talked to three of the top heart specialists in the country and they all highly recommend him.”
“Great.” She groped through her purse until she found a pen and a notebook, which she positioned against the lobby wall. “Ready.”
“His name is Dr. Colby Winston.”
Valerie dropped her arm. “Dr. Colby Winston,” she repeated.
“I’ve got his phone number here.”
“Thanks, Rowdy,” she said, pride and shame clogging her throat, “but I’ve already got it.”
She hadn’t been home for twenty-four hours and she’d already managed to alienate her sister, insult a family friend and at the same time disparage a highly regarded doctor.
“Just great, Valerie,” she muttered to herself. “Can things get any worse?”
Three
“Steffie?” David Bloomfield’s eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at Valerie.
“She’ll be here as soon as she can,” Valerie reassured him. It was now early evening, and during every previous visit that day, he’d been asleep, his heart’s activity reported on the monitor.
How weak he sounded, she thought, as though death was only hours away. Her own heart clamored with dread and fear; she wanted to shout at him to fight, to hang on.
It wasn’t that easy or straightforward—as Valerie knew. In the past two days she’d learned more about the functions of the heart than she’d ever imagined. In more ways than one … She’d learned that the symbolic heart, the center of human emotion, grew larger with the sorrows as well as the joys of love. And the physical heart was subject to its own stresses and risks.
Colby had strived to make the explanation as uncomplicated as possible. Simply put, her father was experiencing heart failure; his heart was pumping blood less efficiently than it should. The decreased strength of the muscles then resulted in distended blood vessels that leaked fluid into his lungs, which interfered with his breathing. Each hour he was growing weaker and closer to death.
“Can’t … hold out much longer.”
“Of course you can,” Valerie insisted, railing against discouragement and defeat. “You’re going to live long enough to be a problem to your children. Isn’t that what you’ve always said? You’ve still got years and years. Good years, with a houseful of grandchildren.”
Her father’s smile was fleeting. “Go home, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You haven’t even been to the house yet.”
“There’s nothing there for me without you.” She rubbed her thumb soothingly across the back of his hand, avoiding the IV needle. “Get well, Daddy, please get well. We all need you.”
His eyes drifted shut, and the oppressive need to give in to the weakness of tears nearly overcame her. She blinked furiously in an effort not to cry, succeeding despite the enormous lump in her throat.
Valerie was grateful her features were outwardly composed when Colby entered the cubicle a few minutes later. He read over the clipboard that outlined her father’s progress, then made a brief notation.
“He’ll sleep now,” he said, guiding her out of the room.
“What’s happening?” she asked once they’d left the Coronary Care Unit. “Why is he so much weaker than before? It’s like watching his life ebb away. Surely you can do something?” She heard the note of hysteria in her own voice and didn’t care. Perhaps she was being selfish in wanting him to live when he so clearly wanted to be released from life. But she loved him so desperately. She needed him, and so did Steffie and Norah.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Colby assured her.
“I know—but it’s not enough.”
“Valerie, trust me, I love that crotchety old man myself. I don’t want to lose him, either.” He led the way to the elevator. “Come on, I’ll buy you some dinner.”
When she declined, he said, “Well, at least a cup of coffee.”
She was on the verge of pointing out that there was coffee in the waiting room, then hesitated. He was right. She needed a break, even if it was only ten minutes in the hospital cafeteria.
They rode the elevator down to the basement and walked into the large, open room, which was mostly empty now. Colby reached for a serving tray and slid it along the counter, collecting a green dinner salad, a cellophane-wrapped turkey sandwich and coffee. Valerie surveyed the cottage cheese salad with the limp pineapple and instead grabbed a bottle of cranberry juice. She wasn’t at all hungry, although she’d eaten very little in the past few days.
He withdrew his wallet and paid the cashier, then carried the tray to a table at the back of the room, near the window.
He chose one far removed from any of the occupied tables, and that started Valerie’s heart pounding with a renewed sense of anxiety. Colby had brought her here to face the inevitable.
“I’m going to lose my father, aren’t I?” she asked outright, determined to confront the truth head-on.
Colby looked up, his dark eyes filled with surprise. “Not if I can help it. What makes you ask?”
She slumped against the back of the chair, so relieved that it was all she could do not to weep openly. “I thought that was why you brought me here—what you intended to tell me.” With trembling hands, she picked up the bottle of juice and removed the top.
“We aren’t going to lose him.” He spoke with such fierce conviction that she realized his will to keep her father alive was as strong as her own.
“How long have you known my dad?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table.
“A few years now.”
Valerie vaguely recalled hearing Colby’s name mentioned once or twice, but she couldn’t remember when or for what reason. With her hectic work schedule she’d been home only intermittently. Her last visit had been nearly six months ago, although she phoned weekly.
“We met soon after your mother died,” Colby explained. “Your father made a generous donation to the hospital in her name.”
Valerie knew that David’s contribution had been large enough for the hospital to begin construction of a new wing. The irony of the situation struck her for the first time, and she drew in a deep, painful breath. The new wing housed the Coronary Care Unit.
“By the way,” she said, feeling obliged to apologize—or at least acknowledge his reputation. “I understand that I was, uh, mistaken earlier in what I assumed about your skills. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry.” He shrugged. “It happens all the time. But back to your dad—he and I play chess once a week.”
“You ever beat him?”
Colby grinned. “Occasionally, but not often.”
Valerie
