ELEVEN
Willow
I stayed at the hospital through the evening, never leaving my father’s room in the ICU ward. He was attached to all kinds of IVs and beeping monitors, and he had a breathing tube up his nose. While he was weak, his great sense of humor was already shining through and he was already complaining.
Around eight o’clock, jovial Nurse Hollis, who reminded me a little of my mother with her curly reddish hair, told me visiting hours were over.
“C’mon,” begged my father, his voice hoarse. “Can’t she stay a little longer?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Rosenthal,” she replied with a smile and a twinkle in her caramel eyes. “She can come back tomorrow morning.”
My feisty father grunted, then he winked. “How ’bout you stay, beautiful, if I behave?” I swear if I didn’t know better, he was flirting with the attractive fifty-something nurse.
“Sorry, I have rounds, Mr. Rosenthal.”
“It’s Mel…call me, Mel, sweetheart.”
Nurse Hollis batted her eyelashes. Holy moly! She was affected by my father. Maybe my father’s heart attack had given way to a little love attack. I silently chuckled. There was nothing I wanted more than to see my father get well again. Then after that, see him fall in love again. There had never been another woman in his life after my mother. He was a wonderful man, a mensch, who would make someone a wonderful husband.
Catching her breath, Nurse Hollis told my father she would come by one more time this evening to check on his vitals.
My father, his strength ebbing, smiled. “Yeah, all my vitals. I’d like that, Hollis.”
With that, I rose from my chair and planted a goodnight kiss on his forehead. “Night, Pop. You behave,” I chided. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
On my next breath, I followed Nurse Hollis out the door.
“Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” I asked as we walked down the corridor, side by side.
“Don’t worry, honey, he’s going to be fine.” Her voice was warm and comforting. “And I’ll make sure he behaves.”
I liked her. In fact, I liked her a lot.
To my great surprise, Ryan was still seated in the waiting room. Putting aside a magazine, he jumped up as I approached.
“Ryan, what are you still doing here?”
“I didn’t want to leave you alone. How’s your father doing?”
“He’s doing well. And he’s in good hands.”
He quirked a smile. “That’s good to hear. What about you? You look tired.”
I let out a breath that released a lot of my stress. “A little bit. More hungry I’d say.”
“C’mon. Let me take you out for dinner.”
“No, Ryan, it’s fine. I’ll just head home.”
“No, I insist. And I’m starving too. Anything you’re in the mood for?”
Your lips on mine. My heartbeat sped up, my body heated.
“Anything but deli. And a glass of wine would be great.”
He wrapped an arm around me, naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
“C’mon. I know a great little neighborhood restaurant.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting face-to-face in a small, dimly lit Indian restaurant, dipping Naan, a pita-like bread, into a yummy chutney sauce and sharing an order of tandoori chicken. The food was delicious and I ate ravenously, hungrier than I thought. I washed down the spicy food with sips of chilled rosé as did Ryan. My eyes stayed on him as he ate and drank, in awe of how elegantly he did thanks to his upper class upbringing.
“You eat the European way,” he commented as I slipped a forkful of the tender chicken into my mouth.
Chewing, then swallowing the tasty white meat, I nodded. “I lived in Europe for a few years. Holding my fork like this comes naturally to me.”
He took another sip of his wine. “Where did you live?”
“Latvia.”
“Latvia?”
“Yes, it’s a small country in northern Europe. Not that many people know about it. Riga, the capital, is often called the Paris of the Baltic.”
At the mention of Paris, my companion’s jaw ticked. I suddenly realized my faux pas. Paris was where Allee had died.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered.
“Don’t be,” he replied, his tone genuine enough to assuage my guilt. Reaching across the table, he swept his forefinger along my bottom lip. “You’ve got a little chutney on your mouth.”
I let out an embarrassed giggle, his touch making my skin prickle.
His beautiful blue eyes stayed fixed on me. “What were you doing in Latvia?”
My giddiness gave way to an inward shudder. Even with the wine, I wasn’t feeling loose enough to talk much about my past.
“I was a dancer. A ballerina. I danced with a ballet troupe.”
“Wow! Why didn’t you tell me this the other night?”
I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it that much.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
I took another sip of my wine and then set the glass down on the table. “I needed to take a break. It was intense.”
“How so?”
Gustave. My body tensed at the thought of him. Not wanting to take things any further, I quickly changed the subject and thanked him again for taking me to the hospital and staying with me. “My dad is my everything,” I added, my eyes growing watery. “Except for my grandma, he’s all the family I have. I love him to pieces. Maybe more than he loves me, if that’s possible.”
A wistful smile crossed Ryan’s lips. “You’re so lucky you have such a great relationship with him. Why does he call you Pumpkin?”
I laughed. “I was born on Halloween with a big head of bright orange hair. My dad thought I looked like a pumpkin and the name stuck.”
Ryan laughed back. “That’s funny. And by the way, you don’t look anything like a pumpkin.”
“Thanks.”
“So, you have a birthday coming up soon.”
“Yeah.” My trick or treat birthday was four weeks away.
“How old are you going to be?”
“A ripe old twenty-five.”
He reflected on my words. “That’s so young.”
A tense silence followed. Intuitively, I knew what was going through his mind. Allee was just a few weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday when she died. I recalled that grief-ridden passage in Ryan’s memoir. No, it wasn’t fair that she died so young. I felt his sorrow as we both drank more of our wine. My mother wasn’t that much older when God claimed her. We lowered our glasses back onto the table at the same time.
“How are things with your father?” I ventured, trying to keep our conversation going though knowing from his book that things had always been strained.
“A little better, but not great.”
My eyes stayed on his. “Are you learning to forgive him?” In her farewell letter, Allee had urged Ryan to make up with his estranged father.
He took a long sip of his wine. “I’m learning to forgive, but it’s hard to forget. I can never erase the memories of how he ignored me as a child, cheated on my mother, disowned my gay sister, and most of all, used and abused Allee.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again as he inhaled a fortifying breath.
“But, I’m trying. I owe it to Allee. My father suffered a major stroke last year and he’s softened a bit. In his own way, he’s trying to be a better husband to my mother and a better father to me. I think the stroke put a lot of things in perspective for him. That he isn’t immortal. That he doesn’t have a long time to live his life right.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I caught myself. “I mean, about the two of you reconciling.”
Ryan picked at the chicken. “It’s not been easy. I still harbor a lot of anger toward him. But Dr. Goodman has helped a lot. I’m trying to let go of the past. Make up with him.”
Memories of my mother flooded me. “You’re lucky, Ryan. I wish I had the chance to make up with my mother. To tell her I loved her before she left us.” The tears that had been building up behind my eyes broke loose. I could feel a couple trickle down my cheeks.
Ryan tenderly brushed them away and then clasped my hands. “Yeah, Willow Rosenthal, I’m lucky. Lucky that I met you.”
I quirked a little smile. “I feel the same way, Ryan.”
He smiled back at me. “C’mon, let’s get the check. And I’ll take you home.”