A Second-Chance Proposal Page 7

  “Is she losing weight?”

  Willa stood and quietly opened the bathroom door. Moving slowly down the hall, she positioned herself with a good view of Elfie lying on her couch. “She’s a little gaunt,” she whispered, backing away.

  “Could be lack of sleep from coughing.”

  “Could be.” Willa bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep a closer eye on her. I promise.”

  “You’ve been doing a great job so far,” he assured her. “Keep me posted if things get worse.”

  The kettle whistle called Willa into the kitchen, and she prepared Elfie’s tea with extra honey to soothe the rawness of her throat. By the time she brought it out, the old woman had fallen asleep, curled with her head on the armrest of the couch, smiling peacefully. Willa didn’t have the heart to wake her, so she turned off the daytime detective show and drank the tea herself, watching Elfie rest and thinking how much she loved her already—and how she wished she could stop loving her grandson.

  Mac – a few days later

  Willa flung open the front door. “Did you go over and see her? Her breathing’s more and more labored every day.”

  Mac gave her an evasive smile and unzipped his jacket. The kiss had been a fluke. Willa was all business now.

  “The doc doesn’t think antibiotics will do squat for her, so I’ve got an appointment set up for with the specialist.”

  Mac’s stomach tightened. “It’s that bad?”

  “She’s coughing up blood several times a day. Not much of it, but any is not a good sign.”

  He sank onto the armrest of her couch. “No. It isn’t.”

  “Is she well-insured? I mean, in case she has to be hospitalized?”

  Mac scratched his head absently and nodded. “Sure. And I can cover anything else, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry, Mac.” She ventured closer. With him propped on the armrest, they were at eye level.

  “It’s not your fault.” His hands found hers in a gentle clasp. “Willa.”

  “Mac?”

  “You knew me before the millions.”

  Willa’s lips twisted. “Yeah.”

  “You’re taking care of my sick grandmother as if she was your own.”

  “It’s my job, but yes. I love her to pieces.”

  His grip tightened. “It sounds like all that ‘for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health’ stuff.”

  Willa looked down at her feet. “Does it?”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Afraid there was yet another painful loss in his future, he trembled. He couldn’t lose Elfie. He couldn’t lose Willa. But if felt like both were slipping away.

  Willa let go of his hand.

  Willa – a few days later

  Willa folded herself in half, reaching with her splayed fingers for a longer stretch, wishing the silence of the room didn’t oppress her so. She’d turned down the sound on the streamed workout video, unable to tolerate the instructor’s perky voice commanding her to “Keep going. It’s going to be worth it.” What did Tiffani Tightbutt know about real life?

  The rattle of the garage door opening down the drive shook her out of her gloom, and she jumped to her feet, rushing to the kitchen door.

  “Mac?” Barefoot, she jogged down the driveway to the open door where Mac stood with a laundry hamper beside the washer. “Mac, what are you doing here? That’s my job.”

  “I’ve got it,” he said, not turning around.

  The cold concrete stung her toes, but she moved closer. “What’s going on?”

  He rested his elbows on the washer. “I quit my job.”

  “What?”

  “I need to be here for Gramma more, and it was getting too crazy going back and forth.”

  Willa forced herself not to admire the way his body tapered into his jeans and filled the back pockets so perfectly. This was big news. “Did you forget that I’m here?”

  He stiffened. “It isn’t just that. Work was getting weird.”

  “That probably comes from playing two co-workers at once.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. How could she be so petty when Elfie was getting sicker by the day?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Surprised by the growl in his voice, she backed up a step. “I overheard your friend saying something about getting both Rosemary and Candy for you in one night.”

  Mac’s eyes widened, he flushed red, and then laughed. “Oh, that.”

  Willa gaped. “Seriously? When did you become that kind of player?”

  “Never. That was Duff’s idea of a joke.” His shoulders relaxed, but Willa couldn’t release the tension in her own. He had neither confirmed nor denied the nature of the tryst.

  “You quit over a joke?”

  “I quit because I don’t need the money right now,” he snapped. “I need to be here for my family. What’s left of it.”

  Willa’s jealousy crumpled at the pain in his eyes. How did she keep forgetting the grief that must trail him? “Well, I do the laundry twice a week for her.”

  “It’s just bedding. I need to do something.” He stooped to open the washer and stuffed the sheets in.

  “I want to be here for you.” It wasn’t just about Elfie, after all. Willa reached for him, but he returned to the dials, staring at them as if reading a foreign language. She pushed the washer door shut with her knee and added the detergent. With her eyes on Mac’s solemn face, she turned the dial to the correct setting and started the machine.

  Halfway back to her kitchen door, she heard him say, “Thank you, Willa.”

  Mac – a few days later

  The antiseptic smell and muffled beeping of monitors acted like a vice tightening Mac’s heart. It was all too familiar. Memories of his grandfather’s many hospitalizations flooded his mind and stole his strength.

  Beside him on the vinyl padded bench in the hallway, Willa wrung her hands. “Lung cancer,” she whispered. “Oh Mac, I don’t even know what to say.”

  “It was the second-hand smoke.” His own voice sounded hazy in his ears. Part of him wanted to be angry with his grandfather for poisoning himself and Gramma with decades of cigarette smoke in the house, but he couldn’t feel anger. He couldn’t feel anything except a profound ache.

  “Stage two, though. It’s a localized lump. We need to find hope, don’t we? Survival rates are around 30% in these cases—”

  “We don’t have to worry about this, Willa. Just me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “She’s not your concern anymore. I’ll take care of her.” He dropped his face into his palms. Were they wet from sweat or tears? How could this be happening again? How could he lose another loved one?

  “You don’t have the authority to fire me, so I’m staying.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  He glanced sideways at her. With a shudder, he acknowledged how close he’d come to making a fool of himself with her. He’d been ready to tell her how he felt, try to kiss her for real, but she never wanted him. She was kind to everyone, especially the elderly, but that didn’t mean she was in love with him.

  It was better that way. Fate would have put her next on the list of people to remove from his life with some senseless tragedy. Love meant loss. Period. He couldn’t go there anymore. It hurt too much to feel.

  Willa – two weeks later

  Willa watched Elfie sleep and tried not to count the number of monitors surrounding them in the hospital room. Despite Mac’s insistence that he could handle everything alone, she’d kept at her job, making sure to stay out of his way but doing all she could to tend to Elfie’s needs. Now, however, her charge was in the hospital awaiting surgery.

  She dozed for the third time that day, and when she awoke, the wall clock read 6:37. Squinting at the crack between the curtains, she tried to ascertain if it was a.m. or p.m., but at this time of year, the murky darkness outside could indicate either. Especially in the rain.

  Pressing her face to the cold glass, she peered out with the curtain
across her back like a cape. In this bleak tent, she listened to the sound of her own breathing as it fogged the window. How unfair it was that she could breathe without difficulty while Elfie struggled to exhale without spasms even in her sleep.

  “Willa, is that you?”

  Surprised, she untangled herself from the curtain and faced the door. “Oh. Hi.”

  Mac looked ten years older. “You’re still here?”

  She shrugged. “Her surgery’s in the morning. I thought I should be with her in case she was worried.”

  He took a step before stopping. “Is she worried?”

  Weary and unable to focus her thoughts, Willa slumped back into the chair in which she sat vigil. “Hard to tell. They’ve got her medicated to sleep and help the breathing. Oxygen levels keep dropping.”

  Mac dragged a palm down his face. “How is she supposed to go on with one lung?”

  “She’s not. They’re only taking part of her lung. A lobectomy, I think they called it.”

  His tone darkened with his expression. “How are you getting all this information? You’re not her family.”

  Wounded, Willa folded her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “She told me.”

  He scoffed and batted the comment away. “What does she know?”

  “I thought she’d been through all this with your grandpa.”

  “Don’t you think I remember?” His voice pitched higher. “Don’t you think I know what’s happening?”

  Willa stiffened. “Calm down. I’m here to help.”

  “I know you think that, but you can’t.”

  Standing, she willed her eyes not to water. “Excuse me? It’s called moral support. It’s what loved ones do when they see each other suffering. They come together.”

  “You’re not her loved one.”

  A lull followed in which each labored breath of Elfie sucked emotional strength from Willa’s resolve. “Can’t I be here to support you?”

  Mac turned away with a heavy sigh. “Willa…” He broke off and knelt beside the bed, taking Elfie’s hand. “I have to do this alone. I have to be alone.” Burying his forehead into the blanket, he groaned. “I can’t carry the weight of love anymore. It’s too heavy. It comes with too much heartache.”

  “Mac, love is a source of strength,” she argued, aware her tone was anything but loving. “Don’t be an idiot. Let me help you. Let me be here for—”

  “Please go.”

  Willa’s breath caught in her throat. She looked from Elfie’s shriveled form to Mac’s stooped shoulders and longed to hold them both.

  “Please.”

  “Go home, or go forever?” She waited a full minute for his answer, but it never came. One of her knees buckled, but she forced herself out of the room. Surely she needed medical attention, too. Her lungs weren’t working right. They heaved ragged gulps of air and coughed out a crushing pain.

  Without any sense of direction, she knew she could only follow Mac’s wishes and go as far away as possible.

  Mac – the next morning

  Mac gnawed his fingernails and took another lap around the waiting area. Gramma Elfie’s surgery had begun shortly after dawn and ran into some complications. Now he marched with pounding heart, feeling powerless and afraid.

  For the nineteenth time, he patted down all the pockets in his jeans and jacket. “Where’s my stupid phone?” he barked at a potted ficus. He’d probably left it at home.

  With every lap, he grew more restless, and finally, he burst through the double doors and out into the rain. He decided to pace the far end of the parking lot and to tire himself. Even sitting with Gramma all night had not made him weary enough to sleep. Especially with the rankling guilt about how he’d spoken to Willa.

  Letting the rain stream down his face undeterred, he tried to comprehend how he could be filled with emptiness. Wouldn’t empty feel like nothing? Why did this void press against his insides, threatening to explode?

  His grandfather was gone. His mother was gone. Now Elfie’s life teetered over a precipice as doctors scrambled to stabilize her condition.

  Mac had never felt so alone in his life, and all he wanted to do was hold someone.

  Willa.

  He shook his head and cursed at the dark clouds, needing a target for his angst. “That’ll never happen. I just drove her away.” With each passing car, his voice grew louder, and his arms flailed outward. “How could I have been so stupid? Why did I think I could do any of this alone? I need Willa. I love Willa.” He sagged against a lamppost. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Hey, sir? Are you okay?”

  Mac looked up to see a young black woman in green scrubs and a waterproof parka gaping at him. He coughed to clear his head and felt the seeping, wet cold for the first time. “Sorry, I’m… I’m worried about my grandmother. She’s in surgery for lung cancer.”

  The woman smiled sympathetically and reached a hand to him. “Why don’t you come on inside? I’m heading in for my shift, but I can show you the private waiting room in the oncology department.”

  Mac stared, not fully processing her words.

  She took a step closer and touched his elbow. “Come on, sir. I’ll show you.”

  Numb and feeling heavy, Mac allowed the woman to lead him back into the building and down a hall. The squeak of his wet shoes brought him back into the present, and he sniffed.

  “Mac Norton, please pick up a white courtesy phone.” He blinked and stopped to look up at the ceiling. “Mac Norton, please pick up a white courtesy phone.”

  “Is that you, sir? Are you Mac Norton?”

  He nodded. “You don’t think it’s about my grandmother, do you?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir. They’d have you report to where I’m taking you.” Pointing, she added, “But come this way instead. I’ll show you to a phone.”

  With trembling hands, he thanked the woman in scrubs and picked up the old-style receiver. “Hello? This is Mac Norton.”

  “Transferring your call now,” said a voice.

  “Mac? Mac, is that you?”

  “Duff?” Mac shivered and swiped his free hand through his wet hair. “What’s going on? Why are—”

  “Are you at the hospital?”

  “You called me here.” He tightened his grip on the phone. “Duff, what’s going on?”

  “Mac, Willa’s been in an accident.”

  Mac’s knees turned to gelatin and he leaned into the wall. “What? How do you know?”

  “Her friend Melina called EcoTech looking for you. I guess she didn’t know you quit.”

  “Melina. Who’s Melina?”

  “I don’t know. She talked so fast. But I guess Willa was in some kind of car accident, and Rosemary transferred the call to me because I have your number, but you didn’t answer, so—”

  “Never mind. Where… what?” Mac’s brain felt full of week-old spaghetti, clumpy and useless.

  “Mountainview Hospital. That’s all I know. Want me to call her back?”

  Mac whimpered, searching for a clock on the wall. Gramma was due out of surgery soon. He couldn’t leave, could he? Not with his grandmother potentially dying. But…

  “When did this happen?”

  “Some time after midnight, I think. But I got the call half an hour ago. Took me this long to drum up the right number for where you were and get you paged. I didn’t know where your grandma was having surgery.”

  “It’s okay. You got me now. Thanks, man. I…” Unable to think straight, Mac hung up. “Mountainview,” he mumbled. It was forty minutes away on the other side of the metro area. He heaved himself upright and scratched his head. “Why is this happening to me? Not Willa, too. I can’t…”

  Mac cast his eyes down the hall to where a placard showed an arrow to Oncology. The surgery wing was the other way. Licking his lips, he sent up a silent prayer for Gramma Elfie and rushed out the door. He had to get to Willa.

  Now.

  Willa – half an hour later

&nb
sp; “You’re going to have to wear miniskirts for a while,” said Melina, tapping on the bright yellow fiberglass cast on Willa’s leg. They sat waiting for the medical assistant to bring her discharge papers.

  Willa wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. “This has been the worst day ever.”

  Melina smiled sadly. “It kind of has, hasn’t it?”

  “Elfie in surgery, Mac kicking me out of his life, and now this.”

  “Which hurts worst?”

  Willa didn’t want to answer. It would sound too dumb to say Mac’s rejection. She focused on stretching her stiff neck. The car had not hit her at high speed, but it had been enough to buckle the door in on her leg and cause her head to rebound against the window.

  A lithe, bearded medical assistant approached. “Are you Willa?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “My name’s Peter.” He handed her the discharge notes and turned to Melina. “Are you her ride home?”

  Melina grunted. “Uh, I guess I have to be.”

  Peter grabbed the handles of Willa’s wheelchair and spun her carefully around. “Want to go bring the car around?”

  “Huh.” Melina frowned. “I hoped he’d come.”

  Willa studied Melina’s disappointed expression. “What are you even talking about?”

  “Never mind. Here.” She fluffed Willa’s hair back from her face and straightened the collar of her blouse. “You look…”

  “No one cares, Mel.”

  “That’s why we make the fiberglass casts in neon colors,” said Peter. “It distracts the spectators from messy hair and smudgy make-up.”

  “Genius.” Willa chuckled but stopped immediately. The pain meds were making her woozy. “Ugh. I don’t know if I can handle being jostled for long in traffic.”

  “I don’t know how far away you live,” said Peter. “But I hope there aren’t stairs.” The sliding glass doors opened, blasting them with the familiar smell of rain. “Where’s your car?” he asked Melina.