Chapter 23
Anna had never gone to the emergency room before. The night of Mom’s death, the social worker kept Anna away from the hospital. She didn’t know what to expect as a doctor in green scrubs and nurses in floral-printed ones swarmed the gurney carrying Henry. The words they spoke came so quickly they sounded like another language.
As Henry disappeared down a white corridor, Anna felt Frank’s hand on her shoulder. He steered her into a waiting room of mismatched plastic chairs. She refused to sit down, choosing instead to pace the beige linoleum floor. “It’s all my fault,” she said.
“You’re damn right it is,” Aunt Esther said.
“Why are you even here? You didn’t know Henry.”
“Someone has to keep you from getting hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical. And Frank is here.”
“I warned you about that old man. You should have listened to me. But you were too anxious to show off for everyone.”
“I wasn’t showing off. Henry wanted to do this. It made him happy to work again. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand that man is in there right now and he could die because of you.”
Anna tried not to cry, but couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She sobbed in the center of the waiting room until Frank put his arms around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder and let out the tears she’d saved up since Henry’s collapse. “Esther, I think that’s enough,” Frank said.
“She’s my niece. Don’t tell me—”
“That’s enough,” Frank said again. “Leave her alone.”
“Fine. You deal with her. I’m through.” Anna heard Aunt Esther stomp away, followed by the emergency room doors sliding open and shut. Frank led Anna to a chair and this time she sat down. She leaned across the armrest to keep her head on his shoulder. His fingers ran through her hair while he mumbled comforting words until she stopped crying.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m sure he’s going to be all right.”
“It is my fault. The doctors said he needed to lower his cholesterol and take it easy. I kept bringing him junk food. And then the play. I should have—”
“It’s not your fault. He’s an adult. He made his own choices. It’s not your fault.” The second time Frank said the words, his voice had such force that it startled her. She wondered if he was just talking to her about Henry. Maybe he wanted to tell himself the same thing about Mom.
“Someone should tell his family. He has a daughter in
“Of course. Do you have the number?”
“No, it’s probably in his apartment somewhere.”
“We can go there and look.”
“I don’t want to leave him. If something happens, I have to be here.”
“It’s not too far away. I can give the nurses my cell phone number.” He tilted her chin up so their eyes met. “If anything happens, they’ll call and we’ll come right back.”
“I guess.” She went out to the car while Frank talked with the nurse on duty. What if Henry died before she got a chance to see him again? Mom had died before she could say goodbye; she didn’t want the same to happen with Henry. Yet, his daughter should know, even if he hadn’t spoken with her for years. A child should always know when a parent is dying.
Frank sat behind the wheel and raced out of the parking lot like Mr. Wheeler in his Mustang. They avoided
Frank pulled into the parking lot of Pleaston Retirement Community and Anna jumped out before the car stopped. She ran up the stairs to his door, but her hands shook too badly to work the key in the lock. The keys slipped from her hands, falling through a crack to land on the sidewalk below.
Anna started down the stairs, but Frank met her halfway with the keys. He opened the door and they began to search the apartment. She ransacked the papers on the dining room table, the newspapers on the coffee table, and the books on the bookshelf for something with his daughter’s address. She went next to the bedroom and rifled through every drawer. When she didn’t find anything there, she burst into the spare bedroom with the old boxes Henry had never unpacked.
She clawed at the tape on the first box until she broke a nail, leaving the box unopened. While she pounded on the box in frustration, Frank appeared with a knife and slit the tape. “I can check with the hospital if you want,” he said.
“Good idea.” He nodded and left the room. She opened the box and found it packed with photo albums. She didn’t take time to study each picture, but saw the first album contained black-and-white photos of Henry and a young woman she assumed was his wife in a dusty town. The next album was in color, with Henry and his wife in
At the bottom of the box she found a black leather address book. She flipped through the pages, but it was empty except for one page near the back. Under a single entry labeled “Stephanie” Anna saw a telephone number. His daughter?
She went into the bedroom to dial the number. The phone rang five times before a woman’s voice answered. “Is this Stephanie?” Anna said.
“You’ve got the wrong number.” The line went dead, but Anna held the receiver in her hand, listening to the dial tone until Frank came into the room and hung up the phone.
“It’s a wrong number,” she said.
“Maybe it’s in one of the other boxes.”
She shook her head. “How could he not know his own daughter’s telephone number? How could he lose track of her?”
Frank sat down on the bed next to her and stared down at the floor. “Sometimes you just grow apart. You call every couple months, then only on holidays, then just on Christmas. Then not at all.” Frank shrugged. “You start thinking it’s easier to not call. It’s easier to leave the past buried.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get back to the hospital.”
“Hold on. I want to grab something.” She went back into the other room and took the album of
By the time they arrived at the hospital, Dr. Anderson was waiting for them. “He’s going to be all right,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Henry had a pretty bad heart attack, but he’s going to pull through. When he’s stronger we’ll need to send him to
“A bypass? That’s open-heart surgery. You’re going to cut him open. And you want me not to worry?”
“Anna, I promise, nothing will happen. The doctors in
“Can I see him now?”
“Better to wait until morning. Give him time to recover.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’m sorry to snap at you.”
“I understand.” As Anna turned to go, Doctor Anderson said, “You were great tonight. In the play. I wish you would have got to finish.”
After the doctor left, Anna collapsed into a chair. Frank took the seat next to her and squeezed her hand. “You heard the doctor, he’s going to be fine. You should get some rest.”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to be here when he wakes up.” She wasn’t going to leave the hospital without seeing Henry. She needed to see him, make sure he was all right, and apologize for pushing him into the idea of the play. Until then, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“All right, we can stay here. I’ll go get some coffee.”
Frank gave her hand another squeeze before leaving. After he’d gone, she opened the photo album and turned to the picture of Henry and his wife under the Broadway marquis. She’d known Henry for eight years, but never had she seen him so happy. There was such a sparkle in his eyes and something in his smile. This wasn’t a forced smile for the camera; it was a big, delirious grin. Nobody could fake that smile. He looked like someone without a single worry, like someone in love.
She supposed that was the difference. Henry was in love. The woman next to him—were they married yet?—shared that look. Her green eyes had the same sparkle and her lips had the same delirious grin.
Henry’s wife was such a beautiful woman in the photograph. She had the fragile beauty of true redheads with skin almost a sickly pale color that still glowed. She wore a sleeveless lime dress that looked cheap, but it didn’t matter. Henry’s wife could have been an actress or a model; Anna wondered what she had done and why Henry wouldn’t talk about her.
Before Frank could come back with the coffee, Anna slipped down the corridor when the nurse had her back turned. She found the intensive care unit. The nurse there watched a portable television, allowing Anna to sneak by.
In the first room she came to, Anna saw Henry lying in a bed. Machines beeped and hummed as they monitored his condition. He had tubes in his nose and his skin looked gray. He looked so frail, so unlike the towering figure in the doorway when they first met, that she felt sick.
She pulled up a chair next to his bed and took his hand. “Henry, it’s me. It’s Anna. They said I should wait until morning to see you, but I couldn’t.” She cleared her throat and continued, “I’m sorry about all of this. I should have taken better care of you. I shouldn’t have pushed you into doing this. If I hadn’t, then you’d be all right—”
His eyes opened then and he gave her hand a faint squeeze. She bolted out of the chair to lean over him. “Anna,” he said.
“I’m here. You’re going to be fine now.” She kissed him on the cheek. His skin was so cold. “Everything’s fine now.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words coming slowly and with great effort. “I ruined it.”
“No, of course not. You did everything you could.”
“Not enough.”
“You were wonderful.” Henry began to cry. She looked at the monitors, but nothing had changed. “Are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?”
He shook his head hard enough that she worried the tubes in his nose would come loose. “You’re leaving.”
“No, I’m going to stay right here with you. I’m not going anywhere until you’re better.”
“Anna, go. To LA.”
“I’m not leaving without you. I need you.”
He shook his head again. “I know someone. He can help.” Henry motioned for Anna to come closer. Then he whispered an address in
“Who lives there?”
“My son-in-law. Tim Collins.”
“The director?” Henry nodded. “He’s your son-in-law?”
“Go there. Tell him what happened.”
“Henry, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Didn’t want to lose you.”
“You couldn’t lose me. You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t have done anything without you.”
Again he shook his head. “I made you believe you could. You did the rest.”
She smiled at him and hoped it looked like his in the picture. “I don’t want to go without you. When you get better, we can go together. I can wait that long.”
“Can’t go back. I can’t.”
“Why, Henry? Why can’t you go back?”
“It’s complicated.”
She wanted to press for details, but she didn’t want to make his condition any worse. She had probably stayed too long already. “I should go. I brought you something from home.”
She opened the photo album and held it up so he could see. Tears came to his eyes and he turned his head away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought it. I just thought it would cheer you up. I’ll take it away.”
“No. Leave it.”
She put it on the nightstand, propping it up so the picture she admired was visible. “I love you,” he said. At first she thought he was talking to the picture of his wife, but then he took her hand and repeated the words.
“I love you too. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“No, I love you.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t want to. It just happened.”
“Since when?”
“Two, maybe three years.” He motioned to the photo album with his head. “You’re so much like her. Never thought I could meet another. But you are. If only—”
“Then everything was all a lie, wasn’t it? There never was any tour. You just wanted to keep me around.”
“No. I tried. I wouldn’t lie to you. I couldn’t.”
She took a step back, pulling her hand away from his. She began to cry. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Won’t have another chance. I’m sorry. Goodbye.” When he closed his eyes, she checked the monitors to make sure he wasn’t going to die. He had only fallen asleep. She hurried towards the door and then broke into a run through the corridor, all the way back to the waiting room. Frank held out a cup of coffee, but she brushed by it to collapse against him.
“Anna, what’s wrong? Is he all right?”
“Please, just get me out of here. Now.” Frank helped her out to the car, buckling her seatbelt for her. She stared at the doors of the emergency room. Her mother had officially died there, and now so had her father.
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