Breaking Through, page 6
“So, are you going to see him again?” Carmen asked around a bite of toast.
“Who?” Charlotte grabbed for the straggling tendrils of her friend’s train of thought. “Charles?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, we’ve been out three times now, and it’s not bad, it’s just—” Charlotte shrugged, letting her words float away.
“It’s not what it was with Sam?” Carmen supplied after a moment.
Charlotte sighed. “It’s not what it was with Sam.”
***
Charlotte said goodbye to Carmen and cleaned up the aftermath of the breakfast rush. Her mind kept leaping between thoughts of Sam and Charles.
“Hey, Charlotte, the phone is for you.” Harper waved her over, passing Charlotte the handset and taking the cloth from her hand to tend to the tables Charlotte had abandoned.
“Hello, this is Charlotte.”
“Chuck? Honey, it’s Alice.”
A rock-hard ball of worry formed in Charlotte’s stomach at the tension in Alice’s voice.
“Alice, what’s wrong?”
“It’s your dad. He was here with Dan, and—” A shuddering breath sounded over the line. “He collapsed. We called the ambulance. The paramedics thought it was a stroke, but they couldn’t tell us for sure.”
Bright pinpoints of light darted across Charlotte’s vision. Harper said something to her, alarmed, but the words and her concerned face faded in and out of focus.
“Is he... will he—” Charlotte choked out before her voice broke.
“We don’t know, sweetie. I’m coming to get you now. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, but I thought you would need the time to speak to your boss.”
With a promise to arrive in a few moments, Alice disconnected. Charlotte stared at the handset, the Stevensons’ familiar number still blinking on the screen. Harper reached out and took it from her, settling it in the cradle.
“Go, sit down.” With an arm around her waist, Harper guided Charlotte to a chair. “I’ll talk to Gary and get you covered.”
Tremors had started in her hands, and no amount of clenching would quell them. She stared at her pink-tipped nails, watching how they bit into her palms. She didn’t hear Alice enter the café, but when the older woman’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, she turned her face into the older woman’s shoulder.
Alice held her for a moment, then tugged her to her feet. “Come on, honey.” Alice led her to the car, emitting a running stream of dialogue the entire way. Anchoring herself to Alice’s voice, Charlotte laid her head against the glass of the car window and closed her eyes, willing the drive to pass quickly.
CHAPTER 10
“Well, hello there. If it isn’t my second-favourite nurse.”
“Hello, Mr. Edwards. How are you today?” Sam grinned at the older man as he pushed the med cart into the room.
“Sorry to deprive you of Deena’s company, but you’re stuck with me today. How are you feeling?”
“Ahh, well. You know. All right for a dying man.” Mr. Edwards shifted on the bed. Every one of his movements had slowed in the last few weeks. The flesh was melting from his massive frame right before Sam’s eyes. Deep purple bags pillowed his sparkling blue eyes, but Sam knew as long as mischief still existed in that gaze, it wasn’t yet time to worry.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asked.
“As long as you keep bringing those drugs, lad, I’ll be all right.”
Sam forced another smile. When he passed over the cup of water, he used the motion as an excuse to draw the blankets up around Mr. Edwards’s chest. “You can count on me for that. It’s actually in my job description.”
“Have I shown you the new batch of pictures yet, Sam?”
“No, I don’t believe you have.”
“Do you have a moment? I know you’re a busy man.”
“For new pictures? I’ve got all the time in the world,” Sam said, and he meant every word. It was people like Mr. Edwards that made Sam feel it was all worth it. The long hours, and the lack of sleep or social life. Giving these people even a sliver of what they needed to be happy in their final days was worth every sacrifice Sam made.
Sam waited while the older man finished his cup of pills and then took his phone from under his pillow.
“Got them all here on the cell phone. Didn’t want the thing when the kids gave it to me, had no clue at all what to do with the damn thing, but now I’m not sure what I’d do without it.”
Sam chuckled. “I can relate.”
“They all send me photos on it, every day. I’ve got three daughters and eight grandkids. They all live hours away, but they keep close tabs on me. When it gets to the end... they’ll be here.”
Sam leaned over, watching as one gnarled, snub-nailed finger swiped through the photos. Kids of varying ages scrolled past, their faces smiling. Then the big heart-melting eyes of a droopy-faced black dog. Mr. Edwards froze, his finger poised over the screen. Sam glanced at his face. The sadness in the man’s eyes sent a spike right into Sam’s heart.
“If there is one thing I regret,” Mr. Edwards said, then cleared his throat, “one thing I regret is I won’t get to say goodbye to this guy.”
Sam swallowed, but any words he may have spoken remained stuck in his throat. He gave a jerky nod.
“Had him nine years this fall.” Mr. Edwards gave a bitter bark of laughter. “Won’t have too many left in him either, poor old boy.”
“I’m sure he’s had a wonderful life.” Sam’s voice was husky. He reached out to straighten the different objects on the nightstand.
“Oh, yeah, he’s living the high life at my buddy’s place, playing with all his grandchildren.” Mr. Edwards grinned down at the photo. The tip of his finger rested on the dog’s glossy head for a moment, and then he clicked off the screen.
“Thanks for taking the time to listen to an old man, Nurse Sam.”
“Anytime.” Sam held his hand out. Mr. Edwards’s large grip engulfed it. Still strong, he squeezed Sam’s between both of his. “You have a good day, Mr. Edwards,” Sam said.
Sam gathered his things and started the cart toward the door. When he glanced back, Mr. Edwards’s balding head was tucked against the pillow, his breathing gentle. Sam stepped back across the room, eased the phone between the slack fingers, and set it on the bedside table. When he was through the door, he stopped and rested his back against the doorjamb, letting his head drop. It took a few deep breaths before the band around his chest eased away.
“You all right, Stevenson?” One of the doctors stood down the hall, files in hand. He cocked his head, throwing Sam a suspicious look.
“Dr. Farley, good morning. Yes, I’m fine.”
Dr. Farley’s brown eyes went to the number on the door. Understanding dawned on his face. “Mr. Edwards.” He gave Sam a half-smile. “He’s a great guy. Did he show you photos of the dog?”
Sam shoved a hand through his hair. “Yes, just now.”
Farley bobbed his head. “That explains the look.” He clasped Sam on the shoulder as he passed. “You’re doing a good job, Stevenson.”
“Thank You, Doctor.”
***
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam turned, holding his soap-coated hands out in front of him. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got a young lady asking if you’re on shift. Came in with her father. Stroke victim.”
Sam frowned, anxiety fizzing in his chest and exhaustion weighing across his shoulders. His twelve-hour shift had ended an hour ago. “Did she give you a name?”
“Yeah.” The nurse’s lined brow wrinkled further, perplexed. “She said Chuck?”
Sam froze. His heart picked up speed with enough force that his head spun.
“Stevenson, you’re dripping on the floor.”
“Shit!” Sam plunged his hands back into the stream of water, hissing at the heat. “Is Ms. Baker all right?” he asked over his shoulder, but the nurse had already disappeared through the swinging doors of the scrub room.
Using his elbow to bang out a bundle of paper towels, Sam dried his hands. He wished there was a mirror, but he knew what he would see. Blue eyes accented by dark circles. Blond hair in disarray and long overdue for a trim. He rubbed his hand across his jaw. A trim and a shave. He’d never liked to wear a beard. It always came in two shades darker than his hair. As if the stubborn genes of his parents had done battle and then had come to a compromise.
Shaking his head, Sam turned and pushed through the door and into the bright hallway. What was he doing? Charlotte needed him, and he was standing here worried about how he looked.
“Mr. Baker is in room twenty-nine”—the receptionist’s fingers flew over the keyboard in a symphony of taps and clicks— “admitted two hours ago.”
Sam sucked a breath through his teeth. “Thanks, Mary.” His heart was pounding. He broke into a jog, his runners squeaking as he rounded a corner. Room Twenty-Nine was on his left. In the hall between him and the room, Charlotte paced until she reached door thirty-four, turned, and started back. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her body folded in on itself as if in physical pain, the glossy curtain of her curly dark hair hiding her face.
Sam pulled in a deep breath. It had been nearly three months since he had laid eyes on her. Not even a glimpse since he had made an idiot of himself at the wedding.
She looked up then, sensing him, her face tear-streaked and blotchy. The sight of her broke Sam’s heart. A hiccupping sob broke free when she met Sam’s eyes. Without a word, she rushed straight to him. He caught her, crushing her against his chest.
“Oh, Sam.” When he finally set her down, she stepped back and wiped her nose on the cuff of her hoodie. Hours of tears had left wandering paths over her cheeks.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone is asking questions, and I... I’m scared, Sam.”
She seemed even smaller than usual, somehow, as if her fear had caved her in. Fear filled her eyes, and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her back against his chest, encircling her with his arms, wishing he could protect her.
“It’ll be all right,” Sam said against her hair. “Chuck, your dad is tough as nails, and they got him here quickly. Time means everything with a stroke.”
Her arms rose and wrapped around his waist. She nodded against his chest. “You’re right. You must be right, right?”
“Right.” He gave her one more squeeze than set her back a step, keeping one hand on her arm, tipping his head so she was forced to meet his eyes. “What can I help with? Are you hungry?”
“I guess. I haven’t eaten since this morning at work— Oh!” She clapped a hand against her brow. “Work. I have to call them. What time is it?”
“I think around midnight.”
“Midnight?” Charlotte squeaked.
He glanced around. Most of the rooms had clocks, but in an age where everyone carried cell phones, fewer of them seemed to hold consistent time. “I’m pretty good at guessing after all these years.”
Charlotte moaned and buried her face in both hands. “I can’t believe it has only been a few hours. This is a nightmare.”
“Hey, look at me.” Sam seized her shoulders, holding her still. “Why don’t I sit with him? You go leave a message for work. Wash your face and grab a hot tea and a snack. Do what you need to do to get yourself feeling a little more settled. All right?”
He could not keep himself from touching her. One hand rubbed her arm until she nodded. Worry over her well-being chased away any thought of his own exhaustion. “You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself first. It’s going to be a long night, but I’m going to be here with you the whole time.”
Charlotte sighed. “Yes, you’re right, I guess. You’ll call me, though, if anything changes?”
“The exact second it does. I won’t take my eyes off him.”
Tears filled her eyes once more when she met his gaze, but she blinked them away with a fierce scowl. “Thank you, Sam.” Before she turned away, she clasped his hand in hers, squeezing it until his knuckles protested. Then, her spine straightening, she started down the brightly lit hallway.
CHAPTER 11
Charlotte stood from the hard plastic chair and stretched. She needed to move. She needed to breathe before she went crazy in the stale, antiseptic air full of so many beeps and hums. Three days in the room, waiting in an endless limbo, were more than she could handle. A glance at the bed suffused her with guilt. Though he was still pale, her father looked peaceful. His chest rose and fell in a steady, comforting rhythm.
Charlotte bent and pressed a kiss to his wrinkled brow. “I’ll be right back, Papa. Behave yourself, no flirting with the nurses.”
She hurried out of the room before she could change her mind. As she walked down the white halls, she stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders in circles. Vertebrae cracked, and muscles sang out with the stiffness of misuse. The ropes of strain pulled all the way to the base of her skull. Sighing, she resigned herself to do more. Maybe she would see if Carmen was up for a yoga class tonight. She rejected the thought almost instantly.
She was about to step into the cafeteria when the rumble of a familiar laugh stopped her. Charlotte peeked around the corner. Sam stood across the room, one shoulder propped against the wall, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. At the table in front of him were two nurses in scrubs and an older woman dressed in smart office attire.
“Eventful morning, Sammy?” One nurse, a brunette in her mid-fifties, grinned up at Sam as she sipped her coffee.
“I’ve got to admit,” Sam said, wrinkling his nose. “I thought it was only when you ladies were on shift that Mr. Crawley forgot his gown, but he proved me wrong. It may be eight in the morning, but it was a full moon in that room.”
“That’s really the first time you’ve started your day with an eyeful of pancake butt?”
Sam took a long pull of water, then capped it, smirking. “Before today, only the one in the mirror.”
The women all sniggered. “Darling, scrubs don’t lie. That ain’t no pancake butt.”
Sam’s cheeks went pink, but he laughed.
Charlotte’s mouth went dry. It was like witnessing a Sam she had never met. A Sam in his element, his comfort zone. She realized she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought. He always kept a level of his defensive wall up, even with her. The thought made her stomach ache.
“Maybe you should dress as Mr. Crawley for Halloween, Sam.” The brunette gave him an exaggerated wink.
Sam threw back his head and laughed. “Do I need to go fill out a report with HR?” He had one dimple on his cheek that only showed when he smiled a certain way. It was a trait Sam shared with his brother. Charlotte had seen it on Sawyer many times, fewer on Sam. Once, she’d even witnessed the dimple on Dan, the ill-fated time he shaved his goatee. The mark of the Stevenson men.
Someone came around the corner, forcing Charlotte to step into view. One woman sitting by Sam caught her eye.
“Sammy, isn’t that your friend?” The woman stood and beckoned for her to join them. Charlotte drew a deep breath, forcing a smile before walking toward the table.
At her sudden appearance, Sam straightened. He shoved his free hand through his hair and flashed her a sweet smile. “Hey, Chuck. How are you?”
The head of every woman at the table swiveled in his direction. “Chuck?” They parroted.
Sam flapped a hand in at them. “It’s a long story.” Turning his back on them, he stepped closer to Charlotte, tipping his head to study her face. “Is your dad all right?” One hand rose and hovered at her elbow, almost touching her before it dropped back to his side. “Are you all right?”
“Dad is fine, given the circumstances. They say things are looking better, but they still can’t really say for sure.” She paused as the sudden urge to cry caught her by the throat and squeezed.
“And you?” Sam prodded.
“I...” Charlotte swallowed. “I’m just—” Her voice broke, and the breath she drew shook.
Sam’s eyes creased in the corners. The hand rose again, and this time, it cupped her elbow. Heat seeped from his palm and through the material of her sweatshirt, soaking her skin. Sam squeezed gently, as if he could share his strength with her by pressing it through the layers.
“You’re exhausted.”
It seemed like a betrayal to her father to complain about over-tiredness. She settled for a nod.
“Are you driving back today?” Sam asked.
“Yes. I was going to leave in an hour or so. Go home for a bit and try to sleep.”
Using the hand on her arm, Sam drew her away from curious ears. “I want you to go stay at my place.”
“Oh, no, I can’t ask—”
“You’re not, I’m telling you.” His gaze moved over her, assessing her. “I’m not comfortable with you driving alone, upset, and sleep deprived.”
Charlotte blinked at him. She should say no, but he was right. Exhaustion weighed at her limbs, and the prospect of the drive home and the emptiness of her apartment upon arrival yawned before her like a crevasse Charlotte was not ready to face. She took a second to study Sam. His jaw had a stubborn set to it she had seen before, and worry darkened his eyes. There was no use arguing. “All right. Just for a day or so,” she conceded. She didn’t want to be an hour away, not while things were still uncertain about her dad, but she needed to shower and put on clean clothes before they kicked her out for stinking up the place.
Sam slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. I’ve got a few minutes left on my break. Let’s get my keys.”
“All right,” she repeated, following him out of the cafeteria and down a short hallway to a room lined with lockers. “So, is this your phone booth?” she asked, watching Sam’s long fingers spin a combination on the lock in front of him.
“Hmmm?” He turned to her; one tawny brow raised in question.
“Your phone booth? Where you switch your identities?” When he stared at her blankly, Charlotte smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Oh, Sam.” For the first time in days, laughter bubbled up inside her. “Clark Kent, Superman? Changes in a phone booth...”
