His dad frowned. “What abou ... t.” He finally managed the word. “A book tour?” The cadence of his words was off. Some coming out louder and some so mispronounced they were hard to decipher.
Julien leaned toward his dad, concern rising rapidly within him. “Are you okay?”
“We considered the benefits of a brick-and-mortar tour,” Pam answered.
She continued speaking, but Julien had tuned her out, his focus solely on his father. Was it his imagination or had his father just swayed in his seat? “Are you okay?” he asked again.
His dad squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Shook his head. “Water,” he croaked.
There was a drink cart that held bottles of water, tea, and coffee in the corner of the conference room. Julien stood to retrieve a bottle of water at the same time his dad also pushed to his feet. When his dad swayed again, Julien knew his imagination had nothing to do with it. He reached a hand out to grip his dad’s elbow for support, but the man took two shaky steps forward, putting him out of reach.
John King pitched to the side. Julien lunged, catching him just before he hit the ground. “Someone call for an ambulance!”
35
Mom
An ambulance is taking Mr. King to the hospital.
Mom
I thought you might want to know.
Is Julien okay?My heart is beating out the tattoo of those words on repeat. The concern should be about Mr. King, but my brain isn’t going there. All I can think about is Julien. Is he all right? My blood rushes through my veins on rafts of adrenaline, but instead of my heart pumping overtime for the man in danger, it’s pounding in worry for his son.
Julien has been terrified that something like this was going to happen. He’d told me just the other day that he was afraid he would walk into his dad’s office and find him slumped over at his desk.
Dear Lord, pleasedon’t let that be what happened.
But of course that’s all I can picture now. Sweet, unsuspecting Julien opening the door to Mr. King’s office to find him crumpled on the floor. Or Julien, talking with his dad, only for Mr. King to go deathly white, clutch his chest, and have aheart attack on the spot. There are too many scenarios, none of them good, and all of them rocking Julien’s world at its foundation.
I hope with everything in me that he isn’t blaming himself, but I’m afraid he might be. He already feels guilty that he hadn’t been able to convince his dad to retire years ago, not to mention the frustration and responsibility he’s put on his shoulders that the man still refuses to stay away from the office even after officially stepping down. It’s not Julien’s fault, and I hope he sees that. He doesn’t need any self-reproach on top of the worry and fear that must already be overwhelming him.
My thumb hovers over Julien’s contact information on my phone. I need to hear his voice. I need to hear if it’s steady and strong or spinning out of control. Maybe then I can stop my own concern from hijacking my body like it’s attempting to do.
But this isn’t about me. It’s not the time to focus on my needs.What does Julien need?
Probably not the distraction of a phone call. Not if he’s in the ambulance with his father or at the hospital with him. All of his focus should be on his dad, not in worrying about me worrying about him.
He needs support. To know someone’s got him and he’s not alone.
His mom is likely either at the hospital or on her way, so he won’t be alone. But as for support? Julien will be that more for his mom than the other way around.
He needs me.
The thought claws its way past all the other frantic ones running around in my brain and settles with clarity and rightness. I don’t second-guess. I grab my keys and sprint to my car.
The distance to the city has never been more loathsome than it is right now. Even if I disregard speed limits, it’s still going to take me a little over an hour to get to the hospital. I spend the time praying while gripping the steering wheel sotightly my knuckles turn white. Finally, the hospital comes into view, and I follow the signs to the side of the building where red letters spell outEmergencylike a beacon.
The automatic doors swish open when I get close, but my feet slow once I’m in the building. Should I call Julien now to let him know I’m here or go ahead and tell the receptionist the situation? She won’t let me back without Mr. King’s consent, I don’t think, especially since I’m not family, but I don’t want anyone to bother him if he’s having tests done or if they’re doing some sort of emergency procedure to save his life.
“Martha.”
Someone calling my name has me looking around. My dad sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the waiting room. What’s he doing here? I walk over to him and ask.
“Tabitha and I were in the garden when Julien called to tell her John was on the way to the hospital. She was understandably shaken up, so I offered to drive her.”
“And you decided to stick around?”
