Chapter 19
~ Braden ~
I’m pacing back and forth in front of the bay window, waiting for the sleighs to return. The weather’s not looking good with thick, fat flakes of snow piling down from the darkened sky.
It’s getting late, and I’m surprised the church service is taking so long. Erica went with the rest of the gang, and the big ranch house is deathly quiet. Both huskies are asleep at the foot of the stairs. The Yule log crackles in the great room fireplace, and the grandfather clock in the hallway ticks steadily.
Grandpa wants to see the three children before they go to bed to wish them a Merry Christmas. He must not be feeling well, because in the past, he’d always shoo the children to bed so he can play Santa and put the presents under the tree.
Instead, he wants to give them their present before going to bed, and he wants to do it before midnight.
I watch and wait, but time seems to crawl. It’s eleven o’clock when I go back into the sickroom to check on Grandpa. His brow is furrowed with pain, and a sheen of sweat shines on his forehead. His breathing is stiff and laborious, and he needs his next dose of painkillers.
“They’re not back?” he asks through half-clenched teeth.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” I glance around the room at the medical supplies. “Does Erica give you painkillers?”
“She does, but she’s gone to church. I’m okay, though.”
“You don’t look okay. How long overdue are you?”
“I don’t know.” He wipes his forehead and leans stiffly back onto the pillow. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long now. I can still be Santa this last Christmas Eve, even though I won’t be flying through the sky with a sleigh full of toys.”
“You will be with us for many Christmas Eves to come.” I try to comfort him by looking into his eyes, but he turns away from me.
“I will always be with you in spirit,” he says stiffly. “The gifts are under the tree, the Yule log is lit, and the Collie angel is on top of the tree.”
“Yes, everything’s beautiful and perfect. You make Christmas special and magical. Each one is different and memorable—just like the way Mom used to do. She had a theme and she was so creative.”
He swallows hard and clutches the sheets with clenched fingers as a bout of pain ripples through his frail body. I have to do something. This isn’t right. I know he gave Erica time off to go to church, but he’s suffering.
“I’ll be right back.” I kiss his forehead and step outside into the corridor.
I text Erica a quick message.Are you on your way?
A few seconds later, she replies,Going is slow. The snow is so thick. What’s up? How’s the patient?
He’s in pain. Can you let me know where you keep the painkillers?
I really can’t.
I was a medic in the army. I know how to inject a syringe into the cannula he has in his vein.
Yes, but I really shouldn’t.
He’s in a lot of pain.
She doesn’t answer. Of course not. We’re talking narcotics, a controlled substance, and she’ll lose her job.
When I return, Grandpa is moaning and swaying back and forth. That does it. I can’t let Grandpa suffer. I’m going to have to do it.
“Can you tell me where she stores the painkillers she’s giving you?” I ask while wiping his forehead with a wet paper towel.
“She has a kit she keeps under my bed. She locks it in a toolbox, but the key is under that statue.” He points to a bronze figure of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco.
I find the toolbox easily and lift it onto the bed. The kit is filled with vials of liquid morphine. “How much does she give you?”
“Probably the entire vial,” he says, gritting his teeth.
