Coming Undone (2 page)

The final credits rolled up and off the screen as Kathryn Walker swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. The only good thing was that she was alone, no one here to witness this pitiful display of sap and desperation. She could hear Misty or Casey or her mother. Ugh. Her mother. That was enough to dry all the tears with one single sniff.

Her mother would count this as verifiable proof that being unmarried was the single worst disposition a woman could have on this earth. Especially a woman of 32 and three-quarter years. As Kathryn stood, she sniffed again and walked over to the DVD player to replace that disc in its proper case. It was strange how somewhere north of 28, she had started counting the months to and from her birthday like a ten-year-old.

“
I’m still six months from being 30.” “I’m only 30 and two months…” It was pathetic really—as if there would be something magical about the four months before she was 30 and six months, or 31 and six months, or 35, or whatever. At one time she had vehemently sworn to herself that by such-and-such an age, she would’ve found Mr. Right. But when such-and-such became six months ago and then a year ago, and then five years ago, she had given up that game and morphed into the newest incarnation of singlehood—the defiant, “I kind of like it this way. No, really, I do. It’s easier…”

She wasn’t sure if anyone believed her. She didn’t even believe her. Especially on nights like tonight. The movie that was supposed to cheer her up had hardly done that. Instead, it had brought her face-to-face in vibrant color with the fact that everyone else found that perfectly perfect person for them through these neat, cute little coincidences that just, for whatever reason, never seemed to happen for her or to her. She couldn’t quite tell which it was. She wondered for the millionth time if they knew some secret that she didn’t. However, she was pretty sure it was all just one big, stinking luck of the draw thing. And she was about as unlucky in that department as anyone had ever been.

As she flipped off the light and gingerly made her way through her dark apartment toward her bedroom, she went through the inventory of herself once more. Weight—not bad, could be better, but not bad. Looks—above average but definitely not model territory. Financial standing—quite good actually. Good job—check. Moral with values—check. Although honestly, she wasn’t sure if that one counted for her or against her.

Certainly she could have bedded many in the past if she had been into that existence, which she most definitely was not. No. Even snagging a guy wasn’t worth giving up her self-worth. Besides, she knew quite a few who had done just that only to find divorce papers on the other side of the marriage certificate.

With a sigh, she climbed between the pressed cotton sheets and sighed. Nope, the hard truth was all the good guys were long gone. The only ones left had track records that read like rap sheets not to mention baggage from their several failed marriages and a couple of kids thrown in for good measure. Still, as she did every night, she closed her eyes, snuggled into the covers and thought about him. She had no real picture of him although she had seen him in her dreams on a couple of occasions—never his face, just vague pieces.

She snuggled deeper thinking about those pieces. Like his hands. She’d always liked his hands, with nice long fingers and a presence she couldn’t quite put into words. And his dark hair. That one always made her heart snag. She would know that hair when she saw it. Of that, she was sure. She had seen it so many times in her dreams. Slowly sleep began to take over her senses, and as she drifted off, she let out a long sigh. “God, please be with him wherever he is. Keep him safe and guide him. And please let him know that I already love him. Amen.”

The disorienting transition from the darkened parking lot and street lights into the blinding white light of St. Anthony’s emergency room cut right through Ben’s skull with the precision of a sharp scalpel. He blinked it back, hoping he wouldn’t trip over something he couldn’t see because he never even slowed down all the way to the counter. The nurse on the other side looked both bored and half-asleep.

“
Excuse me, I need to know…” he started.

“
Please get in line,” she said with no feeling to her voice at all.

“
What?” He glanced around in confusion. “There is no line.”

“
All patients must get in line behind that sign.” She pointed to the ceiling without so much as looking at it.

Ben looked around and up at the sign.
For privacy, please remain behind this line until you are called forward.
The same was written again in Spanish and then in some language he neither spoke nor could decode.

“
Please step behind the line and wait to be called.”

Man, he wanted to argue. More than he’d ever wanted to do anything in his life, he wanted to argue, but he sensed from Ms. No-Nonsense that doing so would only prolong this nightmare. Tilting his head at that understanding, he nodded. “Okay.” He pushed back from the counter and took the four steps to the front of the non-existent line. After a moment, he put his hands out to his side to indicate that he had fully complied with the request.

The nurse took her own sweet time as she finished up whatever she was doing. Then, looking like she was bored to tears, she looked up. “Next.”

Finally.
Ben rushed forward.

“
Name?” she asked.

“
Um, it’s for my father.”

“
Name?”

Frustration growled through him. “Mine or his?”

She checked him with a condescending scowl. “Are you the patient or is he?”

“
He is. They said they brought him in…” Composure slipped away from him as he looked at his watch. “Like an hour ago or something like that.”

“
Okay. His name?” She put her fingers on the keyboard.

“
Ron… uh, Ronald Warren.”

“
Ronald F. Warren?”

“
Yes.”

She nodded but didn’t continue. As panic set into his heart, he arched forward, straining to see what was on that screen. With a deepening scowl, she looked at him and turned the screen from his line of vision as he backed off.

“
Sorry.”

You should be
went through her eyes. “Mr. Warren has been taken to the 8
^th
Floor, Neurology.”

“
Neurology?” Ben repeated the word, trying to understand the horrors it hid in its depths.

“
Yes.” The nurse glanced behind him. “Next.”

It was a fight to keep his balance on an even keel as he turned from the desk and hurried to the elevators at the far end of the room. This part he knew. This part he had memorized. The riding the elevator part—up to see doctors, down to see administrators—working to incorporate his company’s newest line of life-saving drugs into the hospital’s current regimen of patient care.

At the elevator, he hit the button and stepped back, putting his hand on the beltline of his jeans. He arched first his gaze and then his neck to watch the numbers above the elevator slowly slide downward. Part of him wanted them to speed up. Part of him wanted them to stop altogether. If they just stopped, then he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever came next. He tried to think about what that might be—what neurology meant, what he should do if this was truly serious.

He let out a quick I’m-being-stupid breath and fought to tamp down the clutch of fear around his chest. His father was fine. Of course, he was fine. He was, after all, only 66. That was hardly old. With the back of his hand, Ben scratched the side of his face as indiscriminant nerves attacked him.

The elevator dinged, yanking his attention upward. He stepped back as those on the elevator disembarked, and then raking in a breath, he got on and hit the round number 8 button. So many things. So many memories and thoughts of the past and future criss-crossed in his brain as the little box slid upward. Should he call his mother? She would probably want to know. Especially if it was serious.

What about Jason? Surely his mother knew where his brother was. She should make that call. Ben certainly didn’t want to—even if he knew the number, which he didn’t. Truth be known, he didn’t want to do any of this. If he could somehow just skipped over the next hours or days or whatever this turned out to be, he would with no questions. He didn’t do serious or responsibility very well. How had the universe not gotten that memo? Or maybe it had, and this would in fact turn out to be nothing. False alarm. Nothing to worry about.

The bell dinged, and he forced all the other thoughts and worries down into himself. First, he would find out how bad it was. Then he would figure out how best to proceed.

It wasn’t like there was a barking dog or even traffic noises this high up, so there was really no excuse for not being able to sleep. However, Kathryn had endured more than one night like this, and she knew there was no forcing sleep. In frustration, she flipped the covers off her legs and swung herself to the edge of the bed.

“
Ugh.” Why did life have to be so impossible? She stood carefully and got her balance before turning her steps for the kitchen.

Over the sink, she turned on the little light and squinted into it. Two blinks and her eyes began to accept the invasion of the light. On auto-pilot and with a yawn, she went first to one cabinet, then to the other, gathering what she needed for chamomile tea. It was her first line of defense on nights such as these. If this didn’t work, she’d be back for hot chocolate in an hour. Then melatonin if all else failed.

She filled the little cup with hot water from the tap. It would give the tea that funny after-taste she hated, but it was quicker than going the kettle route, and since she’d read that stupid email about not heating water in the microwave, she’d been too much of a coward to try that again. Instead, she took her mostly lukewarm water to the counter and put in the teabag.

In no time the clear water had turned to a dull brownish-yellow. With one half teaspoon of sugar, she lifted it to her lips. “Ugh.” Terrible as she figured it would be. Not caring, she lifted it again, switch off the light, and headed back for her bedroom.

“Mr. Warren, your father has suffered a massive stroke.” The doctor in the white coat that Ben had never met before gave the news softly but with noted firmness.

The little consultation room seemed to close in on Ben as he shifted in the chair. He swallowed that feeling down. “Okay.”

“
As next of kin, where we go from here is pretty much up to you and the good Lord,” the doctor continued obviously assuming Ben had some connection to the Creator that he really didn’t.

Ben narrowed his focus, trying to find the answers the doctor seemed to think he had. “I… Okay. Um. What are our options?”

“
Well, we’ve stabilized him as much as we can. At this point, we could try surgery although with his heart history and his present condition, I can’t guarantee anything.”

Ben absorbed the news with another swallow, a nod, and a small shift backward. “Heart. Yeah… Okay. So…”

“
We have an MRI scheduled for the morning to determine the exact extent of the damage. Once we get those results, we will probably know more about how to proceed.”

“
Okay. Good.” It was incomprehensible that he should know what to say. “Um, can I see him?”

“
He’s in ICU right now. They’re getting him settled. You can have a seat in the waiting area. ICU visits don’t really start until 8 a.m., but for you, I’ll make an exception. Your father and I played many rounds of golf together. I know he would want you to have this time if…” The words stopped. “Well, he would want you to have this time.”

Although Ben tried to wrap his mind around all of this and think it through, the truth was he was lost, like being in a forest with no trail and only brambles and briars for as far as the eye could see. How or why he had gotten dropped here, he had no idea. Where he was supposed to go from here was even vaguer. “Um, do you… do you think I should call my mother and… well, should I let everyone know?”

The pause was almost imperceptible, and then the doctor nodded. “I think that would be wise.”

The night in the hospital waiting room, propped up next to the wall was the longest of Ben’s life. He didn’t really sleep, only nodded off once or twice. He’d tried to call his mother. She wasn’t home, but the help would leave a message. His mind had gone around and around the question of calling Jason, but he’d finally decided against it mostly because he didn’t know his number or even the exact name of the town he lived.

They’d only let him back to see his father once sometime around three in the morning. The best thing Ben could say about the visit was it was mercifully brief owing to the hospital rules about ICU visits. Those five minutes had been spent with his hands in his pockets, back practically pressed to the wall by the door. He didn’t want to go closer. He didn’t want to see.

Beeps from the monitors were the only indication that the man lying in the bed wasn’t already gone. Gone. It was such a strange word—especially in association with his father. There was a time, before the divorce when his father had been gone a lot. Actually, his father was there, just not in a traditional sense. As head of the regional neurology department for the hospitals in the area, his father was a very busy man. He was charged with saving lives, and the fact that other things paled in comparison was just reality.