“The doctors are still assessing him,” Greg says. “It was an acute ischemic stroke. They put him on a ventilator to…” He looks down at his phone. He’s obviously taken notes, which normally I would think was ridiculous, but now I’m grateful for. “In case he suffered a fit, according to the doctor. But he was conscious after the stroke. That’s a good sign.”
I let myself breathe for the first time in what seems like hours. “Good. So, he’ll recover.”
Greg flashes a glance at my mother and then addresses me. “They don’t have a prognosis at this time, but… the doctor did mention his age and said it would likely be a long road to recovery.”
It’s a fact that my father’s seventy-four. But before today, I never really considered him old. His schedule was packed from morning until night. He went into the office every day. He was out in the evening three or four times a week.
I thought he’d live forever.
Many men my father’s age are retired and spend their time playing golf and bridge. Not my father. He’s dedicated his life to the Alden family legacy.
“The first twenty-four hours are the most crucial,” Greg says. “The doctors want him off the ventilator after that. And they’ll do additional assessments and start rehab.”
“And obviously, he’ll have round-the-clock care,” I say. “The best that money can buy.” I pull in a breath. What can I be doing? Our family foundation built the children’s wing of this hospital. All the staff must know who he is. He’s going to get the very best care. But will it be enough?
My mother stifles a sob, and I take her in properly for the first time since I arrived. She’s pale, but then, she’s not wearing any makeup… and I try to remember if I’ve ever seen her not wearing makeup.
I don’t think I ever have.
Greg is staring at my mother, chewing on his lip. “I’ll go and see if I can get an update.” He excuses himself. I’m pretty sure he just wants to give my mother some time to compose herself and he’s being polite.
As a child, I never saw my mother until she emerged from her bedroom hair and makeup in place. I’d usually been up with the nannies for a while by then. Or later, I’d come back from a piano lesson or a tennis lesson to find her having tea and reading the newspaper with Dad, like I’d walked into a Norman Rockwell painting.
My mother and father are inseparable when my father isn’t at work.
I’ve never thought about it, but they must really love each other.
“Where have you been, Jack?” My mother looks up at me, her eyes red, an almost childlike expression on her face.
A wave of guilt travels through me. “I was in Colorado,” I say, as I take a seat next to her and put my hand over hers. “I got here as fast as I could.”
We’re not a family who ever had a tremendous amount of physical affection between us. But I want to try to comfort her. I half expect her to push my hand away, but she doesn’t.
Instead she places her other hand on top of mine. “I’m pleased you’re back.”
I pull in a breath. “I’m pleased I’m here too.” I stand. “I would like to see him,” I say. Yes, he’s on a ventilator, but I need to see him with my own eyes.
“And you’ll stay?” It’s half question, half command. She doesn’t mean stay in the hospital. She means stay in Manhattan.
She means, no more working on a fruit farm and spending time with Iris.
I don’t answer. My father’s sick. My mother needs me.
“It’s time,” my mother says, looking me right in the eye.
Two words that say so much.
My father is seventy-four years old. I should have been prepared that this could happen at any time. In so many ways I am prepared. This moment is what my entire life has been about so far. Now my father is incapacitated, I’m expected to take over the Alden family. The foundations. The galas. The meetings. The investments.
I’m no longer the heir.
I’ve inherited.
My father’s life is now mine.
Someone’s reached inside me and their fist is clenching my guts, seizing any choices I had over my life.
This is it. I’m expected to step up.
