Melanie nods, looking between the three of us. “Okay, yeah. Thanks.” She takes the clothes from Sophie and rushes toward the house, pausing to look at me. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Okay, I’ll be here.” I give her a grim smile. While she’s inside, I move toward the guest cottage, stripping off my wet T-shirt on my way. I find a dry one and throw it on. I grab my backpack, my phone charger, and a couple of water bottles. Then I remember my groceries. I jog back to the truck, throwing my backpack inside and grabbing the bags. I hurry, putting the cold stuff away before spotting Melanie waiting for me at my truck. Leaving the rest of the groceries, I move toward her, like she’s my lifeline.
Opening the passenger door, I help her inside and hurry around to my side.
“Do you want to stop at home?” I ask, glancing at her as I start the engine.
She shakes her head. “No. Just…let’s go. I don’t know how bad it is.”
I reach across and squeeze her knee cap. She doesn’t pull back, but she looks uncomfortable. “It’ll be okay,” I say, pulling my hand away.
Melanie is quiet for the short drive up the parkway to the hospital. There is so much I want—need—to say, but it’s not the right time. I pull in the emergency room parking lot and she’s unbuckling her seatbelt before I’ve found a spot.
“You can just let me out here.” She doesn’t look at me, only out the window, desperate to get inside the building.
“No way. I’m going with you,” I say, pulling into the closet spot.
“Josh.” Melanie looks at me, her gaze watery.
“Mel, I’m not leaving you.”
She swallows hard and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
Melanie is out of the truck before I have even picked up my backpack, racing to the crosswalk. I jog to catch up with her. All I want is to pull her close to me and I know this isn’t the time, but I selfishly can’t stop myself. I grip her hand while we wait for thewalksignal.
We clamor up the front steps and the automatic door opens for us. The ER is surprisingly quiet and Melanie bolts toward the check-in desk. “Frank Glick?” she asks, urgency clinging to her voice.
“Are you family?” the receptionist asks without looking up.
“I’m his daughter.” Melanie looks at me, panic in her blue eyes.
“And you?” the woman peers up at me now.
“Him too. He’s family,” Melanie answers for me and my heart pulls.
“He’s just through those doors.” She points to her right. “Bay thirteen.”
Melanie rushes to the doors, pressing the button to open them.
“Thank you,” I say to the receptionist, tapping the counter, before hurrying to catch up.
She reaches Bay thirteen first and ducks inside. I follow behind slower, and when I pull back the curtain, I find Melanie already at his bedside, holding his hand.
“Daddy,” she whispers.
Frank Glick, a man I probably haven’t seen since the night of prom in 1999, looks small and frail in the hospital bed. He is propped up and alert, but he looks pale and tired, the skin around his eyes loose and tinged with shadows. His gray hair is flattened on one side and the hospital gown falls off his shoulder slightly, revealing lines to his heart monitor. A blood pressure cuff is on his arm and beeps periodically. His other arm rests above the blanket, an IV taped to the back.
When he sees Melanie, he turns his head gently and offers her a tired smile, but it’s more in his eyes than his mouth.
“Melly,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly. Then he looks up at me. “Hey, Josh.”
“Frank.” I nod. I hang back, feeling as if I don’t deserve to be here.
Melanie threads her fingers through her dad’s and pulls his hand to her lips, kissing it. “How did you get here? I don’t know who it was that called me.”
“My friend Joan brought me here,” Frank says, looking between us. “She’s still around here somewhere.”
“Who is Joan?” Melanie asks. It’s not accusatory, just curious.
