Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I took her by the shoulders. “Ari DeLuca, how many times are you going to make me explain that you are family to me? Now we don’t have time to stand around and argue, and my mind is made up. You call your mom. I’m going to get dressed and throw my shit in my bag. When Mabel gets back with clothes, put them on and then we’ll go collect your things and hit the road. I’ll have you back in Cherry Tree Harbor in one hour. Where’s your phone?”
“In my clutch.” She moved toward the bed, searching the floor. “Which I probably dropped right . . . there!” She scooped up her purse and fumbled through it. Locating her phone, she wailed pitifully when she saw the screen. “I had it turned off! I missed sixteen texts and eighteen calls!”
“You didn’t know,” I said gently. “Call her now.”
She tapped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Mom? How is he?”
I stood opposite her, watching her fight panic. Our eyes met, and she kept looking at me while she listened. Every few seconds, she interrupted with a question.
“Stable? What does that mean? Is he talking? They’re keeping him, right? What kind of tests? Bypass? When would that happen if they decide to do it?”
Gradually, the hysteria left her voice, and I could see her gain control of her breathing. When Mabel knocked on the door, I answered it, taking the joggers and sweatshirt from her hands. “Thanks.”
“Any word?”
“She’s talking to her mom now. I think he’s okay, from what I can tell. He might need a bypass.”
She nodded. “I remember when Dad had his heart attack. So scary.”
“But he’s good now,” I pointed out. “Better than ever.”
“Definitely.” She peeked around my shoulder. “Okay, I’ll go back to my room and start putting her stuff in her bag.”
“Thanks. See you in a few.”
After I closed the door, I tossed the clothing for Ari on the bed, got dressed, and quickly packed up my stuff. By the time I was done, she was off the phone. “He’s okay right now,” she said, her brow furrowed with worry. “I guess he can talk and he’s out of immediate danger for the moment. But they’re probably going to do a bypass. He should have been treated for heart problems long before now.”
“Dads are stubborn,” I said. “Mabel brought you some clothes. Want to throw them on and we’ll go grab your bag and head out?”
“Yes.” But instead of reaching for the sweats, she reached for me, and I took her in my arms, blanket and all, pulling her close. She started weeping again, and I just held her and let her get it out, the way she’d done for me in her kitchen last week. “Sorry,” she sobbed into my chest. “I’m getting your shirt all messy with snot and tears and last night’s eye makeup.”
“I don’t care.” I kissed the top of her head and stroked her back.
After a couple minutes, she was calmer, her breath still coming in irregular hitches, but her tears slowing. “Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Okay. I need to get myself together and get home.”
“Ready when you are.” Gently, I took the blanket from her and then held up the sweatshirt for her to slip her arms and head into. I tugged it down to her hips and handed her the joggers.
“Thank you.” She stepped into them, tugging them up to her waist. “This means everything to me, Dash. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You don’t have to know that.” I gathered up her dress, heels, underwear, and purse. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I took her straight to the hospital and waited for her in the family lounge area. She’d told me to go, that she could find another way home and wouldn’t be leaving for a while anyway, but I didn’t feel right leaving her there. I told her I’d hang out for a little while and use the time to catch up on my texts and emails.
After a couple hours, she appeared in the lounge holding two cardboard cups. “Hey,” she said, looking weary but better. “I brought you some coffee.”
“Thanks.” I took one cup from her, and she sat down next to me. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s okay. I mean, he looks terrible—pale and haggard and hooked up to tons of machines—but he’s breathing and not in pain. He’s sleeping a lot, but he did wake up and talk to me.” She smiled wryly. “He asked who was managing the diner.”
I chuckled. “Of course he did.”
“My aunt filled in for my mom this morning, but I told him I’d close up later.”
“Need help?”
She shook her head, placing a hand on my leg. “No. You’ve done enough for me. You don’t need to spend your last night in town working at Moe’s Diner.”