12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

T he drive from Paducah to Mayfield was particularly beautiful in early November. The trees were a menagerie of warm colors, vivid oranges, golds, and reds with even a few spots of burgundy and pink. Knowing the wool blazer Forrest wore would keep him adequately warm, Lucy rolled her window down an inch, just enough to allow the hickory-scented fall air to act like the scented candles she burned in their office, hopefully alleviating the tension in the car's atmosphere.

Forrest hadn't spoken a word since they left campus. It had only taken a moment for them to prepare, and he'd almost jogged to her car. The skin above his beard was pale, and his mouth was set in an unmoving line. Periodically, a hand would go up and brush through his hair or smooth down his already smooth beard. Finally, he must have tired of even that movement because he propped an elbow on the base of the window and rested his head on his palm.

Lucy abided the silence simply because she had nothing to say. She wished she could text Miriam and ask what one should say when driving a friend to the possible deathbed of their father. Miriam would know. It was an average Thursday morning for her. Unfortunately, texting and driving was not an option, so the silence remained except for the sound of the air whooshing through the slit of the opened window.

Lucy thought back to her mother's illness. What had she wanted people to say to her? For the life of her, Lucy couldn't remember. She remembered the presence of those who cared about her. She didn't remember their words.

About twenty-five minutes into the drive when they only had five miles to go, Forrest spoke, his voice sounding unused: "What exactly did Gracie say? What do you think we're driving to, Luce?"

Lucy relayed the specifics of her conversation with Gracie and emphasized that his father would likely be unconscious.

"He was so close to that damn doctor's appointment, Lucy." It was supposed to have been that morning. Both hands brushed hard through his hair. Lucy resisted the urge to reach over and smooth down the hair he'd disturbed.

"I know, Forrest. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You were the one who brought it to my attention that he sounded sick. I might not have forced the issue otherwise. Did they say what they think caused him to pass out?"

"Not that Gracie said. Here's our turn."

The hospital loomed in the distance, and Lucy suddenly wished Mayfield were a little further from Paducah. She wasn't ready to walk into a hospital and watch a friend go through the profound grief that still, seven years later, haunted her. For reasons she didn't understand, though, the entire office had deemed her the only choice for accompanying Forrest through whatever lay ahead. Lucy parked the car, silence sitting heavy in the absence of the engine's noise. "Let's go, Forrest."

***

Forrest and Lucy walked into the waiting area for the ICU. Lucy had written down directions from Gracie, and they had no problem navigating the typical-hospital maze. Forrest was, as ever, grateful for Lucy's unending wealth of competence and cool-headedness. It was obvious why the office had chosen her to accompany him.

He texted Gracie as soon as they parked, so within a few minutes of arriving, Gracie walked out from the patients' area. She was tall and lean, like Forrest, but her blond hair was several shades lighter than the light brown of Forrest's hair. Her arms spread wide as she approached him.

"Forrest. I'm so glad you're here."

They embraced for several moments before Forrest stepped back. Gracie was still squeezing his upper arms as she said, "Forrest, dad's actually showing signs of waking up. Which is really good news."

He smiled at her final words. Her desire to point out what was good news was a harkening to their childhood when Gracie had helped Forrest focus on the little bits of good they had.

Suddenly, Gracie noticed Lucy over Forrest's shoulder, and opened up her arms again, "Oh, Lucy. How kind of you to come with Forrest."

Forrest watched Gracie hug Lucy. They were alike in many ways. Both were naturally nurturing to others and exuded a warmth that made the area around them feel a little safer and nicer. Each had, in their own ways, built a home in which Forrest had lived.

As the hug ended, Lucy said, "None of us wanted him to drive alone. But don't mind me. I have a good book, and I'll be fine sitting here in the waiting room while you two go to Mr. Graham."

"Actually," Gracie said, "I need to use the bathroom and call George to check on everyone at home. How about the two of you go back there. The doctors are about to make afternoon rounds, and I want at least one of us there to hear what they have to say. I'll text you when I'm done, and Lucy and I can trade places."

"Whatever you think," Lucy said, but her skin suddenly looked exceptionally colorless next to the dark green shirt. Forrest thought about all of the hours Lucy must have spent in hospitals during her mother's illness, and he wondered if the bleach smell and fluorescent lights and outdated textured wallpaper were reviving old anxieties.

Forrest spoke up. "That's fine, Gracie. Tell George I said hello." He thought about his brother-in-law and niece and nephew. George was a stable (if slightly boring) accountant who loved Gracie to distraction, and Chloe and David were, at twelve and ten, starting to spend more time in their rooms when Forrest came for a visit. He missed the days when they hung to his legs throughout his stay. They were a beautiful family. Gracie deserved no less.

As Gracie walked out of the waiting area, Forrest and Lucy looked to each other. "Shall we go?" Lucy asked.

After pushing a button and being granted access, Forrest and Lucy walked towards the room number Gracie had given them. As they walked in, Forrest was stunned by the number of machines hooked to his father's emaciated body. His father had not been a small man in his prime, but he looked like a shell of himself lying among the tubes and computer screens and equipment of which Forrest feared knowing the various functions. Each would tell the story of something essential failing.

Forrest was paralyzed in place for several seconds, perhaps even minutes, when Lucy's hand reached over and their fingers intertwined. He squeezed her hand, unwilling or unable to release her.

A nurse walked in and said, "Oh, you must be Mr. Graham's son. Your sister said you'd be here soon."

"Yes." Conversation and full sentences alluded him.

"Will the doctor be here soon? Could we get a full report on what is known about Mr. Graham's condition?" Those were the questions Forrest had meant to ask. Lucy's voice was shockingly strong. Forrest looked to her and saw that she was no longer pale.

"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said in a thick Kentucky accent. "Any moment now. I'm just recording some vitals for the doc."

Forrest prepared himself for a long wait, knowing that when a hospital said it would be any moment, it was typically many, many moments. He slowly crept a few steps forward, reached out, and touched his father's arm. The skin felt brittle, like the leaves Forrest had so recently raked from his father's lawn.

Much to Forrest's surprise, the doctor arrived within five minutes. He was tall and imposing and exuded confidence as he walked directly to the end of the bed and grabbed the chart. He talked as he moved around the room. "Hello, there. I'm Dr. Dennis, and I've been working with your father since he arrived..." he looked down at his watch, "two hours ago. You must be his son?"

Forrest, still confined to monosyllables, said, "Yes."

Dr. Dennis said, "And you are Mrs. Graham?"

Forrest knew Lucy was ready to correct the doctor. She released his hand, cold air butting up again the skin she'd abandoned. However, before she could clear the misconception, Dr. Dennis was moving on, clearly trying to get through yet another consultation.

"Your father is experiencing the symptoms of Alcoholic Hepatitis. I suspect he has had it for a while. Unfortunately, that means he is in the late stages of this disease. It is possible that he will make a turn-around over the next several days, although I can't make any promises in regards to future quality of life. We will just have to address problems as they come at that point. However, for the next 24 hours, we are taking a wait-and-see approach. I'm very sorry to lay this all on you at once, but I find honesty is best with a challenging prognosis."

Forrest allowed a moment for the information to sink in, and then he said, "I appreciate your honesty."

"With the fluids we’re giving him in his I.V., we’re hopeful that he might wake up. The nurse said he was showing some signs of movement. Those are encouraging signs."

The doctor read a few monitors, made a few notes, and was on his way, leaving with the same purpose and drive with which he had come.

"Forrest." Lucy took his hand again, and they sat down. Under their gazes, his father's head turned in their direction, as if he sensed their presence. Then, an unmistakable movement in his eyes sparked a flicker hope in Forrest's chest.

He scooted his chair closer to the edge of the bed, weaving through the wires and tubes to take his father's hand. After several blinks, his dad's weak eyes focused on Forrest.

"Dad?"

"Forrest? Son? What's happening?"

The words were so quiet, so weak, Forrest had to strain to hear him. Forrest's other hand reached down to his knee, pressing his fingers deeply into his own flesh, willing himself to sound steady and calm. He explained to his father what had happened, as well as an abridged version of what the doctor had said. He would leave it to the professionals to communicate all the details. But his father was no fool.

"So the drinking finally caught up to me."

"I'm afraid so, Dad."

"I'm so sorry, son."

Forrest's fingers pressed deeper into the flesh of his knee, then he felt Lucy's hand on his shoulder. The slight movement caught his father's eye.

"Lucy? You're a sight for sore eyes." Despite being unshaven and wiry and lying in an ICU bed, his father lit up at the sight of Lucy. The words even came out above a whisper.

"Mr. Graham, it's good to see you, but I sure wish it weren't in these circumstances. You have to get better for all of us, you hear?"

Forrest smiled. She knew exactly what to say.

"Seeing you here with my Forrest..." His words sputtered, lacking the strength to complete the sentence. Slowly, he raised a hand to his chest, patting his heart to convey his meaning.

Just then, Forrest's phone dinged. "It's Gracie."

"Oh, of course," said Lucy. "I'll go out so she can come back. She'll be thrilled to see you awake, Mr. Graham. There is a two-person limit. I might go find the cafeteria and get some coffee, Forrest."

Forrest said, "Thank you, Lucy. Thank you for being here."

Lucy smiled, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. She waved goodbye to Mr. Graham as she walked out, and he returned the wave with another tired smile that just barely managed to touch the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

***

Gracie joined Forrest a minute later, and the family of three enjoyed a short talk about Kentucky college sports and Thanksgiving plans, Forrest’s father only contributing the occasional grunt of agreement or one-word answer. Soon Forrest saw that his father's head nodded periodically. Within a short ten minutes, he'd fallen back into a deep slumber, and Forrest and Gracie were left staring at their father from the rock-hard seats of the hospital's chairs. Forrest relayed what the doctor had said.

Gracie wiped a tear from her cheek. "I suspected as much. His coloring is awful. It was inevitable, I guess. So many years of drinking."

"I guess so."

The whirring of the various machines filled the silence.

Grace spoke first. "I'm glad Lucy is with you. Are you two...?" She didn't finish the questions, the words fading as she spoke.

"Lucy is my friend, one of the dearest friends I have."

"And that’s all?"

"That’s all." Forrest glanced at Gracie, and he saw that she was holding something back. "What?"

"George and I were friends before we started dating. He's still my best friend."

"And I admire your relationship. I love how George treats you and he makes you happy and takes care of you. But I'm not going to be Lucy's George."

"Because you don't want to or because you don't trust yourself?"

That hit entirely too close to the mark. Gracie knew him like a mother, a really attentive mother. Lying to her would be futile. She would see it for what it was and call him on it. So instead, Forrest kept quiet. Why speak when she knew the answer simply by looking at him?

"You know George and I have you listed as the kids' guardian if anything were to happen to us."

"Yes. Which, incidentally, is the one choice you’ve ever made that made me question your judgment." Forrest was surprised that he was able to joke around in the present moment, but Gracie just punched his arm, behaving very much like the sister she was.

"Ha-ha, Forrest. But in all seriousness, I wouldn't have put you in that position if I didn't trust that you could love my kids well. You do know that, right?"

"I know. And I do love them, Gracie." When Gracie had first approached him about the will she and George were making, her trust in him had been enough for him to consent to the remote possibility that he might one day need to parent her children. But romance was something entirely different.

For two more hours, Gracie and Forrest sat vigil by their dad's side. He occasionally woke up long enough to mutter a question or apologize for how tired he was, but mostly, he rested. Throughout the time, Forrest intermittently texted Lucy to see if she wanted to head home and if she was doing okay. Each time, she texted back assurances that she was fine and would wait for him.

After consulting one more time with the doctors, Gracie and Forrest went to the waiting room to confer with Lucy. She was reading a paperback book, and Forrest smiled when he saw that the words Duke and Rake were printed in the cursive, metallic title.

"Hey you." Lucy jumped at the sound of his voice. It must have been an engrossing scene.

"How's your father doing? Any updates?"

Gracie said, "The doctors say he might get out of ICU and into a normal room by tomorrow. But they also said we should stick nearby for tonight. I guess the first night after an episode like he had can be particularly dangerous. But since we got to speak with him, I'm more hopeful."

"That's good to hear."

"I was thinking I would stay here tonight with dad and, Forrest, you take the house. Tomorrow night we can switch if we need to."

Forrest suspected Gracie needed to stay nearby, and he should get sleep so that at least one of them was well-rested for whatever came tomorrow. "That sounds fine to me."

Lucy said, "Alright. I'll give you a ride over to your dad's house. We can pick up some dinner on the way."

"Perfect," Gracie said, and Forrest noticed that for the first time since he'd arrived, his sister had a genuine smile on her face.