Fall Semester (21 page)

“Of course,” Erin said, paling.

Even without looking at her, Malcolm could feel Maren’s hackles rising.

“Let’s wait for his oncologist to look in on him in the morning, but it is probably time to arrange for hospice care if—as his chart says—Mr. Gardner would like to remain at home and not in the hospital.”

“Yes, that is what he wants,” Maren interjected, firmly. “He wants to be alert, and he wants to be at home.”

“In that case,” the doctor cut her eyes to Maren, “he’ll likely be released tomorrow. We need to observe him tonight to ensure that he doesn’t have any more seizures. You can go up to ICU on the fifth floor, but only two visitors are allowed in at a time.”

The doctor left them, and Erin inhaled deeply and stood up straight.

“Let’s find the elevator. Maren, please text your brother with an update,” she said.

Erin led Laurel to the elevators, and Malcolm made to follow them when Maren held him back.

“Malcolm, you don’t have to stay. It’s almost midnight,” she said.

He still held her in the crook of his arm, and he squeezed her to him.

“I’m not leaving until you do,” he said, firmly.

She stared at him for a beat, her brows drawing together in confusion.

“Boy, you really don’t see yourself clearly,” she muttered. “Let’s go.”

They found Erin and Laurel waiting at the elevator banks and joined them.

“Girls, I want to see your dad alone first,” Erin said.

“Of course, Mom,” Maren said. Laurel nodded, still tearful.

On the fifth floor, Erin approached the nurses’ station, and the charge nurse pointed to Mr. Gardner’s room, directing the rest of them to the smaller waiting area. Maren sat down again, pulling Malcolm and Laurel on either side of her, clasping a hand of each of them.

They sat in silence, Laurel’s eyes trained on the entrance to Maren’s father’s room.

“Hospice means it’s a matter of days, doesn’t it?” Laurel asked.

Maren gripped Malcolm’s hand more tightly. He shifted their clasped hands into his lap and covered hers with both of his.

“A few weeks, maybe, but yes...soon,” she said in a hushed voice.

With his thumb, Malcolm drew circles on the back of her hand, again wanting to remind her that he was there to comfort her. At the end of his mother’s life, no one had sat beside him, anchored him, and he would never allow that to happen to Maren.

“Hospice also means that your father will be as comfortable and have as much dignity as possible,” he told them both.

The sisters looked at him in unison, but only Maren spoke.

“Were they there for your mom?”

Malcolm nodded.

“Yes, thank God. They were able to give her so much more than I could by myself.”

Laurel’s eyes widened.

“You were by yourself?” she asked.

“Yes, it was just the two of us,” he said.

Maren’s eyes met his, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Without looking away, she laced her fingers through his and ran her thumb along his palm. The three of them sat in silence until Erin returned a few minutes later. Her eyes were red and raw with fresh tears, but she smiled at her daughters.

“He’s awake, and he’s himself, thank God,” she said. “Maren, he’s asking for you, and he’d like you to introduce your friend.”

Erin gave Malcolm an encouraging smile, but Malcolm felt himself pale. Maren’s father was on his deathbed, and Malcolm knew he did not deserve any of the time the man had left with his family.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Come on,” Maren said, standing and tugging him up with her. “I want him to meet you.”

Malcolm followed her out of the waiting room only to stop her.

“Maren, I can’t take up any of his time with you. It doesn’t feel right for him to have to deal with a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Maren said, blushing. “I’ve told him a little bit about you.”

Malcolm’s eyebrows leapt in surprise.

“You have?”

Maren nodded.

“Well,...not everything.” Her blush deepened. “But a little about our friendship and how good you’ve been to me. Please? I really want you to meet.”

Of course, he could deny her nothing—except what would hurt her—and this would not. If anything, meeting Maren’s father might further cement his intentions to keep their relationship chaste and innocent.

“If it’s what you want,” he agreed, letting her lead him by the hand.

They approached the glass partitions that walled off each of the patient beds and stood at the entrance of her father’s room. Malcolm heard Maren gasp softly as she laid eyes on the ashen, frail-looking man in the bed. Even with the trappings of grave illness, oxygen tubes in his nose, an IV drip in his arm, and a heart-rate monitor on one finger, Malcolm could see that the man was much too young to be facing death.

Maren’s father smiled at his daughter with absolute love.

“It’s alright, Merry. It’s still me,” he said.

“Dad!” Maren dropped Malcolm’s hand and flew to the bed, collapsing on top of her father. Malcolm leaned against the entrance, watching the woman he adored but did not deserve weep fiercely. Even as he wondered if he should step away and leave them, his heart twisted for her, and he longed to go to her again.

“It’s alright, my love,” the sick man whispered and held his daughter. “It really is alright.”

Maren’s father held her as she calmed, but he locked eyes with Malcolm across the room. To Malcolm’s great surprise, he saw welcome in the man’s eyes.

“Maren, please introduce me to your friend,” he said, softly.

“Yes,...of course.” Maren straightened up, sniffing, and quickly dabbed her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt before returning to Malcolm and pulling him into the room. “Dad, this is Malcolm Vashal....Malcolm, this is my father, Mark Gardner.”

Mark extended a hand to Malcolm, and Malcolm hastily shook it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I only wish it were under better circumstances,” he said, sincerely.

“I’m just glad we’re getting the chance,” Mark said. “I know you’ve been a good friend to Maren, and I’m grateful she has someone like that right now.”

Malcolm spoke from the heart, seeing no reason not to.

“She deserves every goodness, sir,” he said, savoring the release of confessing such truth to someone else, someone who cared for Maren and knew what a blessing she was. “I’m very glad that I know her.”

Mark Gardner’s face suffused with pride, and he took his daughter’s hand in his again.

“I agree, completely.”

Both men watched Maren roll her eyes, blushing slightly, but she smiled.

“How are you feeling, Dad?” she asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

The sick man shrugged.

“I had a headache earlier, but that has gone. I’m not in any pain.”

Maren frowned.

“Has the pain been much worse the last few days?”

Mark Gardner looked intently at his daughter before he spoke.

“I’m not afraid of the pain, Maren. I’ve been managing.”

She’s such her father’s daughter
, Malcolm thought with a stab of recognition.
It will be so hard for her.

Maren leaned down and kissed her father on the cheek, whispering something in his ear as she did. Her father’s smiling eyes stayed on Malcolm.

“Maren, would you please go get your sister?” he asked. “I’m not sure how long I can stay awake, and I know Laurel will be rather put out if I don’t tell her goodnight. Let Malcolm stay with me while you go.”

Malcolm knew that surprise showed on his face when Maren’s eyes locked on his. Still, he gave a slight nod of assent and let go of her hand.

“Alright, Dad. But no more drama for tonight,” she said, giving him another hug. “I love you, Dad.”

The father held his daughter a moment longer.

“I love you, dear one,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest.”

He kissed her on the forehead before releasing her.

“I’ll be right back,” Maren whispered to Malcolm over her shoulder.

Malcolm turned to the dying man, fearful of what he would say.

“She thinks the world of you,” Mark said. “I daresay she’s in love.”

Oh, God.
Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed.

“Judging by the look on your face, I take it that this isn’t what you want,” Mark said, frowning.

“Sir, forgive me—” Malcolm started.

“It’s Mark. Neither of us is a child, Malcolm.”

Malcolm met the older man’s eyes, recognizing the righteous fire in them as the very same he’d seen in Maren more than once.

“Mark,...” he began again, nodding respectfully. “I care for her more than I can say. I just doubt my ability to give her what she needs,...to make her happy.”

Mark studied him a moment.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Absolutely,” Malcolm said, honestly.

“I’d say you shouldn’t doubt your ability to do what you’ve already done,” Mark leveled, grinning. “Besides, I think Maren is the expert on what is best for Maren. I’ve watched her long enough to know that.”

Malcolm gave a wry laugh.

“So she would have me believe.”

Mark’s lips pressed together and his brow folded into a frown.

“Malcolm, I’m not afraid of dying, truly,” he said with feeling. “I just wish it would be easier for my family....The next few weeks will be hell for them....If you care for her as you say you do, please be there for her through what is coming.”

“She won’t be alone. I promise,” Malcolm said, unable to mask the emotion in his voice.

“Good. I—”

“Daddy!” They were interrupted when Laurel charged into the room and crumpled at the foot of the hospital bed.

“There’s my girl,” Mark said, opening his arms to his youngest child. “It’s alright, angel.”

Malcolm stepped back and saw Maren and her mother hovering in the doorway.

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Malcolm,” Mark said, over Lauren’s quaking shoulders.

“It was an honor to meet you, Mark,” Malcolm nodded to the older man. “Thank you.”

“We’ve discussed it, and Laurel and I are staying through the night,” Erin said, looking between Malcolm and Mark. “Malcolm, could you please give Maren a ride home? She’ll come back in the morning with her brother.”

Malcolm eyed Maren to ensure that this was what she truly had chosen. Her nod was all he needed.

“Of course.” He met the eyes of everyone in turn. “And if there is anything else I can do, I hope none of you will hesitate to ask.”

As he stepped out of the room, Maren dashed in again, crowding her sister to share her father’s hug.

In the doorway beside him, Malcolm witnessed Erin quietly brushing away tears as she watched her daughters. He hesitated a moment, but then he lifted a hand to pat her on the shoulder. He felt like a robot, like an idiot doing it, but he knew that he would have felt worse to do nothing.

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she whispered.

He only nodded, not knowing what to say as Maren made the rest of her goodbyes.

Once they were in the corridor together, Maren clutched herself, lost again in her misery as she walked, so that when he put his arm around her waist, she seemed to regain consciousness. She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. Wordless, her features collapsed in on themselves before him, grief, fear, and pain feasting on her, and he pulled her into his arms. She let go completely, sagging against him as the sobs shook her.

“Maren,” he breathed into her hair, her suffering piercing him to his soul. Malcolm held her tightly against him, thinking that if he could, he would make a deal with the devil to take her torment on himself. He encircled her delicate frame, braced the softness of her shape, and cradled her impossibly light weight, knowing that everything that mattered in the world was pressed against his heart.

Like a thunderstorm, after a few moments, her distress exhausted itself, and she took a few shuddering breaths before righting herself and pulling away. She pressed a hand to his tear-soaked shirt.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she hiccupped.

“Shhh,” he murmured, shaking his head, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Are you ready to go?”

She bit her lip and nodded, still leaning into him as they walked to the elevators. In silence, they made their way out of the hospital and to his car. The November night air bit at their skin. Malcolm pulled her closer and checked his watch. It was almost 1:00 a.m. He settled her into the passenger seat of his car before jogging around to the driver’s side, starting the engine, and kicking on the heater.

They did not speak until they turned right onto South College Drive.

“I’m scared,” she said.

Malcolm had reclaimed her hand as soon as he’d started the car. The thought of not touching her now seemed foreign.

“What scares you?” he asked.

She sighed.

“What if something happens tonight? Again?”

He thought a moment.

“I don’t expect anything would happen. The doctor seemed to think he was stable,” he reasoned. “But if it would make you feel better, you can keep my car.”

He could feel Maren watching him out of the corner of her eye. There was something on her mind that she wasn’t sharing. He waited until after they turned onto Johnston Street and stopped at the light at Cajundome Boulevard. He turned to study her. She met his eyes, but she was giving away nothing.

“What is it, Maren?”

She looked tired, afraid, and still so beautiful. She blinked rapidly, drew a breath to speak, but then clamped her mouth shut.

“What?” he prompted.

She shook her head.

“Never mind,” she murmured, looking down.

She doesn’t want to be alone, you moron!

And he did not want to leave her, drop her off in her small, empty house to face her fears and sorrows alone. The words were out of his mouth before he even dared consider how crazy and inappropriate his offer was.

“My guest room is very comfortable if you’d rather not be alone tonight,” he said, making her look up again. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Her eyes filled with tears again, but she smiled and nodded, quickly brushing the tears away.