The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(66)

“Should I call Mom?” I ask, rather surprised she isn’t here already.

“No!” Corinne wails. The baby jerks in her sleep. “You’re bad enough!”

I give her a quizzical look, then sigh. Right. I’m a harbinger of death. Forgot. “Okay, honey, okay. That’s fine. Now try to calm down and tell me what happened.”

Bit by bit, sob by sob, I get the story. Christopher and Corinne had been discussing the fact that Chris hadn’t eaten any leafy greens that day, and she was urging him to finish his spinach. Chris rubbed his chest, said it felt a little tight and Corinne had screamed, made him lie flat “—so I could give him CPR, you know?—” and called 911, convinced he was breathing his last. It did seem to get worse while she was on the phone, and once he was in the E.R., the doctors just whisked him away.

“He could be dying!” Corinne squeaks. “All alone, dying!” I hug her awkwardly around Emma. My own eyes fill. Please, Daddy, I pray. Please, Jimmy. Don’t let this happen to Corinne, too.

“He’s really healthy, Cory,” I murmur, trying to sound calm and wise. “I’m sure this is nothing.” Chris is healthy, my goodness. His cholesterol is 142, a number called “un-American” by the doctor and proudly relayed to me just a few days ago when Corinne gave me the health update.

But, already, images of Christopher’s funeral are knifing through my head. Emma growing up without her dad, as Corinne and I did, but without the cushion of memories that I, at least, have held like little diamonds all these years.

The door opens. “Hey,” Ethan says, smiling at Corinne. “He’s fine.”

“Oh, thank you, God!” I blurt, patting my niece’s back. Your father’s fine, sweetheart. Thank you, Jimmy, thank you, Daddy.

Ethan sits next to Corinne and puts his arm around her shoulders. “The doctor says you can come on down and he’ll talk to you and Chris together. Okay? You need a drink of water first?”

She leans against Ethan for a second, struggling to stay under even moderate control, and shakes her head, then turns to me. “Please come,” she says in a small voice, and my heart pulls.

“He’s fine, did you hear, honey? He’s fine.” I kiss her cheek and stand, Emma still snoozing away. Ethan rises and offers Corinne his hand, which she grabs gratefully.

“You’re sure he’s fine?” she asks Ethan.

“That’s what the nurse said,” he assures her.

We walk down the hall, back toward the busy E.R. “Right here,” Ethan says, pointing to a curtain.

“Ethan, will you hold the baby?” Corinne asks. “I don’t want her near all these germs.”

“Sure. I’ll take her up to the lobby, how’s that?” Ethan offers, gently taking Emma from me. His hands are practiced and sure, and he drops a kiss on Emma’s little head. Then he looks at me, and his mouth curls in a smile, causing my stomach to squeeze.

“Thanks, Ethan. Lucy, come on,” Corinne urges. She pushes back the curtain, then bursts into renewed sobs at the sight of her husband, who looks quite healthy to me, sitting up in bed in a johnny coat.

Corinne falls on him, sobbing. “Christopher! Oh, baby! I thought you were dead!”

The words echo in my head. I’d said the same thing to Ethan this very night.

“Hi, there” comes a voice. Great. It’s Dr. Hateswomen. He frowns at the sight of me, then shakes Corinne’s hand. “I’m Dr. Porter. Your husband here is going to be just fine. His EKG is completely normal, and the first two rounds of blood work are fine.”

“He had chest pain!” Corinne objects. “My father was only forty-two, and he died of a heart attack.”

“Right, right,” the doctor says condescendingly. “Well, your husband is fine, as I just told you. It was just stress.”

“Stress? He doesn’t have stress!” Corinne objects.

“Yes, I do, damn it!” Christopher barks, causing Corinne and me both to jump. “You’re killing me, Corinne! Every damn day, you’re waiting for me to die! I eat a piece of cheese, and your face goes white. I’m five minutes late, and you’ve called the police! Everything in our house is so f**king perfect, I feel like a goddamn bull in a china shop! And the baby, my God! You make me feel like I’m going to drop her on her head, following me around every time I pick her up! It’s gotten so I’m scared to touch my own child!”

Corinne looks like she’s been clubbed. I can’t say I’ve ever heard Christopher swear before. “Chris—” I begin.

“No, Lucy. You don’t understand. She’s terrified she’ll end up like you, and she’s sucking the joy from our lives, and it’s no wonder I landed in the E.R.”

“He has a point,” Dr. Hateswomen says. “We certainly advocate a healthy diet and regular exercise, but he told me about how you time him on the elliptical and won’t let him order for himself in restaurants, Mrs….uh—” he glances at his chart “—Mrs. Duvall. It’s a bit much.”

“And I’ve had it. I can put cream in my goddamn coffee if I want to, Corinne,” Christopher bellows. “That’s right! Cream! Not even half-and-half!” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, jerks off the hospital gown and grabs his shirt. “I’m staying with Jerry Mitchell tonight,” he informs Corinne, whose eyes look like they’re going to pop out and roll across the floor. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”