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“Stable.” Merry clutched the word.
“I’m afraid that’s a temporary state,” the doctor said. “We’re still running tests, but we believe your father has dialysis-associated peritonitis.”
He’d had that before, though not so badly that he’d collapsed. Infection was a constant risk for peritoneal dialysis patients, usually resulting from a lapse in hygiene during the process. Merry made sure everything occurred in a sterile fashion during his lunchtime session, but she could imagine her dad “not bothering” in the evening.
“I’ll supervise him every time from now on,” she vowed. “I’ll move in with him—I’ll hold a gun to his head until he scrubs every last speck of sawdust from under his fingernails.”
Dr. Randall looked startled. Lucas grinned.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” the doctor said. “If the infection’s as severe as we believe, Mr. Wyatt can’t continue on peritoneal dialysis…and the reason he switched to PD two years ago was because hemodialysis was no longer a possibility for him.”
Lucas’s smile vanished. “How long does he have?”
What did he mean, how long? That was the kind of question you asked about people who…
“We expect his kidney failure to become fatal in the next ten days,” Dr. Randall said.
“Dad’s going to die?” Merry’s knees sagged. Before she could keel over, Lucas’s arm came around her shoulders, held her up. Impersonal, but strong. “In ten days?”
“Given his current condition, I’d say more likely in the next four or five days. I’m sorry, Ms. Wyatt, not to have better news.” The doctor fingered the stethoscope protruding from her trouser pocket. “I know this won’t make you feel better right now, but kidney failure is considered one of the gentler forms of death. Very peaceful. Many medical personnel say it’s the way they’d like to go.”
Merry started to laugh. She knew she was becoming hysterical, but couldn’t stop it.
The doctor took a step backward.
Lucas tightened his hold on Merry’s shoulder. “There must be something we can do.”
“There’s still the possibility of a donor kidney becoming available,” the doctor said. “I know you’re not a match, Ms. Wyatt, but are there any other relatives or friends who might agree to being tested?”
“I will,” Lucas said.
Merry caught her breath. “You’d do that? For Dad?”
“Your dad saved my dad’s life. Time the Calders returned the favor.”
The doctor looked confused. “So…this isn’t your husband?”
“No!” They spoke almost in unison, with Merry just a tad faster.
“What blood type are you?” Dr. Randall asked Lucas. “That’s the first thing to consider before we move ahead to any tests.”
“I’m A positive. What do you need?” As if he could change his blood type to suit.
“I’m sorry.” The doctor told him what Merry already knew. “Mr. Wyatt is type O, so we need an O donor.”
“Maybe my father’s a match.” Lucas offered up one of Dwight’s kidneys without hesitation.
“Your dad already got tested back when Dad had to move off hemodialysis,” Merry said. “And Dwight made such a fuss about Stephanie doing it, she backed down. I think we’ve exhausted our pool of related donors,” she told the doctor. “Has Dad moved up the general transplant list?”
“It’s not a list, as such,” the doctor said. “Patients are assigned points based on several criteria. But, yes, your father has more points than he did yesterday.” She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands, looking exhausted. Merry almost forgave her the comment about a “gentle” death.
After the physician left, Merry realized Lucas’s arm was still around her. She moved away. “Lucas, thank you for offering to get tested. That was—” Her throat clogged.
“A safe bet,” he said with a shrug. “What were the odds I’d end up a match?”
But she knew he’d meant it. Merry found herself scrubbing her eyes the same way the doctor had. “Where am I going to get a kidney?” she said. “Could I buy one on eBay?” She was joking, but only just.
“Too Third World,” he said. “Better to stake out the blood donor clinic, figure out who’s a match, then run them over in the parking lot.”
She managed a watery smile. “Great idea.”
“The challenge is not to kill them,” he mused, “but to get them into the hospital close enough to death for the kidney to be available stat.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”
The nurse stuck her head around the door again. “Ms. Wyatt, you can see your father now. Ten minutes, just one of you.” She spoke to Merry, but looked at Lucas.
Merry jumped to her feet. “At last. Thank you.”
Lucas put a hand on her arm, stalling her. “Merry…if the doctor’s right, and your father doesn’t have much time, you probably need to tell some people. Folks who want to say goodbye. I could leave now, go make some calls.”
The room swam for a moment and she grasped the back of the chair she’d just vacated. “His friends,” she murmured. “Old navy buddies. If we ask your father and a couple of others to pass the word along… Dad will tell me who to speak to. I’ll text you.”
“Family?”
She shook her head. “He has cousins in England, but it’s only the younger generation left. We’re not in touch.”
It sounded so lonely. So sad. Yet it hadn’t been, not when there’d been the two of them.
But in a few days, it would be only Merry.
* * *
MERRY’S FATHER’S ROOM was a hive of monitors, wires, tubes. He took up most of the length of the bed, but little of the width. His eyes were open, unblinking, and for a horrified moment she thought he—
“Merry-Berry,” he rasped.
She rushed forward, looking for some part of him she could hold on to without ripping out a tube, or hurting him. There was nothing, no part of him untouched, except for the callused fingers of his right hand.
She sandwiched them between her palms. “Dad, you…” Slow down, don’t upset him. “You gave me a scare.”
His chuckle sounded like air leaking out of a balloon…but at least it was there. Maybe the doctor was wrong.
“When you get out of here, I’m going to monitor every dialysis session, whether you like it or not,” she vowed.
“Yes, dear,” he said with a faint smile. But his eyes said he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of here.
To her horror, a tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye and ran onto the pillow. “Dad, please…”
His fingers twitched between hers. “Merry…the lawyer has a copy of my will.”
“The doctor says you’ve moved up in the transplant points,” Merry said. “You could get a new kidney any minute.”
“It’s pretty straightforward. Everything to you, except for a small bequest to the VVA.” Her dad was a longtime supporter of the Vietnam Veterans of America.
“We’ll get you through this,” she said. “I’m not letting you go, Dad.”
“I’m not worried about you financially,” he persisted. “You’ll do nicely by selling the business. But…Merry-Berry, I think I made a mistake.”
She blinked away tears. “Dad, it’s so hard to avoid infection when you’re on dialysis, anyone could—”
“Not that,” he said. “After your mother died, I should have— Maybe I should have married again.”
Merry straightened, shocked. “No, Dad. You always said you could never love anyone else.”
“Maybe I should have tried. Then I wouldn’t be leaving you alone.” John tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I wish I had met someone else, like Dwight did. But I didn’t even try.”
“I never wanted a stepmother,” Merry said. She thought about Lucas’s brother, Garrett, who until recently had considered Stephanie his enemy. A stepmother she hated would have been far worse than no one at all. “I’ve loved it being just you and me. And I love your stories about Mom, and about how you two met and fell in love.”
Her father’s chin quivered. Barely noticeable, but it was there. Amazing that the memory of her mother still had the power to affect him like that.
“I hate the thought of you being alone,” he said. His fingers fluttered in her grip. “Merry, this has been on my mind for a while.”
If he’d been thinking about it, he’d obviously sensed he was sicker than he’d let on. Was his worry about her future the cause of those “trances” she occasionally found him in? The reason for the stress that had sent his high blood pressure over the edge?
“I’ll be just fine.” Her attempt at reassurance came out thin and unconvincing. Her dad was everything, everyone, to her. She had friends, boyfriends…but no one who put her first in their life. “I—I love you, Dad. So much.” She dug in her pocket for a tissue, blew her nose. “Please, don’t worry about me, just concentrate on getting better.”
A stupid thing to say.
He nodded. But another tear leaked onto his pillow, and then another. And now her tissue was all snotty.
“You’ve been wonderful, the way you’ve looked after me,” he said. “Never interfering or pushy, but making sure I was doing my dialysis, getting regular checkups.”
“I haven’t done anything,” she said. “You wouldn’t let me.”
He smiled, and it felt like a gift. “I was mad when you wouldn’t go away to college, but I’ve been so grateful to have you here with me. A lot of parents, their kids go away to school, they meet some guy or girl on the other side of the country, and that’s it. Gone.”
“I couldn’t leave you, Dad.”
“Instead, I’m leaving you,” he said. “Who’ll look after you, Merry, if you get sick? Who’ll fix your car when that starter motor plays up again?”
“My doctor and my mechanic,” she said, and this time she managed the necessary lightness.
“Who’s going to comfort you when I’m gone?” he asked. “Be at your side, through good times and bad? Not just next week, but for the rest of your life.”
It struck her that during all that time in the waiting room, she hadn’t once thought of calling Patrick.
“There’ll be someone.” She tried to sound confident. “Dad, I don’t want you worrying about me. Think of something that makes you happy.”
“I’ll tell you what would make me happy,” he said with a surge of energy that sent her hopes soaring. “It’d stop me worrying, too.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen,” she said instantly. “Uh, I don’t have to ‘hang, draw and quarter those idiots who made Fisher Street one-way,’ do I?”
Her father gave a raspy chuckle at one of his favorite threats. “Nothing so drastic, Merry-Berry.” He patted her hand. “I’d like you to get married.”
She laughed, louder than the joke deserved, but if he felt well enough to kid around…
Wait a minute.
He wasn’t smiling.
He was giving her the same look he had when he’d said, “I’d like you to promise me you’ll never get in a car with a boy who’s been drinking.” And, “I’d like you to never smoke marijuana.” No problem with the second, but she couldn’t say she’d obeyed the first a hundred percent. As for this one…
“Dad, no! I can’t just get married out of the blue.”
“What happened to ‘whatever it is, I’ll make it happen’?” He lifted his tubed-and-wired left hand a few inches off the blanket, agitated.
“I can’t work miracles,” she said. “Patrick and I have only been dating for—”
“Patrick!” John’s face turned red. “I don’t want my daughter ending up with that lemon. You need to marry Lucas.”
Merry’s chair scraped harshly against the linoleum as she jerked backward. “Dad, that’s crazy.”
“Think about it,” he said. “You’ve dated on and off for years, so there’s obviously something strong between you.”
A strong desire to shut their fathers up. “More off than on,” she said. “Dad, we’re not—”
“You both know that Dwight and I always hoped you two… But that’s not a good reason,” he said. “What is a good reason is that you suit each other. It’s obvious to everyone.”
“Dad, Lucas and I aren’t that close.” Damn those stupid exaggerations she’d fed their fathers. “Let alone soul mates, which is what you’ve always said I should look for.”
“How do you know you’re not soul mates?” John said. “You’ve never given each other a serious chance.”
“You and Mom knew instantly,” she reminded him.
“We met when we were in our twenties. Chances are, if I’d known her since I was three years old, like you’ve known Lucas, it might have taken me a little longer to see the treasure right before my eyes.”
“Dad, I’m not Lucas’s treasure, and he’s not mine.”
“I think you are,” he said obstinately. “Lucas told me when he was ten years old that he planned to marry you.”
Her jaw dropped. “No way.”
John managed a grin. “Where do you think Dwight and I got the idea?”
“You can hardly hold Lucas to a ten-year-old’s crush.” She wondered if he remembered. Reminding him could be fun....
An alarm beeped on one of her father’s monitors, and she jumped. “What’s that? Dad, are you okay?”
A nurse, older than the one from the waiting room, bustled in, just in time to stop Merry hitting the panic button. “Time for a top-up, Mr. Wyatt.” With deft movements she removed an empty IV bag from its hanger and replaced it with a full one.
Merry didn’t speak until the monitor was chugging along in what she assumed was a normal fashion. Then she said, “Dad, it’s sweet that you’re worried about me....”
“It’s not sweet,” he growled. “It’s hell.”
That silenced her. Momentarily. “Even if I was willing, Lucas doesn’t want to marry me.”
“Have you even asked him?” her dad demanded.
“Of course not.”
“Merry…” Her father briefly closed his eyes. “We both know I’m not going to make it. It would mean more than I can say to know you’re married to Lucas. A man who’ll look after you.”
“He wants to go back to active duty,” she reminded her father.
“That’s his job. The navy will take care of him. And of you, when he’s away.”
Men like her dad and Dwight—and Lucas—considered arguments about the mortality rates in the services irrelevant.
“I know Lucas cares for you,” John said. “If it’s at all possible, please, could you ask him if—if he cares enough to marry you?”
Not in a million years.
Another monitor started beeping. This time, Merry didn’t panic. But this time it was serious. Two nurses ran in, followed by a doctor. Merry found herself out in the hallway, the door closed in her face.
She leaned her forehead against it and prayed for her father’s survival. For a miracle cure.
What if there is no miracle? Would she let her father die worrying about her, deprived of the peace a man should have in his final moments? When just maybe, she had the power to give him that peace?
CHAPTER FOUR
MERRY PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR to Pete’s Burger Shack. She couldn’t have been thinking clearly, to have suggested this place to Patrick when he’d texted to confirm their date. Of course I wasn’t thinking clearly. The only thought in her head had been how she might ease her dad’s fears.
Pete’s might be a New London institution, but it wasn’t the setting for important occasions. It had been the venue for Merry’s second annual Date With Lucas.
At first glance, she couldn’t see Patrick in the happy-hour crowd. She was about to text to ask if he was here when her cell phone buzzed. A message from Lucas: WHERE ARE U?
She texted back: PETE’S
He probably wanted contact information for the people he should notify about her dad. But since she hadn’t been allowed back into his room, she didn’t have it. Ah, there was Patrick, waving to her from the back corner booth.
She pushed her way through the happy drinkers. Patrick already had a glass of red wine and a bowl of peanuts in front of him; he stood as she arrived.
“Hi, sweetheart.” One hand settled on her hip as he leaned to kiss her. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She slid into the seat opposite.
Patrick had the kind of looks any woman would like. His brown hair was slightly long and flopped over his forehead. He was slim but well-proportioned with a ready smile. His two passions—animals and peace—seemed to Merry the ultimate in caring. She felt a rush of affection for him.
Most parents would be thrilled to have their daughter bring him home…so long as those parents weren’t navy personnel and committed militarists.
Merline, Pete’s wife and longtime waitress, came over. “Merry, honey, I’m gonna need to see some ID.” She still made Merry do this every single time. Merry’s second date with Lucas had been her first visit to Pete’s; she must have been eighteen going on nineteen, with him twenty-one. She’d produced a fake ID to buy a drink, and he’d told Merline that Merry was underage. For her own safety, he’d announced sanctimoniously.
Now, she handed over her driver’s license for Merline to hold up to the light, align the photo next to Merry’s face and generally make a production out of inspecting it. At last, she consented to take her order for a glass of chardonnay. She was chuckling as she walked away.
“What was that about?” Patrick asked.
“Old joke, long story.” Merry leaned her head back against the booth and gathered her energy.
“How’s Boo?” Patrick asked. He was convinced Boo’s constipation was the result of emotional trauma and would ease as soon as the dog accepted Merry as his new owner.
“No change,” she said.
Patrick filled the time until her drink arrived with an entertaining account of the conference he’d attended in Denver.
Merline reappeared with the chardonnay and a much larger bowl of nuts, which she set in front of Merry. Her apology for the driver’s license trick.
“Thanks, Merline,” Merry slid the bowl sideways to cover up a beer ring on the table. Every table at Pete’s had multiple such rings, and had for as long as she could remember. Shouldn’t Lucas have taken her someplace fancier on that second date?
As soon as Merline left, Merry leaned forward. “Patrick, something awful happened today. My dad’s in the hospital—he’s really sick.” She managed to tell him the situation without actually using the word dying, but her voice shook all the same.
“Sweetheart, that’s terrible.” He grasped her hands across the table, his eyes filled with tender concern. “You should have called me. I would have come to the hospital with you.”
She didn’t say, I never thought of it. “I know it’s hard for you to leave your patients. Besides, Lucas was there. Lucas Calder. He’s this guy, the son of—”
“—your dad’s best friend. The hero chopper pilot you always talk about,” Patrick said.
Merry blinked. “I don’t always talk about him. I never even mention him.”
“He’s the guy who got shot down last year,” Patrick said.
Okay, she might have mentioned that. Getting shot down was a big deal.
“The guy you played with as a kid, the ‘bossy jerk with an overactive rescuer gene,’” Patrick continued, clearly quoting her. The words did sound kind of familiar.
Weirdly, she had the impulse to defend Lucas. To say he wasn’t entirely a jerk. Even though he’d behaved like a massive one that night in Baltimore. Not thinking about that.
“The thing is,” she said tightly, “I do need your help now.”
Patrick shut up about Lucas, all concerned about her. “Anything,” he said. “Let me be here for you, Merry. I want to help.” His charming, boyish smile came out. “I love you.”
Phew, this is going to be okay. “Thank you,” she said.
When he blinked, she realized he’d been waiting for a reciprocal declaration. Time for that later.
“Dad’s worried about me being alone after he— In the future,” she said. “He asked me to get married.”
Patrick froze, wineglass halfway to his mouth. “I thought your dad didn’t like me. Now he wants me for a son-in-law?”
Merry noticed he wasn’t cheering at the prospect of matrimony. “Actually,” she admitted, “he asked me to marry Lucas.”
“Why would your father want you to marry a guy you’ve always said is a creep?” Patrick swigged his merlot. “Hasn’t he heard you go on about how Lucas doesn’t know the first thing about relationships?”
She wanted to dispute always and go on, and she was pretty sure she’d never said creep…but now wasn’t the time to split hairs. She managed a shrug. “It’s a family friend thing, that’s all.”
“You always say Lucas doesn’t like New London,” Patrick accused. “How come he’s even here?”
Could he stop with the always? “He came back to see his family.” Merry squeezed Patrick’s fingers. “Of course I’m not going to marry Lucas.” Now would be a good time to say “I love you.” “I’m not going to marry anyone at all, not right now. But if you truly want to help me…would you mind pretending to be engaged?”
Patrick’s fingers jerked; she tightened her grasp.
“Not for long,” she said quickly. “Just until Dad… Just for a few days.”
Patrick took another drink of his wine and swallowed hard before setting down his glass. “How would that help, when it’s Lucas he wants for you?”
“He might have a preference for Lucas, but his main concern is seeing me happy,” she assured him. “If we tell Dad we’re getting married, and I convince him I’m blissfully happy, I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”
She just couldn’t ask Lucas, not after Baltimore. If she asked him, and he turned her down again…or worse, if he thought she still wanted him… Ugh. She could make this work with Patrick, even if he wasn’t Dad’s number one choice. Her father was the ultimate romantic, if she convinced him she adored Patrick, he would be satisfied. Maybe she could persuade Patrick to say something nice about the navy.
“But we’d be lying,” Patrick said. “Getting engaged isn’t a game, Merry. You can’t devalue marriage like that.”
“You said you love me,” she snapped. She drew a calming breath. “Sorry, I’m under a bit of stress here. We won’t make a public announcement,” she promised. She might have to tell Dad they’d put a notice in the Day, but that would be a minor lie compared with the “we’re engaged” one. “It’ll be just between us and Dad, for a few days, maybe a week. Or so.”
That was another advantage Patrick had over Lucas. Lucas’s family would have to be lied to; Patrick’s parents in Colorado would know nothing about it.
Patrick was looking at her as if she was some kind of monster. She was starting to feel like a monster.
“Patrick, I know it’s not honest—” she reminded herself she liked his idealism “—but it’s for a good cause. The…the best cause.” Her voice cracked. She pushed the peanuts toward him as if they might serve as an incentive to get engaged to her.
Reflexively, he grabbed a handful of nuts and tipped them into his mouth. Which gave her more time to talk, to persuade him.
“It’s not as if you and I don’t care for each other a lot,” she said. “Maybe we could look at this as a trial run for a real engagement.” When he didn’t argue, she figured she was making progress. “Do you remember, on our very first date, you said you knew for sure I was going to be important in your life? And I said I felt the same? Maybe this is—” She stopped.
Patrick’s color had deepened. His hand was pressed to his throat; his eyes bulged.
“Uh, Patrick…are you choking?”
Stupid question. Of course he was.
Merry jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair. “Help!” she called. “He’s choking.” She dashed around the table. Heimlich maneuver. She’d seen it performed in countless movies.
For a moment it seemed no one had heard her over the happy hour hubbub. Then Merline rushed up. “What can I do?” Now other people turned to look, started to move, but in what seemed like slow motion.
“Just help me shift him....” Merry had her arms around Patrick from behind, but the high seat back made it impossible to get a grip. Dammit, this didn’t happen in the movies. “If we get him off the chair…”
Next moment, the chair was gone, Merry had been shoved aside and Lucas—where did he come from?—had his arms around Patrick, hands positioned beneath his rib cage. Two sharp heaves, and a nut flew from Patrick’s mouth, landing in his wine.