Man of My Dreams(33)

I hustle to get the girls in their car seats, as I listen to them bicker back and forth about who gets to sit on Papa’s lap first and the reality starts to set in. I try to hold back the tears, but for the first time since hearing my dad had a heart attack, I am terrified. I can’t lose him. I love that man more than life itself and I need him. We all need him.

Suddenly I realize I cannot do this without Declan. I dial his number frantically before I pull out of the driveway and am so happy he answers on the first ring.

“Dec, it’s my dad. He’s had a heart attack. I need you.”





An hour later, we’re seated in the waiting room of the hospital—waiting. My father is still in surgery and the doctors have yet to update us with his status. Mom, the kids and I didn’t get here in time to see him before they rolled him up to the operating room and the terrifying feeling that I may never see him again is gnawing at me like a termite eating through a piece of wood.

Declan is seated next to me with Charlie on his lap, playing with his cuff links. He removes his hand from her restless grip and places it at the base of my neck, trying to massage away my worry.

“He’s going to be okay, Mia. He’s a healthy man and this hospital has one of the best cardiac teams in the state. He’s in good hands. Please stop crying, baby.”

His words make sense. This is no doubt routine to these surgeons, they probably fix people’s hearts at least one hundred times a week. But this isn’t just anyone. My father’s heart is in their hands, literally, and to them he is only another patient. To me—he is everything. Declan’s logical words do nothing to calm my nerves.

“He has to be okay, Dec. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” I wipe away more tears. I’m surprised there are any left after how much I’ve cried these past months.

“Babe, you know I’m here for you. We’ll get through this...no matter what happens...together.” He squeezes my hand tight, reassuring me of his words, bringing it up to his mouth for a soft kiss.

For a split second all the pain, disappointment, and resentment vanish. This whole situation brings back too many scary memories, but what stands out the most is having Declan by my side. He helped me through a dark time once before and I can’t imagine anyone else next to me in this hospital waiting room.

Maybe it’s the fear of loss, or the emotional overload, but something comes over me and I just blurt it out. “Dec, please come home. Tonight. Today. Whatever. I can’t be alone anymore.”

I expect him to jump up out of his seat and do a happy dance, but instead he looks away and then down at the scuffed up tile floor. When he lifts his head, his eyes are closed tight, his jaw clenched even tighter.

I don’t know what to say to this reaction. So I say nothing at all. I just stare, waiting for his explanation.

“Mia, I leave Monday for Hong Kong.”

I breathe in a long intake of sterilized air.

He continues. “It’s a month long trip.”

My heart stops. Tears rim my already swollen eyes.

“Mia, they knew I was available. The timing was right. I didn’t know when you’d let me come back home so I volunteered to do it. I was going to tell you this weekend. I was going to take the three of you out to spend some time together before I left, I swear.”

I know this isn’t his fault, but I still want to yell and scream at him as if it is. But the words can’t make their way out. My brain isn’t allowing them to form correctly. Can this be classified as a nervous breakdown?

“Say something. Please?”

I’m about to beg him to call his boss, take a leave of absence, quit, but a masked doctor steps out of the swinging doors of the operating area and I feel every drop of blood drain out of my face, working its way down my veins to my feet. He stops in front of me and Declan. My mother rushes over from the vending machine a few feet away and we all pay close attention to the possible life altering words that are about to escape this man’s mouth.

I can’t get a read on what he’s about to say. They must train them to be empty of all emotion in situations like this. His eyes are blank, not revealing any hint of good or bad. He directs the hard stare at my mother and starts to speak. “Your husband made it out of surgery.”

Thank you, God! We all let out the breath we were holding, simultaneously.

“But things were more complicated than we had anticipated. He’s in critical condition, and will be until we can get in there again. But the heart’s been through too much trauma today so we need more time before the next operation. I will explain the details to you thoroughly, but what you need to know now is that he is not out of the woods yet.”