Dad frowned, looking at Beckett, down to his gauzed hand, and then at me. “What happened, Marge?”
Beckett’s eyes snapped to mine, and neither of us looked away for a few painful seconds.
A new fear stabbed at me. Not because of the fire or the physical damage that had been done to the house, but because of my father.
And right on its heels, another selfish, awful thought followed. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life taking care of my father after I’d given up the dregs of my childhood caring for Mom and keeping my family afloat. I didn’t want to drown while attempting to fix things I’d had no hand in creating.
I ground my teeth together, and pain shot through my straightened jaw right to my temple. It brought me back from the edge of a panic attack. It reminded me of what my family had sacrificed for me.
There was no way I was walking away from Dad now.
I’d made it through worse. I was an adult now and could handle these new problems far more easily than the ones I’d coped with as a kid. But this time, I wouldn’t drag my friends down with me while I did it.
? ? ?
Dad had fallen into a fretful sleep in the hospital bed, and seeing him there only exasperated the frailness I’d seen in him this morning. The panic I’d forced back earlier threatened to overwhelm me again, and my vision blurred with unshed tears.
“Maisey?” Meredith called.
I turned to find her concerned eyes looking at me from the doorway. She’d been kinder than she’d ever been before when I’d shown up at the hospital, not to start my shift but to get my dad checked out in the emergency room.
“Is it okay for me to let Beckett in?” she asked.
Beckett ignored her question and strode into the room anyway.
Meredith huffed even as I said, “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She left, and I took Beckett in as he made his way to me. He’d showered and changed but was still wearing his Class B uniform and had a radio on his shoulder. He was still on call. Still saving people.
The tears rushed in again, and I turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see them.
In two long strides, he was at my side, grabbing my hand and trying to pull me to him. I resisted, putting the chair I’d been sitting in between us. I couldn’t let him hold me. If I did, I’d break. If I did, I’d forget my vows to go this alone. To not drag the people I cared about into yet another mess the Campbells had made of their lives.
Beckett frowned. “What did the doctor say?”
“She wants to keep him for a day or two at least. He came around a bit. He knew who I was and the current date, but then he faded again when I asked about the fire. He kept mixing things up and grew agitated. The doctor doesn’t think he had another stroke, but he has a knot on the back of his head, so his memory loss could be because of that.”
“Anotherstroke? He had a stroke? You never—”
“I just found out this morning that he crashed his rig after having one. He didn’t tell me. Didn’t call.” Hurt and anger and guilt all swarmed inside me like an insidious bug.
“Maise.” Beckett tugged at my arm, once again trying to draw me to him, but I pushed him away.
“Don’t. I can’t handle it right now, Beckett. I can’t fall apart.”
The noise he made at the back of his throat was close to a growl, and the look he gave me was intense—almost angry.
“All you’ve done is take care of him. It isn’t on you if he didn’t call. Maybe he was actually trying to do the right thing by handling things on his own for a change.”
I thought of the stack of bills on the kitchen table. It seemed impossible that I’d be able to get my arms around it. Dad certainly wouldn’t be able to do it on his own. What on earth was I going to do with him if he lost the house? Have him move into my studio with me? Figure out a way to draw on his retirement and Social Security early to get him his own apartment?
I tugged at my hair, drawing it across my jaw before realizing what I was doing and dropping it. “Do you know what started the fire?”
Beckett looked up and away before clearing his throat and saying, “Something on the stove.”
“The stove!” Shock slammed into me. “He was cooking? Dad nevercooks.”
Beckett scratched the back of his neck and then shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what to say. The fire definitely started on the stove. Ron can tell us more after he finishes the investigation.”