“Mrs. Harris?” a woman said in front of us. I snapped my gaze toward her. She pursed her lips together and delivered the bad news. “Mr. Harris is being admitted for further testing. He had another stroke, but he’s awake and responsive. He’s getting out of a CT scan now and will be taken to a room 1051. His neurologist will speak with you once he gets the test results back. It might be a while.”
“Thank you,” Mom said.
The doctor nodded and strode away.
“Let’s go,” Mom said, gathering her purse. “We’ll let them know we’re here, then grab a bite to eat or something.”
Jake and I didn’t say anything. His neurologist had warned us that it was likely to happen. We followed Mom on the familiar path. Nobody said a word.
My phone rang again. I ignored it.
Dad was in his room after another thirty minutes. They’d sedated him. We stood around his bed, knowing there wasn’t anything we could do. The doctor said it was a TIA, which he explained was basically a mini-stroke. He also said it was possible this was the second TIA he’d had recently, that his last trip had been misdiagnosed. Mom only nodded.
“He’s going to be out the rest of the night,” the doctor said. “We’ll keep him comfortable.”
“Cami, can you take Jake home?” Mom asked.
“I’ll stay,” Jake said.
“Me too,” I added.
“No, he’s going to be sleeping. There’s nothing to do.” Mom tore her gaze away from Dad. She looked so much older than she was. “And don’t you have to get to the theater, Cami?”
Shit. I nodded. “I can miss one show.”
“You’ve already missed the sound check. Go, before you get in trouble.” She waved us away and settled in the one chair in the room. “Go. Just keep your phones on.”
She doesn’t want us to see him die, I thought. Then I shook that morbidity out of my head. Jake didn’t want to go, so I forced him from the room.
“This is my fault,” he said again, more to himself than me.
“You didn’t make him have a stroke,” I said, pulling out my phone to call for another taxi.
I had eight missed calls and twelve texts. As we waited for the cab, I listened to the voice mails. Six were from Dylan, each more panicked. One was from Crystal and the last one from Hank. It shook me to the core.
“Cameron, if you aren’t at the theater in time for tonight’s show, you’re fired. Your grandstanding last night was unprofessional and childish. If I had a replacement ready, you’d already be gone. Get your ass here.” Hank’s gravelly voice sounded downright horror movie evil.
Then I went through my texts. All from Dylan. The last one was sent less then three minutes ago.
I’m on my way to your house.
The taxi pulled up and took us home. When we got there, Dylan’s car was parked in the driveway. He turned around at the sound of the tires on the gravel of the drive. Jake climbed out as I paid the driver.
“What’s going on?” Dylan asked as I walked toward the front door. Jake had already opened the house and was inside. “Cam, I called you and texted.” His gaze drifted up and down my form. “You’re still in the same dress from church. What the hell’s going on?”
“Dad had another stroke.” I walked past him and into the house. Exhaustion rolled through me. “I’ll change, then we can get to the theater,” I added over my shoulder before disappearing into my room.
I tore off my dress and threw it in the trash. After I put on clothes for the show, I sat on my bed and stared at my reflection in the mirrored closet doors. Dad installed them when I was eight or nine. I wasn’t really sure when exactly. A sob hitched in my chest. If I couldn’t remember that, how would I remember him when he was gone? What if he was gone now? Or tonight while I’m on stage singing backup for a hateful man?
The bed sank beside me and I fell against Dylan. I wasn’t strong enough to handle this. I wasn’t strong enough.
“You don’t have to go on tonight,” Dylan said. “Just stay here with your brother.”
I shook my head. That was the last thing Dad would want me to do. Besides I needed the distraction. “Let’s go. I ... I’ll be fine.”
Dylan put his hands on each side of my face. “I’m sorry. About your dad.”
Fresh tears flowed down my face. “Me too.”
He kissed my forehead and helped me to my feet. Jake sat in the living room, staring at Dad’s chair. I knew what he was doing. I’d done it the first time I watched my father in frozen fear. He needed a distraction.
“Come on, Jake.” I nodded toward the door.
Dylan picked up on what I was doing. “Yeah, Jake, I could use some help tonight. Hang out backstage.”
Jake shook his head.
I stepped in front of him and knelt down. “Please? I would feel better if you were with me. I don’t want to be alone.”
He stared at me for a moment before nodding.
Dylan drove us to the theater, chatting as if nothing was wrong. He talked to Jake, not me, but I was okay with that. Actually I appreciated it. Dylan was doing whatever he could to distract my little brother. Jake needed it as much as I did. He was a little jerk, but I loved him regardless. Seeing Dad go through that, it wasn’t something he’d forget anytime soon. I sent Mom a text that Jake was with me. She didn’t respond.
We arrived an hour before the show started. Plenty of time to get ready and warm up my voice. Dylan must’ve sent a message ahead about what happened. Crystal put her arms
