Cedar Creek Seasons (35 page)

“You bought
my
someday house?”

“Renting. I’m renting … temporarily. Hence the landlady with the ‘no pets allowed’ rule.” Derrick pulled to the stop sign on Washington. “Now what?”

Beth’s insides twisted. “Well, I have to tolerate you at least until you drop me off at St. Mary’s Ozaukee.”

“I mean, left or right? Which way do I turn?”

“Right.”

“How far?”

“It’ll seem like forever. But it’s just a minute to Lakefield Road.” Beth pulled her cell phone from the outside pocket of her knitting tote. Who was she going to call? Everybody she cared about was either in a hospital bed or in the car beside her and where did she get that crazy idea? She could dial St. Mary’s, but she and Derrick would be there before the operator could forward her to the person with information she needed. She repocketed the cell phone and turned to her driver.

“Sorry I was short with you back there. I’ve always dreamed about that cottage and wondered what it would be like to—” She swallowed the sentence’s conclusion.

“You’re always short with me. In fact, since I’m a hairbreadth under seven feet tall, pretty much the whole world is short with me.”

“You know what I mean, but thanks for not taking it personally. I love my Oompa more than I can express. I shouldn’t have—”

Derrick shot her a look. “Resist that thought.” Greek salad bubbled somewhere in her esophagus. “No should have, shouldn’t haves, Elizabeth.”

“My name’s not Elizabeth. And I should not have left Oompa alone for so long.”

“There’s a traffic light and an
H
in a square blue sign.”

“Oh! Turn here! Left here!”

“Now how far?”

“A ways. It’ll look as if we’re driving through farmland, but these suburbs of Milwaukee are linked like a pop bead necklace with barns for spacers.”

She watched Derrick press his torso deeper into the leather seat.

“You didn’t leave him alone, Beth. He was with his friends, very capable friends, it turns out. They recognized something was wrong and got him help. Exactly as you would have.”

“If I hadn’t been out pretending I had no responsibilities. Kicking at fall leaves and skipping around town as if—”

“As if it were a sterling day and it felt good not to worry about anything for a couple of hours. As if you deserved to be admired by someone other than—” He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that I enjoyed being with you, and it wouldn’t have mattered if we were touring this amazing little town or rewiring your shop or dipping brownies in hot fudge fondue.”

“You do that?”

“The point is that your grandfather wouldn’t want you to stop living your life while you’re trying to help prolong his.”

“Right.”

“You agree with me? Will wonders never cease?”

“No, turn right! Port Washington Road. St. Mary’s is that building down the way with the green glass windows and my dying grandfather inside.”

“More tea?”

“No. Thanks, Derrick.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“You can go home. It sounds as if it will be a while before we know anything.”

“All the more reason for me to stay.”

Beth attempted a smile. “It must be close to midnight.”

Derrick checked his watch. “Nine thirty. We ate a long time ago, Bethany.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “It’s not Bethany, either. Quit digging. And please, go get yourself something to eat.”

“I’m on a hunger strike.”

“What?”

“It’s a matter of principle. I’ll only eat if you do.”

She sighed. “Clever. Well, I’d hate to see you have to skip a snack, so if you don’t mind bringing me an apple or something?”

“Meat. I bring meat. Real men bring meat. Or pizza.”

“Nice caveman impersonation.” Beth sighed again and leaned her head against the back of the chair in the cardiology waiting room.

Derrick laid his hand on hers. The knitting needles, long silent, clicked together under his grip. “I hereby apologize for any time I choose humor when that’s the opposite of what you need. Past, present, and future. One giganto apology.”

“Derrick.”

“And please know that even when I’m not praying aloud for your Oompa, I’m always praying.”

“Derrick.”

“If that makes you uncomfortable, you can say so. But you have to know that I’m a hundred percent certain of only a few things in life. How to temper chocolate, why it’s not always wise to listen to a car salesman hawking a lime-green Escalade—glows in the dark? And how often will I need that feature?—and the most important one, that God cares about what you’re going through.”

“I agree, except for tempering chocolate. You’re the resident expert there. But Derrick?”

“Yes?”

She laid her hand over his and leaned toward him. “You made me drop a stitch!”

Beth caught the dropped stitch and tore off again at her normal illusionist’s speed. What did people do with their worry if they didn’t knit? Bite their nails. Shred facial tissues. Sculpt ulcers. Drink copious amounts of—

“Family of Oliver Schurmer?”

Beth tripped over her tote bag in her haste to jump to her feet. “That’s me! That is I. I am her. I’m she. I’m Beth Schurmer. His granddaughter. How is he?”

“Recovering well, all things considered. His doctor will have more details for you soon.”

“Good. Can I see my grandfather now?”

The nurse raised her overtweezed eyebrows and stole a quick look at the electronic chart in her hand. “Mr. Schurmer specifically asked to see Derrick … Derrick Hoffman?”

“Hofferman.”

When had Derrick glued himself to her side? And what was Oompa thinking? Derrick Hofferman hadn’t knitted himself three infinities from the worry side of love.

“I think he probably would prefer to see his granddaughter first. I’m just … a friend.”

I can defend myself, Derrick. Don’t go all noble on me. Oh, how incredibly selfish! Oompa has earned the right to request whoever he wants to see first
.

“Beth?”

“What?”

“You go ahead. You need to see him. He might be a little, you know,
off
because of the anesthesia or something.”

The nurse—maybe a nursing student a few credits short of her degree because of spending too much classroom time plucking eyebrow hairs—slid her weight onto her left hip and said, “Just a few minutes initially, Mr. Hofferman.” She looked at Beth and, except for those disturbing brows, seemed genuinely sympathetic. “Then you’ll have your turn, Ms. Schurmer.”

Yes, let’s all share, children. Lord, You don’t even have to tell me I’m going to need to apologize to You for that
.

Half a moebius later, Derrick emerged through the double doors separating Beth from the world that
wasn’t
in solitary confinement like she was. He was engaged in conversation with a thirty-something Michael W. Smith look-alike in scrubs.

Had Derrick been crying? His face was pinched into folds that resembled a pumpkin a week beyond its prime.

MWS-in-scrubs continued a midstream conversation. “So the guy hands me the keys to his Buick and says, ‘Do you take Medi-car?”

Real funny, guys
.

Derrick caught Beth’s gaze and stifled his laughter. “Beth, your grandfather’s doing real well. Not a false alarm, exactly, But …”

Hope rose, but it might even blossom if she heard something positive from a real doctor’s lips.

“He’s right. Mr. Schurmer came through the procedure with few complications, considering his weakened condition because of the recent heart episode.”

Beth flinched at the memory and the sense of pending doom linked to those words.

“But,” the doctor added, “as we’ve known for a few days now, his heart function is compromised. We were able to open one blockage with a stent. He has a couple of other minor blockages. His main issue right now is the atrial valve. Combined with the damage done by the infarction …”

She should have been searching the medical sites on the Internet instead of knitting. Why hadn’t she thought to collect a little knowledge that might serve useful in Oompa’s care, other than the salt restrictions she had yet to master?

“So, that means surgery?”

Derrick and Dr. Medi-car exchanged glances.

Derrick stepped to Beth’s side and put his arm around her.

The doctor softened his facial expression. “Your grandfather would be high risk at best, Ms. Schurmer. Not a strong candidate for surgery, even if he was agreeable to the idea. He’s not.”

“I don’t understand. This is the twenty-first century. There’s always something to try.” Beth knew her voice sounded strained.

The once empty waiting room grew in population. A family of six entered, huddled en masse like a swarm of bees or those shiny silver fish that swim together in a ball shape to protect themselves from predators.

The doctor motioned Beth toward the private consultation room. The scene was all too familiar. She followed him, Derrick at her side, hope dribbling behind like leaking radiator fluid.

“He wants to die?”

Derrick and the doctor each put a hand on one of Beth’s knees as the three sat in a semicircle in the small consult room. Dr. Medi spoke. “It’s not that he wants to die, Beth. But he will, one way or another. Yes, there are other procedures we can try. But in your grandfather’s case, with the growing list of complications and a few underlying conditions he’s apparently been keeping from all of us, including his primary care physician with whom I spoke a few minutes ago, those procedures would have a better chance of hastening that moment than postponing it.”