’d be able to hear me even if he were awake. His hearing has been going, and I have to speak rather loud on a good day. “Logan and I pretended to be engaged.” I look at Mom again, who’s still talking to the nurse. “And I hiked through the Bamboo Forest and saw three waterfalls. I jumped off a rope swing too.” I hold up my arm. “I got a battle wound from it. It’s just a surface scratch, but it was enough to freak Di out a bit at first. She was worried how I’d look in pictures. I think it makes me look tough. I’ll say I got it from fighting off some sort of wild creature.”

My eyes flutter closed, imagining Grandpa laughing at me as he asks if there are any dangerous wild animals in Hawaii. I actually have no idea, but I want to say no since so many tourists walk through that forest and you never hear of anyone getting mauled by bears.

The nurse leaves, and Mom stands at the foot of the bed. I get up, wiping my eyes. “What did she say?” I ask.

Mom opens her mouth to speak but stops, needing a moment to gather her composure. “He has a significant buildup of plaque in his heart. They put a stent in to open up the worst part.”

“I know. Archer told us.”

Mom’s lips press together, and I know the nurse gave her more news…and it’s not good. My stomach drops. “He’s going to need heart surgery, but right now he’s not a good candidate for it.”

“What does that mean? If he needs surgery to fix his heart, then he’s going to have it.”

“Danielle,” Mom says gently, and her eyes fill with tears. “The doctor doesn’t think his body will be able to handle surgery right now. Grandpa is in pretty bad health and he kept it from us.”

“So, they’re just going to let him die?” Tears blur my vision, and I angrily shake my head. “I won’t allow it. Where’s the doctor? I need to talk to him!”

“Honey.”

“Don’t honey me!” I spit, feeling anxiety wrap around me like a million tiny hands. They’re cold, dark, and trying hard to pull me under. “I’m not going to sit here and do nothing if there’s a cure for this!”

“There’s no cure for heart disease. The stent took care of the worst part, and medication can help control and even reduce the other buildup.”

“Why didn’t he tell me he was sick? I could have made sure he took his medication and kept up with doctor appointments.”

Tears roll down Mom’s cheeks. “You know your grandpa.”

I sink back into the chair and start silently crying again. Mom comes over and wraps her arm around me. I inhale but don’t get any air. My chest heaves, and I want nothing more than for Grandpa to sit up and give me some sort of profound advice that will help me accept this.

“It’s not fair, I know,” she whispers.

“Why didn’t he tell me he was sick?” I take in a shaky breath. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure he didn’t want to worry you. The nurse said he’d been dealing with this for years.”

“But he seemed fine.” I shake my head, feeling so angry at myself for not noticing. He’s been slowing down a bit lately, but the man is in his late eighties. I assumed it was normal. “And he…he…” I can’t finish my sentence. I start crying again.

I came to Eastwood because I had nowhere else to go. It was a time in my life when I felt like everyone in my life had turned against me. When they were more wrapped up in what the neighbors thought about them than what really mattered.

When I felt like my life was one big failure after another.

And he told me I was lucky to have the opportunity to fail.

Because I was alive.

And being alive isn’t anything I should ever take for granted.

I didn’t really get it then. But I do now, and the realization makes my heart ache so much it breaks.

Life is so short.

Life is so fleeting.

It’s scary to fail. It hurts to fail. It’s terrifying to not know if you’re going to have enough money to live comfortably or just barely cover bills. It sucks to feel all those shitty emotions, the ones that threaten to break you apart and beat you until there’s nothing left.

But you can only feel those things if you’re alive. And if you’re alive, you can change it. Not overnight. Maybe not in a week’s time. Or a month. But if you keep living, you can change your life.

And that’s what Grandpa wanted me to understand.

I turn back to him and put my hand over his. “I get it,” I whisper. “I finally get it now.”

Grandpa’s fingers twitch and his eyes flutter. Mom and I both gasp, holding our breath as we watch.

“Grandpa?”

“Hey…kiddo.” His eyes open and close. Mom goes to get the nurse, and I crouch down next to the bed. The nurse comes in to assess Grandpa, and I stand back, heart in my throat.

He’s awake and talked to me. I knew he’d be okay. He’d pull through this.

I grab another tissue and mop up my face, sitting back down in the chair after the nurse leaves. Mom pulls another chair around, sitting on the other side of the bed.

“Carol,” Grandpa says, and Mom breaks down.

“You scared us, Dad,” Mom cries. “Don’t do that again.”

Grandpa laughs and then winces. “I don’t plan to.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I ask.

Grandpa slowly shakes his head, widening his eyes. “If I knew I was going to get drilled by you two, I would have told them not to put the stent in.”

“That’s not funny, Dad.” Mom looks up, blinking away tears. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”

Her words cause the anxiety to rise in my stomach again. It’s true, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Because the stent is working, and Grandpa is awake and talking to us.

“I know,” Grandpa agrees. “You two didn’t leave Hawaii for me, did you?”

“We did.”

Grandpa shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Things start to feel better again…and then the doctor comes in, repeating what the nurse said. Grandpa’s heart is full of plaque. He’s on an aggressive medication regimen now, and it’s important to make sure he takes his pills religiously. Grandpa pesters the doctor about going home, grumbling that the only reason he wants him to stay is to collect the insurance money. He’ll be here for at least another day.

“See? I’m fine,” Grandpa tells us once the doctor leaves.

“You’re not, Dad,” Mom presses. “And you have to take this seriously.”

“Please,” I add. “Take it seriously.”

Grandpa lets out a breath. “All right. I’ll cut back on the greasy food and will take my medication.”

“Thank you.” I put my hand on Grandpa’s again. The nurse comes back in to help sit Grandpa up. They want him up and walking later this morning. I get up, needing to walk around as well. My legs are stiff and my shoulders ache. After a long plane ride, the drive from Chicago to Eastwood, and then sitting tense in that uncomfortable chair, my body is feeling it.

I have three missed calls from Rebecca, and I find a quiet corner to call her back, filling her in on Grandpa’s condition. Like Owen, she tells me to call if she needs anything and says she’ll be up later once the kids are at her in-laws’ house. My phone is dying, and I plug it in when I go back to the room.

A new nurse comes on, and Mom and I both go into the waiting room while she does a full assessment on Grandpa.

“We should get something to eat,” Mom tells me as she takes a seat in the waiting room.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not either, but it’s been a while since either of us ate anything. The food in the cafeteria is bad, I’m sure, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I guess I could try to eat.”

Mom unzips her purse and pulls out a makeup bag. “Dad called while you were out of the room. He said Logan told him something interesting.”

“Interesting?” I look at my mom, watching her fix her eyeliner. Did Logan tell Dad the engagement is a hoax? If he did…I don’t care. It doesn’t matter compared to what’s going on right now.

“Logan told him that you said you don’t want to go back to grad school.”

“I…I don’t.”

Mom almost drops her mirror. “You’re kidding, right?”

My mouth opens, and I slowly shake my head. “You’re really doing this now?”

“We want what’s best for you. Grandpa would agree.”

All the frustration I’ve been feeling over the years threatens to bubble up and explode. My heart is ripping in two, all while my stomach churns. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up, scream, or start throwing things.

“No,” I say, voice small. “No, he wouldn’t.” I stare at my mother in disbelief, wishing I could write this off as her trying to distract herself from what’s actually going on. But I know better, and once Dad gets here, I’m sure he’ll get on me about it too.

“I understood why you came here,” Mom goes on. That’s bullshit too. She’s so wrapped up in trying to impress people, in making friends only so she can drop their names to others, in constantly having to one-up each other. She doesn’t get it, and I don’t think she ever will.

But I’m done with that. Done with not knowing who was with me or against me or who was using me or talking behind my back. Done with hanging around people who wrote the definition of first world problems and care more with the pH levels in their pools than the pollution in our oceans.

“But now it’s time to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.” I close my eyes and tears roll down my cheeks. “I like it here. It’s not fancy, and we don’t have five-star restaurants or Ivy League colleges nearby, but this is home. The people in this town are great, and I like my job.”

“You’re a bartender,” Mom spits. “You are better than that.”

“I’m not better than anyone.” I shake my head. “And under normal circumstances, your job doesn’t define you. I mean, if I were a drug dealer, I’d say my line of work spoke volumes about my character, but I go to work and work hard. What’s the difference between me tending bars and working in an office?”

“Your paycheck. It’s a big difference.”

“I don’t need to be rich to be happy.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” Mom goes on. “Money might not buy happiness, but it sure as hell makes your life easier. You’ll always have bills to pay and not having to worry if you’ll have enough can take so much stress off you.”

“But I can pay my bills. I don’t have much, but I really am happy. Why is that so hard to believe?”

Mom slowly shakes her head. “I don’t want to watch you throw your life away.”

I clench my fists. “Then don’t.”