Page 41 of Hearts of Wealth

Catherine

––––––––

THE PHONE WAS STILL in my hand with my foot on the gas pedal. My entire body was shaking like I’d been sitting in the freezer for an hour. Timothy’s words were running through my mind on repeat. It was my worst fear coming to reality. I jerked the steering wheel, whipping into the parking lot of our little hospital with my wheels squealing.

I cut the engine and hopped out, not bothering to lock the doors or grab the keys. I ran across the parking lot as if I was going to be the one to save his life. I burst through the doors of the hospital, my heart pounding in my chest and my breath coming in ragged gasps. Fear gripped me like a vise, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. I had never felt so terrified, so utterly helpless.

Turning a corner, I spotted Luke pacing anxiously, his brow furrowed with worry. My stomach twisted with dread as I approached him, my mind racing with a thousand terrifying possibilities.

“Luke,” I called out, my voice trembling with fear. “What’s happening? Is my dad okay?”

Luke turned towards me, his eyes filled with concern. “Catherine,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “Your dad had a heart attack.”

A sound escaped my throat. “No.”

“He’s alive,” Luke said calmly.

“Where is he?” I asked. “I have to see him!”

Timothy came out of a door that I knew from personal experience led to the patient area in the emergency department. “Where is he?” I rushed toward Timothy.

Timothy pulled me into his arms, holding me. My body was shaking so hard I could barely draw breath. I didn’t want to be hugged. I needed answers. I shoved against Timothy and then looked into his eyes. I saw pain and fear. He was pale. The world started to tilt and spin. I couldn’t hear the bad news. I refused to listen to him tell me my father didn’t make it.

I shook my head. “No. Don’t. No.”

“Catherine, he’s alive,” Timothy said. “They’re prepping him for surgery. He had a heart attack. There’s a blocked artery.”

My heart lurched in my chest at his words, a cold wave of terror washing over me. A heart attack? Surgery? The words echoed in my mind, filling me with a sense of dread unlike anything I had ever experienced.

There was a giant lump forming in my throat as I struggled to find my voice. I couldn’t find the words.

“Timothy,” I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Is he going to be okay?”

Timothy turned towards me, his eyes filled with sadness. “They need to transfer him to a hospital in New York City,” he explained, his voice tight with emotion. “A helicopter is on the way to pick him up. He’s stable for now, but he’s unconscious.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from my lungs. My dad, unconscious, in need of surgery... It was too much to bear. Tears pricked at my eyes, blurring my vision as I struggled to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The shaking stopped, but now I was so weak. I could feel my knees buckling.

Timothy reached out to me, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace. He held me against his body, giving me the physical and emotional support I needed. I buried my face in his chest, the tears flowing freely now as I allowed myself to finally let go. He rubbed my back, holding me and just letting me cry it out.

“He can’t die,” I sobbed, my voice choked with emotion. “What will I do without him?”

Timothy held me close. “We’ll get through this, Catherine,” he whispered, his voice filled with determination. “We’ll be there for each other, no matter what.”

But even his words couldn’t quell the fear that gnawed at my heart, the overwhelming sense of loss threatening to consume me. My dad was my rock, my anchor in a world filled with uncertainty. Without him, I felt adrift, lost in a sea of despair. Timothy wasn’t telling me my dad was going to make it. He was telling me we would get through it. That was not comforting.

“I have to see him,” I choked out. I wiped my face. “I need to see him right now.”

“Luke, watch her,” Timothy said before releasing me.

I had forgotten Luke was there at all. Timothy approached a nurse, said a few words, and then came back. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes!”

As we were led back to see my dad, my heart hammered in my chest, each step bringing me closer to the unknown. I was terrified of what I would see. It was just another nightmare I had so many times that I’d hoped would never come true. Timothy’s arm was around my shoulders. We walked into a room, and I finally laid eyes on him. He was lying unconscious in his hospital bed with his chest bare and various monitors hooked up to him. He didn’t look like my dad at all. A sob tore from my throat, the pain of seeing him like this too much to bear.

My knees gave way, and Timothy caught me, gently holding me upright. He held me as I sobbed, my tears dropping onto his shirt. He spoke softly, words of comfort that were lost in the deafening fear inside my head. All I could see was my father in that bed, looking so small and frail, a stark contrast to the robust man who had raised me.

The nurse from earlier entered the room quietly, her face a mask of professional concern. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “It’s time for his transfer.” My heart dropped at her words, the reality of the situation hitting me like a punch to the gut.