then he—”
The doctor brushed her aside to check her father’s vitals. “His blood pressure’s dropped substantially in the past hour. Exhaustion’s taking a toll.”
“Do something!” Eve shrieked. “Call an ambulance.”
“I’m sorry.” The physician took a stethoscope from his suit coat pocket, gently nudging Eve aside. “Your dad signed a living will. With cancer and now pneumonia, he knew his time was coming and wished no extraordinary measures be taken to prolong the inevitable.”
With Eve sobbing, hands over her face, and the doctor and nurse hovering over Hal, Garrett wasn’t sure what to do. No doubt the old guy’s words were just crazy ramblings. Also, knowing Hal, he’d no doubt wake in the morning—a good thing as he had major explaining to do.
Garrett knew he should be comforting Eve, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t believe Hal Barnesworth might actually be dying, let alone that his confession may be true. Garrett’s mind raced. His head knew this talk about their baby had to be just one more of Hal’s manipulations, but why? What did he have to gain? If there was so much as a grain of truth to what the old man said, where was their son now?
Chills ran through him. So much emotion he feared he might be sick. Forcing himself to hold it together, Garrett drew on his training to force deep, calming breaths.
To the nurse, the doctor said in a hushed tone, “Please put ointment on Mr. Barnesworth’s lips.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Eve cried harder. “Ointment? Th-that’s all you’re going to do?”
The doctor ushered Eve into the hall.
Garrett followed, shutting the door behind him.
With his arm around Eve’s slumped shoulders, the doctor said, “You have to understand, little things that help him be more comfortable are all your father wants us to do. Even if he didn’t, drastic measures would only prolong the inevitable.”
Begrudgingly, knowing it was the right thing, Garrett went to her, attempting a hug, only she pushed him away. “You hate him. Don’t even try pretending you don’t.”
“Eve…” Not knowing what to do with his hands, Garrett crammed them into his pockets. “What I do or don’t feel for your father has nothing to do with what we just heard. Think about it. I don’t have a clue why, but your father has to be lying. You need to pull yourself together so when he wakes, we can drill him as to why he really wanted me here.”
“I agree. What he said c-can’t be true,” she managed to cry between more sobs. “Daddy wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t be that cruel.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You heard him—for the best? As in just like he controlled whether or not you were allowed to have a relationship with me. Seems your old man’s playing games all over again.”
“Stop!” Eve turned her back on him, but Garrett wasn’t having it. She wasn’t running from this, the way she had after their son’s death.
“I, ah, need to make a call.” Dr. Mulligan waved his phone before leaving the two of them alone.
“Look—” Garrett placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him “—I’m sorry your dad’s sick. I know you two are close. But if there’s even the slightest chance what he said is true, we have to find out more. Hopefully, Hal’s going to wake up. And when he does, we have to question him for definitive answers. We—”
“What’s wrong with you? He’s dying. But if there’s any hope of him hanging on, I can’t risk upsetting him again.”
The doctor had returned and now paused alongside Garrett. “Maybe it’s best you leave. I’m going to give Eve a sedative, and my nurse will stay with Hal through the night.”
Tossing up his hands, Garrett laughed. “There we go with that word again—best. Oh, I’ll leave for the night but, Eve, you’ve got exactly twelve hours until I’m back.”
* * *
GARRETT’S FAMILY MAY have been waiting for him, but considering he’d just come out on the wrong end of playing emotional catch with a grenade, he wasn’t ready to see them.
He’d have liked a hard run to work off the tension knotting his shoulders, but considering the Thanksgiving Day weather, he opted for the less healthy alternative of Schmitty’s.
The bar and burger joint was good and dark. High wooden booths allowed for privacy. Loud ’70s rock made it damn near impossible to think. When the waitress stopped by his table, he ordered a pitcher of beer. But once she brought it, he was too shell-shocked to drink.
Hal’s revelation had Garrett pissed. Actually he was beyond pissed. He had passed into some bizarre state he hadn’t been in since he was seventeen and the old man told him his son had died. Logically, hearing the opposite should’ve sent his spirit soaring, but it wasn’t that easy. On the off chance what the old man said had been true, even all-powerful Hal Barnesworth couldn’t turn back time to rest that baby in Garrett’s loving arms. And he would’ve loved his kid. Eve, too. They could’ve had it all, but their futures had been manipulated as though they’d been puppets on strings.
Their every choice had been stolen.
Worse yet, Eve seemed more concerned about her father’s passing than the news that their son may actually be alive.
Chalk him up as a horrible person, but Garrett sure as hell wouldn’t be sorry to see Hal Barnesworth go.
While all around him seeds of a good time were watered by beer and burgers into louder conversation and laughs, Garrett’s mood grew proportionally darker. What if this was just the grand finale to Hal’s puppet show? Garrett wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the twisted amusement of seeing Eve and Garrett dance. But if Hal had spoken the truth? That meant somewhere out there Garrett and Eve had a son. Garrett’s Thanksgiving leave was only a week, which didn’t offer much time to find a child gone eight years. Even if Garrett eventually found him, what happened then? Was the kid happy and healthy? Assuming he was, then what? There wasn’t exactly an Idiot’s Guide written on how to tell an eight-year-old you were his dad.
Covering his face with his hands, Garrett struggled to find answers where there were none. He’d hoped to seek solace in the pitcher on the table, but had yet to take a drink. In order to process Hal’s revelation he needed clarity, not a good buzz.
After thirty more minutes staring at the initials carved into the backrest of the wooden seat across from him, he finally paid his tab and exited the warm bar.
The night had grown even more ugly, wind driving rain so hard against his face that the drops nipped like teeth. In the car, he couldn’t focus. Soaked, cold, his hands shook so bad it was a battle to work his Mustang’s manual gearshift. While his mother lived only a few miles away at the foot of Coral Ridge’s lone hill, the few-minutes’ drive lasted a minilifetime.
Finally, he parked in front of the modest ranch-style home where his mom lived alone since his fireman father had died while on duty a few years back. Having nagged Garrett for grandchildren, what would she think of this possible twist of fate?
The
