“Me too,” she says, still soundingunsure.
“Oh, by the way, I found Grams's book,” I tellher.
“What book?” sheasks.
“The one she was askingfor.”
“I know, but what is this book?” Momasks.
“I have no idea, but it’s old and looks like it contains a lot of stories or memories. I’m taking it over to hernow.”
“Mike isn't with you, ishe?”
“No,” I respond through agroan.
“That was very nice of him to stop by yesterday, but we don't need him hanging around the hospital rightnow.”
“Mom,” I say, trying to stop any further incoming comments on thesubject.
“Emma, you know how I feel abouthim.”
“I do. It’s not like you’ve been subtle about your hatred for Mike. I understand and partially agree with everything youfeel.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” she says. “You should probably stop stringing him along then, and just break itoff.”
“Mom.”
“Emma,” shecounters.
“I'll only be at the hospital for a little while. I have a deadline for a client this afternoon, and if I don't get the ad design to her, she’s going to find someone else.” Business doesn’t end at 5 p.m. in my world, and therefore, neither do my contracting hours ofoperation.
“And why can't you tell them you have a family emergency?” sheargues.
“Mom, it's my business, and I can't cancel all of my jobs. I'll handle it all, don't worry. I'm going to be right by your side tomorrow morning and whenever you need me to be withyou.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Just wait there until I get back, so she's not alone. I need to take a quick nap and ashower.”
“No problem,” I tellher.
Since my phone call lasted the entire drive to the hospital, it broke up the eagerness to open Grams’s book, but now that I’m here, excitement is rushing through me as I slide my hands along the warm leather binding. I need to know what’sinside.
I guard it within my arms like a lost treasure as I make my way into the hospital and over to theICU.
As worried as I was yesterday, I must not have noticed how far the walk to the ICU was, and I'm out of breath by time I reach Grams’s room. Though, it’s perfect timing as I nearly run right into Dr.Beck.
“Emma,” he greetsme.
“Oh, hi, Dr. Beck. How is shetoday?”
“That woman…” he points behind him, “she is a spitfire.” He laughs and looks over his shoulder at her. “She's doingwell.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of her,” I tellhim.
“It's my job,” he says. “Will you excuse me, though? I have to tend to another patient rightnow.”
I'm left without words, a bit mesmerized by his sparkling eyes and engaging demeanor, as well as the noticeable fact that he has the most perfect butt that I probably shouldn’t be staring at while he’s walking away. However, I've never actually seen a man's butt fill out a pair of scrubs so perfectlybefore.
“Emma, is that you?” Thankfully, Grams’s voice interrupts my inappropriate stare and thoughts, and I enter herroom.
