Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I nside his dad's hospital room, Patrick stuffed his earbuds in and hit the first McCormick's General Store TikTok. On screen, Chelsea stood in the kitchen supplies section of the store. They picked up a Scottish spurtle and did a hilarious two-minute commentary on what they thought the thing was and why everyone should have one. Sandy's genius plan, which included three other videos for today, was getting them noticed on the app and fast. They already had over ten thousand likes on that first TikTok. It seemed likely that Chelsea and the store could be a big hit if these numbers kept up.

His mother patted him on the knee and wagged her hand for him to follow her out into the corridor.

Patrick tucked away his earbuds and slipped his phone into his back pocket, but stopped short at the sight of his wayward brother standing next to mom. He stood there staring at his brother's familiar face, but the suit, the tie, and the inappropriate fancy shoes threw him off. Loafers in Illinois winter weather? What the hell is wrong with him? The clean-shaven face and perfectly styled hair didn't deceive Patrick for a minute.

Dolan took a step forward, extending his hand.

Patrick looked down at the cheating, lying man's hand.

"Go on then," Colleen encouraged.

Patrick slapped his palm into Dolan's and squeezed.

"Yeesh, that's still a grip you got there, Bro."

That's right I do, asshole.

Dolan ripped his hand out of Patrick's grasp. Sure, it was petty, but Dolan deserved way more pain and suffering than that. "Mom said you have a job."

Dolan unfolded and refolded his cashmere jacket over his arm. "I'm vice president at Massive Bank & Loan."

That sounds completely made up. "Do you have a card?"

His brother stared and then threw him a slimy smile. "Of course." He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a card from an engraved case. Dolan held it out to Patrick.

He snatched the little cardboard square. Anyone with a printer can do this. "How about your bank identification?"

Mom gasped as if Patrick revealed that Santa wasn't real to all the kids in the Peds Unit.

"It's fine." Dolan rubbed her back. He exchanged the cards for his billfold then flipped it open and took out a MB&L ID card.

With doubtful eyes, Patrick inspected the photo, the name, the employee ID number. He couldn't believe it. What idiot would hire him as a vice president at their bank? Although, Dolan didn't have a criminal record, so naturally they wouldn't know what kind of deceitful and corrupt character they'd hired.

"Tell him the good news," Mom encouraged Dolan.

There's more? Patrick thought he might gag. How much am I supposed to believe here?

Dolan put his things into his suit jacket. "I'm engaged."

Patrick gaped in disbelief. What poor sap of a woman would be desperate and stupid enough to fall for his wonderland of lies?

"Well, congratulate him," Mom instructed Patrick. "Go on."

"Congrats. Who's the lucky gal?"

"Emily. She works out of our London offices. Very posh as they say in the UK."

"That sounds so fancy." Mom beamed.

Get me a bucket.

Without making eye contact, Dolan nodded at the hospital room behind Patrick. "Is Dad awake?"

"Off and on."

His brother took a step forward toward the room, but Patrick placed a hand on his chest, preventing him from moving further. "Listen, we haven't told him you're here, and frankly, I think this is a horrible idea. If you so much as say one thing to upset him or alter his blood pressure, I will toss you out the door so fucking fast your head will spin."

"Patrick, language." Mom glanced around the corridor almost in fear that a passerby would overhear Patrick cursing. As if using bad words in public was the biggest problem they had to deal with.

"I understand where you're coming from. I messed up. In honor of the holiday season, I'm hoping all of us can open our hearts and forgive one another," Dolan said with a smarmy smirk.

That was the biggest load of reindeer crap I've ever heard. He's lucky Mom is here or I'd punch that disgusting look off his face. "Stay put. We'll let him know you're here. If he doesn't want to see you, then that'll be that." Patrick spun around with Colleen following him.

The scent of coffee hung in the air, greeting Patrick and his mom. His dad was on the bed with his eyes closed, but he could tell his dad wasn't asleep as the muscle in his jaw jumped.

Mom rubbed his shoulder until his father opened his eyes. She kissed his cheek.

He squeezed his dad's warm hand. "How are you feeling?"

The old man grunted.

"Are you up for some company?" Mom ran her fingers over his hair.

"Not long," Dad said as he shifted in the bed as if seeking a comfortable position.

"It's Dolan, Dad." Dolan stepped into the room, tossing his expensive jacket on a chair. He moved to the bed.

"You didn't wait for me to come get you." Patrick gritted his teeth. If he cracked a molar, he'd send Dolan the bill.

"Why not rip the Band-Aid off?"

"Boys," Mom pleaded.

"Can't believe you're here." Dad's eyes opened wide as if surprised to see his youngest. "Glad you're here son."

"Me, too, Dad. I love you."

The thought of throwing Dolan out the window crossed Patrick's mind. He couldn't believe what his dad just said. After all the years of listening to him bitch and moan about Dolan screwing over the family and the store, and how much of an impact the money loss had on their stores, it was inconceivable that he would welcome Dolan with open arms. Whatever they're feeding him in the IV must promote memory loss and kindness. He gripped the bed rail until his fists turned white.

"I knew he'd be elated to see you. Now we have the family back for Christmas. Such a blessing." Colleen squeezed Dolan into her side.

"I need to check in on the store." Patrick shrugged into his jacket and moved toward the door.

"You're driving there? Now?" Mom's features twisted with disappointment.

"You've got Dolan. I'll return before visiting hours end to say goodnight to Dad."

Business at the store picked up for a while in the afternoon and then went quiet. Sandy was supposedly helping Chelsea with inventory, but he was actually scrolling on his phone for restaurants around Mayfield.

"There's got to be at least one fancy schmancy restaurant in the vicinity of this town. Any ideas?"

Chelsea shifted boxes of tube socks on a shelf. "Chicago?"

He looked at them, wondering if they were joking. "Maybe I should cook for him instead."

"Can you?" Chelsea wrote on the clipboard.

"Mostly experiments."

They released a heavy sigh as they tapped their pen against the board. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I know of a really good chef in town."

He leapt off his chair. "Gurl, don't be holding out on me now. Spill."

"You met her the other night at Ace's: Sam."

He deflated. Sandy wanted something special and not hamburgers or sandwiches. "Ah, I was kinda going for something more Top Chef and less roadhouse roadkill."

They pursed their lips at his assumption. "She went to culinary school."

"To learn how to make chili?"

"You're being a dick. Sam is probably a better chef than one of those Michelin starred restaurant chefs in the city. She studied in Paris."

Shocked, he stood there with a gaping mouth, frozen like the North Pole.

"And before you say something snarky like, why is she living here, it's because she likes it here."

He folded his arms. Yes, I was totally going to say that. "I would never."

Chelsea shot him what he was coming to know as their deadpan stare.

"Fine, you got me." Throwing his arms in the air, he needed their help with Sam, so he conceded defeat. "Do you think she'd be interested? I'd pay, of course. I need a venue besides his house."

Chelsea bobbed their head. "Have it here."

Sandy glanced around the storage room. This was not a conducive room for a romantic dinner for two.

"Not here , here, but the second level. Put up a table, nice linen, dim the overhead lights, turn on the Christmas tree lights . . . "

It hit Sandy that if he got Chelsea to help Sam then maybe he could nudge those two together. "Would you be free to lend me a hand with set-up and serving? I'd pay you, too."

Chelsea shifted their weight from one leg to the other. "I'd have to have the night nurse stay longer, but I think I could swing it."

"Do you think we could do this tonight? I'd love to surprise him."

"You're fucking serious?" Exhaling a loud breath, Chelsea set their clipboard and pen to the side. They reached in their back pocket and started texting.

I think I have one decent shirt for dinner. This is cray exciting. Whoo-hoo! His cheeks hurt from the giant smile on his face.

Chelsea's phone dinged several times. "Sam is in. Do you want to give her ideas or tell her to be creative?" The phone dinged a few more times. Obviously, Sam had a lot to say. "Allergies? Forget this—take my phone and answer her." Chelsea tossed their cell to Sandy, who completely missed it.

"I don't do sports," he said when Chelsea slapped a palm over their eyes. Sandy scooped the phone off the floor and began chatting with Sam, whose giddiness at the idea of a private dinner equaled his. He chewed on the side of his thumb as his nerves started to get the best of him.

Sandy stepped over to Chelsea and returned their phone. "All set. Now what about the ambiance?"

Chelsea gave him a quick head nod as if pointing to follow them. They led the way to a storage room on the second floor where odds and ends of office supplies and furniture landed. A square table with two chairs on top of it stood in the corner.

"That'll do. And a tablecloth or something to make it look less business professional?"

Chelsea stood there for a moment. They scratched their nose and then snapped their fingers. They were on the move. Sandy jogged to catch up. They entered Patrick's office and headed to the closet. "These might look familiar." They pulled down a set of Christmas paper tablecloths, the same ones they used during the kickoff celebration.

"If the food is as amazing as you think it's going to be, then hopefully that'll distract both of us from noticing the dancing Santas and reindeer below our plates." He couldn't believe he was going to have a first date dinner on holiday table decoration.

"I say lean into it since we have matching paper plates and napkins to go with it." Chelsea held up one of each.

He tapped a finger against his lips. If they dimmed the lights low enough, then maybe Sandy could forget everything else. This was starting to look more like a child's birthday party than a sexy meal. Remember this is Patrick. He doesn't need china patterns or whatevs. Sandy considered Patrick. He likes flannel. He likes plaid. He walks to work. "Maybe it's kind of perfect?"

"Super. Now can I please go back to counting stock?" Chelsea pushed the napkins and plates into Sandy's chest as they walked away.

Sandy couldn't explain it, but when he looked at the dancing Santas all he could see was Patrick in his Santa suit doing a happy dance.

Patrick was in such a funk when he stormed out of the hospital, he didn't drive to the store. In Chelsea's hands the store was fine. Instead, he drove to the nearest drive-thru and ordered two double cheeseburgers and an extra-large box of fries. He brought them back to the hospital parking lot and sat in his vehicle, eating his emotions, as he stared at the hospital entrance. His phone buzzed from his inside pocket. Sandy's face appeared on the FaceTime. Patrick quickly looked at his own face in the review mirror and dusted crumbs and salt off his beard. He glanced down at his shirt and jacket, crossing his fingers that he hadn't dribbled ketchup on his clothing. Once he looked semi-presentable, he hit the accept button.

"Hi there, handsome stranger." Sandy waved at Patrick.

"Hi, yourself." Patrick mirrored Sandy's smile. Please tell me that I do not have sesame seeds stuck in my teeth.

"How's everything going with your dad? Are you in your SUV?"

Patrick glanced over the phone at the hospital. "I needed some fresh air. My brother's getting the best of me."

Sandy frowned. "Wish I could do something for you."

He shook his head, trying not to let his emotions run rampant while they were on the phone. "It is what it is. How's everything going? Those TikToks are awesome."

"Going great." Sandy wiggled at the compliment. "Hey, I kind of was wondering if you had dinner plans?"

Patrick's eyes shifted to the empty fast-food containers. "I don't. I'm gonna try to get Mom to leave a little early and relax at the house. You want to go somewhere?"

"Since everything is nuts for you, I have something planned. You don't have to do anything—just say yes."

Patrick nodded his head. "Yeah, I can do that."

"And it's casual intimate, so wear whatever you're comfortable in."

Patrick eyed the empty bag and glanced back at Sandy. "We're not having burgers, are we?"

"We might be in the sticks, but you should know I'm higher maintenance than ground chuck."

Patrick snorted at that and they hung up.

He sat there for another hour waiting for his brother to leave. As soon as Dolan was in his car, driving out of sight, Patrick got out of his truck. It was petty. He didn't care. The less time he spent with Dolan the better. He needed to preserve and protect his mental health. And his mom would try to force them together, which he could only tolerate for less than a half hour. Patrick didn't know if Dolan planned to return that evening, so he'd say goodnight to his dad and convince his mom to come home early. After this emotional day, they all could use a break. As he entered the hospital, the black cloud that had been smothering him all afternoon started to lift. And it was all Sandy's doing. For the first time that day, he had something to smile about. I have a date!