The Ford Brothers Series Box Set, page 52
I know she’s not working tonight, and I also know that she’s a sucker for candles. There is a drawer in her kitchen reserved especially for them. Planning for tonight, I brought a bag full of pillar candles, in hopes that I’d get the opportunity to use them. So I’m glad that I can. Hopping out of my car, I fish out my keys and unlock the door. I haven’t heard from Nora since this afternoon, so she might be out at the movies with her sister or with friends. Either way, this is perfect.
Nora’s house is a two-bedroom bungalow. It’s small but perfect for her and Missy. I’ve offered for both girls to live at my place; I have plenty of space, but Nora’s a little old-fashioned, which is one of the things that I absolutely love about her, so she wants to wait before living together. Maybe after this she will change her mind. My house is far too big for one person. When I bought it, the realtor snowed me over, I admit. He knew I had money and I was a sucker. He saw me coming. It was my foolishness really, telling him that I’m a pilot and that there is no budget for my house. Dalton warned me to exercise a little restraint…and in no uncertain terms, to keep my mouth shut.
Though small, her house is immaculate. One would never know that Nora is a single mother, raising a teenager, working shifts as an ICU nurse. As I make my way to her bedroom, with the bag in my hand, I pray that she still has a lighter in her nightstand. Checking, I see that she does, and I begin making quick work of assembling the candles in all the right spots. Usually Nora does this, when she’s feeling romantic, but I’ve been paying attention and I know exactly how to place them and where. I set the candles in varying heights on the nightstand, bed, dresser, and I finish off with a handful of rose petals strewn on the bed. I kept an extra bunch of roses for Nora.
Looking at the clock, I see that it’s going on one o’clock in the morning. Where on earth could Nora be? I try texting her, but she doesn’t answer. Nora knows I’m flying back tonight, and we do have plans to be together tomorrow, on her day off. Just as I begin to worry, I hear the key turn in the front door. Hurriedly I light the candles. She knows I’m here because my car is parked in the driveway. She doesn’t immediately come into the room. I quickly place the ring box on the bed, opened, so she can see what my intentions are. I saved a bouquet of roses to hold up just as she enters the bedroom.
As I see and hear the bedroom door open, my beautiful Nora’s face appears from the other side. Her long dirty blonde hair is swept up and clipped in the back, the way she always wears it. She’s wearing the red blouse I bought her for her birthday, and the black jeans that I love so much on her. Nora is beautiful without a trace of makeup. When her hair is down it reaches her mid back. Her body is perfect. At least in my eyes. I can’t wait to kiss her and ask her to be my wife. I am the luckiest man alive to have found her and have her love me back. When I’m with her, my life is complete.
Normally clear and unscathed, Nora’s face only wavers when she’s lost a patient that has grown dear to her. When my father suffered a massive heart attack, she was one of the nurses who watched over him before he died. In his final days, dad was a different man. Usually cold and unfeeling, dad shared heartwarming stories with me and Nora about my estranged mother. Though my other brothers couldn’t handle it, Nora and I listened intently to the man on his deathbed, speaking of the woman he loved more than life itself, who left him and gave no reason for it.
My brothers, especially Wade, who was a toddler when she left, didn’t care to hear about the mother who didn’t care enough to stay. It is my belief that my dad’s success was the major reason for my mother leaving. Oftentimes, dad didn’t have time for any of us boys, so I can well imagine how much time he was able to spare for my mother. Sometimes I understand the why, but I still have a difficult time understanding the how she left. By no means is Missy my daughter, nor do I treat her as much, but in the short time that I’ve known her, I couldn’t imagine leaving her. She’s a tough teenager, but I remember Wade, and how much crap he put my dad through, and I realize that it’s all just part of the package.
When I look at Nora and think about how much of a devoted mother she is, it makes me love her even more. Despite the drama that Missy has inflicted on her mother, Nora loves her to death. And I love her for it. Not many single mothers can pull it off the way that she does. I admire her. Nora deserves nothing but the best, and the best I’ll give her. It’s tough making time for each other with both of our hectic jobs, but we make it work. The key is compromise and understanding, also, remembering that it’s about quality time and not quantity. When we’re together we make it count. We go to special places, do special things, make love like it’s the last time ever, or the first time, and it’s…wonderful.
As she walks into the bedroom, her sweet face appears sullen. I know she’s lost a patient and my heart bleeds for her. When she has those days, it’s always best not to bring attention to it unless she needs to be held and wants to talk about it. Instead, on bended knee I say, “Hi, sweetie. I love you more than anything else in the world. Will you marry me?” I hold the flowers out to her and reach for the ring box. Her face is like stone. She’s completely shocked. I smile. It’s been a tough day for her. As I rise, I go to embrace her and she takes a step back, as if she doesn’t know who I am. As if I’m some stranger who has broken into her room and vandalized it. “Don’t…touch me.” She seethes.
A ‘v’ forms between my eyes because I’m completely confused. “What’s wrong, Nora?” I whisper, making a second attempt to hold her. She lifts her arms as I reach for them, as if I’m made of poison, and the mere proximity to me is toxic.
“Get out.” Her voice cracks as tears form inside her eyes. “Now.” She says so low it scares me.
“I…I don’t understand.” I say, shaking my head. I feel dizzy with dread. The seafood salad I ate earlier is sitting at the back of my throat, threatening to spew all over the wall. “What…why? What happened?” My hands are trembling as I place the ring in my pocket, out of sight.
She eyes me like I’m an intruder and she’s holding a gun to my head. “Missy told me what you did to her…you son of a bitch.”
My eyes widen. My heart starts to beat out of my chest. “What…oh my God…what’s wrong with Missy? What happened?”
She turns her face from me. “I can’t even look at you…you sick, disgusting pervert.” She turns her head and shoves me with both hands. I fall back a step. My breath is cut off. I feel like I’m drowning. The shock and horror are insurmountable. “Get out before I do something I’ll regret.” She shouts. Nora has never shouted at me before. I feel it in my chest. She might as well have stabbed me. My eyes are so wide I feel like I can’t close them. My breathing is ragged, and I’m fighting the strong urge to hug her and tell her that everything is going to be alright. Judging by the look on her face, I risk a blow if I attempt to do that again.
Resigned, I swallow. “I don’t know what’s going on, Nora. Tell me what’s going on.” I beg, as though I was deaf to the unspeakable accusations the first time they were uttered.
“Missy told me what you did to her.” Angry tears wash over her face. Her jaw is clenched, and her voice is a mere whisper.
A hand goes to my mouth as what I’m being accused of registers. Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I realize what my beloved thinks I did to her daughter, the girl I love just like my own. “God, Nora, I couldn’t imagine doing anything to hurt Missy.” I say, my voice cracking.
She looks at me with sheer hatred in her eyes. I can’t look at her. I can’t place that expression in my memory. I’d rather see a dismembered body than the woman I love glancing at me like that. My eyes go to the carpet. “Get out.” She says one last time. I realize that there is nothing more I can do. Nothing I can say is going to help. The longer I stay, the worse it gets. Keeping my head down I walk out of her bedroom and out the front door.
I sit in the driveway, trying to process what just happened. The love of my life just shattered me into pieces. I’ve been accused of doing unspeakable things to someone I love. And in the process, I’ve just lost the love of my life. She hates me. She never even gave me a chance. My whole life has just been ruined in less than sixty seconds. I want to walk back into the house and say something; sometimes they say you have to fight for what’s worth fighting for, but I know that this case is an exception. This is truly sensitive and must be handled with kid gloves. If I go back in there right now, I’ll just upset Nora more.
Taking deep breaths, I try to calm my nerves before turning the engine over. Wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands I put the car into reverse. The drive home is a blur. By the time I turn the key in the front door, I can’t even remember how I got there. My phone beeps with a text message from Jack, reminding me of something I have to do before my next flight the day after tomorrow. I text him back, saying that I got it, and it’s already been dealt with.
The phone rings. “So, I guess you chickened out after all.” His tone is facetious.
“Now’s not a good time.”
There is a pause. “What’s going on? Who died?”
“I can’t…I can’t…talk about it right now.” I rub a hand over my face.
“Oh shit. That bad, huh.”
“Yeah,”
“Okay, man. You know where to find me.” He hangs up.
Placing my phone on the entrance table, I walk towards the kitchen. Looking up on the top of my refrigerator, I see a lone bottle of whiskey that Dalton left here once when we had a poker game. Never a man to drink, the bottle has remained there ever since. Staring at it, I walk over and stretch up, reaching for it.
I don’t remember the last time a drop of alcohol touched my lips.
…but a man can change.
Chapter 2
Nora
One Year and One Month Ago
The phone rings and my colleague, Stella, picks it up. She nods and says okay, and then hangs up. “We’ve got one coming in now.” Stella addresses me, “Massive heart attack, critical condition. Paramedics have resuscitated twice already. We need to get doctor Bryson here ASAP for assessment.”
“I’ll call Bryson. You get room three ready. Mrs. Mathers has been removed and sent to the morgue already.” I instruct as I dial Dr. Bryson’s extension and explain the situation. Within three minutes I see the gurney come off the elevator. The paramedic isn’t on top of the patient, pumping his chest, so that’s a good sign. It looks like the patient is stabilized to some degree. Rising, I meet the paramedic team and instruct them as to which room to place the patient. I’m given his stats and information as they carefully lift the male patient on to the bed.
I begin making quick work of setting up the equipment. The intravenous tube has already been administered. Dr. Bryson trots into the room, closes the door, and begins his assessment. I hear a knock at the door and see one of the volunteers appear. “The family is here.” She announces. “Should I let them come up?”
I look at Dr. Bryson. He nods, looking at me over his half-glasses, and I know what that means. Patients don’t generally come here for rehabilitation, and if they do, they almost certainly go downstairs for testing or to the operating room first. If no diagnostics are ordered, the doctor has determined that there is nothing further that can be done. I look up at the oxygen saturation meter reading, and I’m surprised that the patient has survived the few short minutes that he’s been here. He clearly isn’t strong enough to undergo any procedure, diagnostic or otherwise. He’s barely breathing on his own. It’s like Bryson is reading my mind. He ups the oxygen to help keep the patient alive for a short time so his family can say their goodbyes. As I exit the room, I see the elevator door open and the most gorgeous man in the entire world appears. In this line of work, the very last thing on my mind is the opposite sex, but this man is that beautiful, that unmistakably, unapologetically handsome, that I can’t help but look at him. He’s in uniform. I’m guessing it’s a pilot’s uniform, because he has one of those flat caps with a visor on. He’s head-to-toe in white; his suit has an airline logo emblazoned on the left breast pocket. His eyes stand out a mile they’re so blue. His hair is cut short on the sides, all the way around, and it’s slightly longer on top. A shock of it sticks out from under the front of the cap. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck upward to achieve eye contact. His arms look imposing under his uniform, as he removes his cap, placing it under his arm as a sign of respect.
His face is like stone. Hardened with concern. It’s clear that it’s his father who’s just been admitted. “I’m here for Wren Ford. I believe he’s just arrived.” He says. His tone is gentle yet direct.
“I take it you’re family?” I ask, as part of hospital protocol.
“Yes, I’m his eldest son, Garrett.” He gives a slight nod.
“The doctor is with him now, sir. Please have a seat.” I gesture to the small bank of chairs along the wall by the nurse’s station. He does as he’s instructed as I return to my post at the nurse’s station.
Miraculously, an hour later, Wren Ford is still alive. As I enter the room to check on him, Garrett is still there. Trying not to interrupt their time together, I benignly check his monitors. “How’s he doing?” Garrett asks. He’s sitting on the guest chair with his knees parted and his elbows resting on his knees. His hat sits on the second chair and he rakes a hand through his hair. The man looks beat; like he’s been flying for two days straight without breaks.
I tell a half-lie. “He’s doing okay. His vitals are stable.”
“How many guests are allowed in here at once?”
Wren isn’t expected to survive the night, so for all I care, they can have a party in here. “As many as the patient can handle. But normally it’s two.”
“So, in other words, if the patient has a prayer, they can have two guests. If they’re the walking dead, it’s unlimited.” His tone is slightly facetious, but I’ve heard it all in this line of work. It’s an emotional time when a loved one is dying. “Sorry.” He lifts his hand and says after a beat.
Wren stirs, opening his eyes. He looks up at me and sees me fiddling with a monitor.
“Dad?” Garrett says softly. “It’s Garrett. I’m here.”
Wren removes the oxygen mask. “Where is Dalton?” he asks. His voice is gravelly and barely audible.
“He’s on his way. He had to go pick up Wade.”
“What about Jack and Colton?”
“Jack we can’t get in touch with, Dalton keeps trying. And dad, Colton’s still in Afghanistan.”
“Why can’t you find Jack?” the man is talking in gasps. I encourage him to put the mask back on, but he bats my hand away like it’s a fly.
“He’s been in off-site meetings. I can’t call him from in here because you’re not allowed cell phones, dad.”
“How much time have I got?” Wren is being belligerent, lifting his hands in the air.
“I don’t know, dad.” Garrett is frustrated. “Just try to relax.”
Leaning over, I gently place the mask back on Wren’s face. “This will help you breathe, sir.”
Wren scowls at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“Dad, watch your language.” Garrett chides.
“My name is Nora. I’m a nurse, sir.” I talk to him as though he’s a child.
Wren’s face softens slightly. “Nora. That’s such a lovely name.”
“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s name.” I chuckle. “And my mother’s middle name. My family doesn’t score many points in the originality department, I suppose.”
“I’m named after my great-grandfather on my father’s side.” Wren boasts. “And if we had a girl, my wife and I were going to name her Nora, as a matter of fact.”
“But you ended up with boys, right?” I say, adjusting another monitor and checking his intravenous fluid bag.
“Five.” He answers. Garrett looks up at me and gives a tight smile. “I raised them myself.” Wren is hoarse.
“That must have been quite a task.” I play along.
He ignores my comment. “My wife was beautiful. The most beautiful woman.” He shakes his head but says no more.
“I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” I say.
Garrett rises. “I’ll be right back, dad.”
He follows me out the door. “Is he in any pain or anything?”
“He shouldn’t be. He’s on a mild sedative to keep him calm and comfortable.” I nod. I can’t stop looking at his eyes. I try not to look at his full lips, but it’s difficult. I’ve never had a man this handsome standing in front of me, talking to me before. It feels like I’m in some romantic dream. If I am, don’t wake me up.
Two hours later, three more of Wren’s sons appear. I’m almost thankful I’m pulling a double shift today, because these boys are unbelievable. It’s like I’m stuck in a room with male models. They’re all gorgeous. Garrett is still in his uniform; he hasn’t left his father’s side. Wren is more talkative as I enter the room to check on him. He’s talking more about his wife, and I notice that the youngest son leaves when the subject is broached.
The other boys only stay a short time and then leave, but Garrett remains. He must be the closest to his father. It’s very late, and the man hasn’t so much as gone for a bathroom break. Just as I’m about to encourage him to take five, an alarm sounds in Wren’s room. A fleeting look crosses Garrett’s face as I run to the room, asking Garrett to stay back. As I enter the room, I see that Wren’s heart has stopped. The heart monitor is flatlining. Two other nurses come running, and I hear one of them paging the doctor.
Wren does not have a DNR waiver, so I begin initiating CPR immediately. As Dr. Bryson arrives, he coaches me as we try to resuscitate Mr. Ford a third time. But every second that the heart monitor flatlines is another second that Wren is facing his demise. After a third attempt at the procedure, Dr. Bryson cuts the air with his hand, indicating for me to stop. The drapes in the window are closed, so Garrett can’t see what’s going on in here. But he can hear most certainly hear what’s going on.
