Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(97)
All I did with him was take. And take. And take. And disappoint. And I couldn’t give him anything in return, not even myself, not even my gratitude.
Before I could make up my mind how best to respond, or manage to swallow the lump in my throat, he said, “Otherwise I’ll just get up to no good.” His fingers fiddled with the ends of my hair.
Giving him a small, albeit sad, smile, I shook my head. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just nod your head, and when Tiny Satan shows up, send him my way. He’s not worth your time.”
“But he’s worth your time?”
“No. He’s not worth anybody’s time. But I gotta admit,” a devilish glint sparked behind his eyes, “I did enjoy pissing him off.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lobbyist Spending in US
In 2016, the total spending on lobbyists and lobbying in Washington, DC amounted to 3.15 billion U.S. dollars. The top five lobbying groups were:
Pharmaceuticals/Health Products: $246,663,814
Insurance: $153,010,996
Business Associations: $143,241,396
Electronics Mfg & Equip: $121,237,108
Oil & Gas: $119,229,657
—Open Secrets.org
**Dan**
Kat was pissed. Luckily, she wasn’t pissed at me.
We’d arrived at the hospital at 9:00 AM. My ma came with us. She was great. She was supportive but didn’t hover. She fetched stuff, like the good coffee from the employee break room, and thought ahead about bringing a shawl for Kat, ’cause the ICU was so cold. She also snuck in cookies and tissues in her purse.
Eugene arrived around 10:00 AM and that’s when Kat went from making easy small talk with my ma about Boston traffic to—I swear—turning into a freaking icicle. The way she looked at him had me shivering. I hoped she never looked at me that way, like I’d betrayed her, and she was going to impale me, squash me, and then maybe set me on fire.
This was my first time meeting him in person, so I was a little surprised by how young he looked—maybe 60, tops. He was also fit, tall, and dressed like he had someplace fancy to go. To be honest, I’d expected a sinister looking miser, pushing 102 and refusing the use of a wheelchair in favor of a cane, a bad attitude, and sheer grit.
Eugene didn’t look particularly surprised to see us, and endured Kat’s silent treatment with admirable patience. What else could he do? He’d kept the fact that her father was dying from her. For three weeks. He was lucky she let him keep all his teeth.
I introduced my mother to Eugene, they exchanged a few words, no big deal. Kat left us to sit with her father for another ten minutes, saying she wanted to be alone to say goodbye. That didn’t sit right with me, made me antsy to take action, but it was her decision. Nothing I could do.
Meanwhile, Eugene signed some papers. The attending doctor reviewed what to expect once more. Eugene indicated that he understood.
They took Mr. Tyson off life support at around 10:30 AM.
The doctor was right, he didn’t last long after everything was removed. Kat stared at her dad’s face until he stopped breathing, and then she continued staring as the line on his heart monitor flattened. The nurse switched off the machines, giving her a minute on her own.
I didn’t know the guy, didn’t particularly like what I did know, but it was sad. My ma held my hand as we looked on from behind the glass. Eugene was on my other side, the old guy looked somber.
“Your cousin Debora says hi, by the way,” my mom said, her voice sounding faraway. “She’s riding her bike to work every day after the DUI, lost fifty pounds.”
“What?” This was a shocker. “All the way down to Logan?”
“That’s right.”
I frowned at that. Actually, I was frowning at Kat, wishing I could go into the glass box, wrap her in my arms, and take her home to Chicago, get her away from all this depressing shit.
“Wait, how’d Debbie know I was in town?”
“She saw you at the airport and called me.”
My attention flickered to my mother. “When was this?”
“Last night. I was packing my things, leaving after my shift, and she calls me. She tells me you just landed at Logan with your wife,” her gaze came to mine, and the look she gave me wasn’t exactly accusatory, but it was on the spectrum, as she added, “Kathleen Caravel-Tyson.”
“Oh jeez.”
“Imagine my surprise, especially since I was Mr. Tyson’s nurse for the last three weeks, off and on.” She lifted her chin toward the glass box.
“Small world,” Eugene murmured.
“Yeah. It is,” she agreed, sighing, sounding sad.
“So Debbie called you.”