“No.”
“How’s your vision?”
Connor stared toward the muted TV for a long moment. “A little blurry.”
“One eye or both?”
Connor closed one eye at a time. “Just the left one, I think.”
“That’s not unusual after a concussion. It usually clears up with plenty of rest. If it doesn’t, you’ll need to see an optometrist.”
The doctor straightened, dropping his hands into his lab coat pockets. “Well, your vitals look good—and your tests came back normal. We did an x-ray and an MRI while you were out. We’d like to keep you for observation, though, since you were unconscious so long. They’ll probably do more assessments upstairs. I’m optimistic, though. Everything looks really good. You’re a lucky man.”
“Blessed,” Connor corrected, his eyelids drooping. “Thanks.”
Dr. Kadambi looked at Maddy as he went to the door. “He’s going to be pretty tired and need a lot of rest over the next several days. We’ll move him to a room as soon as we can.”
“Thank you so much.”
The doctor nodded with a smile and left the room.
Maddy needed to go tell Tara the good news. His whole family must be so anxious for him. She grabbed the door.
Hating to leave him, she paused on the threshold, giving him a lingering look. Long enough to memorize his precious features. Long enough to feel overwhelmed again by the power of her love. Long enough to breathe a prayer of gratitude. He was going to be all right. They all were.
Chapter 39
Tara extended a hand to Connor through the passenger-side door. “Easy does it now.”
He scowled at Tara but took her hand anyway. “I’m not an invalid, for pity’s sake.”
Lexie was already clearing a pathway to the front door—there was a lot of debris from the storm. After helping him from the vehicle Tara began unloading what seemed to be a month’s worth of casseroles from the back of her crossover.
When had Tara even had time to cook anything? What, did she have ready-made meals just waiting in her freezer for such an opportunity? Probably. Good grief, they were going to drive him crazy. They’d already been hovering around his hospital bed for the past two days.
He’d somehow managed to convince his parents to stay put in Florida. They hadn’t been able to get a flight anyway on account of the storm, and he sure hadn’t wanted them driving with all the flooding. He FaceTimed them yesterday from his hospital bed just to assure them he was all right.
“Straight to the couch,” Tara said as they entered the house.
He gritted his teeth, both against his raging headache and his bossy sister. Too bad it was too soon to take something for the pain. His left eye was still blurry, which made it hard to see. But all in all he felt like a blessed man. It could’ve been so much worse. He understood that now—his sisters had made sure of it.
Once inside Tara disappeared into the kitchen, picking up a pair of stray socks as she went. She started making a racket with pots and pans. Lexie had run upstairs, probably getting a pile of quilts and a bedpan or something equally ridiculous.
He picked up the remote and turned it to ESPN. At least a Braves game was on. Sunlight streamed in, making his head throb. It seemed someone had already taken the boards off his windows.
Tara returned a few minutes later, handing him an ice pack. “On your head for twenty minutes.” She covered him with an afghan he’d never even seen, then snatched the remote from his hand and pointed it at the television. “No TV, doctor’s orders. You heard what I promised Mama. And bear in mind, if not for me, she’d be here hovering over you too.”
He scowled. He felt like an old lady. “I see how this is going to go.”
Tara turned a dark look on him. “You bet your sweet bippy you do. The doctor said plenty of rest, and we’re here to make sure that happens. I know you, Connor Sullivan. We leave you alone, and you’ll be out in that yard picking up debris the second we walk out the door. You need time to recover—you don’t want blurry eyes the rest of your life, do you, or some other awful affliction? Do you even know how blessed you are that it isn’t so much worse?”
Tears. Oh, good grief, not again.
“You could be permanently impaired or even dead right now. Your brain has had an awful trauma and needs time and rest to recover properly, and if that means we have to stand here over your stubborn self and keep watch, that’s just what’s going to happen. You hear me?”
“All right, all right. I’ll stay put.” Women. Sheesh.
He’d heard the doctor clearly enough. Someone was supposed to be here at all times, monitoring him for new symptoms, for at least forty-eight interminable hours. No challenging activities, physical or mental, including watching TV, reading, or messing around on the computer.
