I decided to make myself a simple omelette for dinner and then sat down with a glass of wine to read a mildly interesting thriller. By the time I stood up to stretch and rinse out my glass, it was far too late to try calling Grandmère again. I’d reach her tomorrow, I told myself. Then I went to bed.
Monday morning turned out to be extremely…Monday. A deal I putting together in Spain looked to be falling apart and I had to put out fires, make phone calls, reassure, hold hands, and long for a paper bag to breath into.
Diane brought me a salad to eat at my desk for lunch and stayed long enough to get the highlight reel from the spa day. She looked a bit put out that she hadn’t been invited, until I pulled out the Luxe bag of goodies I’d received and handed it to her. Then she squealed with delight and hugged me and went out to her desk to sort through the loot.
On my way home I picked up a pulled pork roll from the local deli for dinner and ate with my files spread out in front of me on the kitchen table, making notes in between bites. As I cleaned up my dishes, I realized I hadn’t heard from Grandmère all day, and it was, again, too late to call her. I wrote myself a reminder to call her on a bright pink post-it note and put it on top of my file, so I’d be sure to do it tomorrow.
Tuesday turned out to be Monday 2.0. The patches I’d applied to the deal yesterday seemed to be failing, so I had to redouble my focus and efforts, turning off my phone and telling Diane to hold all distractions. I only had to work an extra hour late in my crisis management mode, then I packed up and headed home, weary and looking forward to my bath and bed.
As I walked through my front door and hung up my coat, I realized I hadn’t gotten any texts or calls in hours. Pulling out my phone I remembered I’d turned it off in the morning. As I turned it on, there was an avalanche of texts and a voice message. I scrolled through the texts, telling myself I absolutely was not hoping that Jack had texted, and was only slightly let down when I saw none of them were from him.
The voice message was from an international number I didn’t recognize. I turned up the volume and pressed play. A bored voice speaking French told me that he was calling from l’Hopital de Paris, a French hospital, and I was listed as next of kin for Lily Lambert and they were calling to let me know she’d been admitted. And that was it.
Time stopped.
My grandmother was in the hospital? I hadn’t been able to reach her for days. What had happened? Was she OK? What would I do if something was truly wrong?
The safety valve on my stress containment field broke and I lost it. Waves of helpless anxiety threatened to pull me under its riptide. I didn’t know what to do. I was paralyzed.
Hardly knowing I was doing it, almost acting on their own, my fingers dialed.
“Hey, Eve!” came Jack’s cheerful voice. I could almost see his sunny smile and wished I could wrap myself in it to stop the shivering.
“Jack,” was all I could get out, and then a fountain of sobs followed.
“Eve, Eve, what’s going on? Honey, are you OK? How can I help?” He tried to soothe my panic and get me to tell him the problem. But I just couldn’t get the words out.
I choked back another round of sobs and managed to say, “Grandmère,” before I lost it again.
“What is it, Eve? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I wailed. “I’ve had my phone off all day and got a voice message from a hospital saying Grandmère had been admitted. I don’t know why! I don’t know if she’s ok. Jack, what do I do if she’s…if she’s…” I couldn’t bring myself to voice my worst fears.
“OK, here’s what I want you to do, Eve. Try to call your grandmother. And if you can’t get a hold of her, call her neighbor. What was his name?”
“Bernard.”
“Right. Call Bernard. And if you can’t reach either of them, call the hospital and see what information they can give you. It could be that it was just a quick check up and she’s not even there anymore.” I nodded, even though I realized he couldn’t see me.
“Have you eaten yet, Eve?”
I shook my head, numbly.
“Eve?”
Oh, right, he still couldn’t see me. “No, I haven’t. I just walked through my front door.”
“OK, go get some food in you. Then go pack a carry-on bag.”
“Pack a bag? What for, Jack?”
“I’ll make the arrangements and be there within an hour to pick you up and take you to the airport. If you’re not able to contact anyone, we’re going to Paris to make sure she’s ok. And don’t forget to put your passport in your purse.”
I sniffed and nodded. “Ok, Jack.”
“I’ll see you soon, hon. Hang on.” And the phone call ended.
Moving like a robot, I went into the kitchen. While I made a cheese sandwich, I called Grandmère again. No answer. Bernard. No answer. I called the hospital, and the automatic call routing sent my call to admitting. The self-important voice on the other end confirmed for me that Lily Lambert had been admitted but refused to give me any other information. She refused to tell me the date of admission, why she was admitted, or her current state. “I’m sorry, to protect the privacy of the patients we’re not allowed to give our patient information over the phone. If you would like more information, you’ll need to come here in person.” Even when I tearfully explained that I was on another continent, she was unmoved and merely repeated her bureaucratic policy statement. I longed for a corded phone so that I could slam down the receiver to satisfy my impotent rage.
