Twenty-two:
Moments of Adversity
It had been nearly twenty minutes since Harry had been whisked away into the Emergency department, leaving Ruth behind in the waiting area. Since then, she'd paced like a caged animal, pausing for a few seconds here or there to perch on a chair before she got back up and continued to wear a hole in the carpet. She knew she had to present a laughable figure to the other people in the room. She hadn't had time to get dressed or grab her purse or phone or anything. As such, she was wearing a pair of flats, an old pair of pajama shorts, a Grateful Dead t-shirt, and Harry's bathrobe – what she'd been trying to sleep in, aside from the shoes and the robe.
Her mind was going in a constant, never-ending circle of fear, denial, and self-hatred. If only she hadn't picked a fight with him. If only she'd been a little more open-minded about things. If only she hadn't bloody let Jane get under her skin like a bad rash…
She sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, tucking her feet beneath her, chewing absently on her fingernails. In twenty minutes, she'd already nibbled the nails on her left hand to the quick; as soon as she tasted blood, she switched hands unconsciously. Her stomach was tied in knots, her mind tumbling round and round in painful circles.
She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jerked and looked up at Elizabeth, seeing the world through a shining haze of tears. "Any news?" Elizabeth asked softly. Ruth shook her head and tried to speak, but her mother put a finger across her lips. "I brought you some clothes and your purse."
"What about my phone?" Ruth asked. "It was charging by the bed –"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I didn't see it – you must have knocked it down when you got up. Why don't you get changed and we'll wait here just in case there's news."
Ruth nodded stiffly, looking at the new arrivals – Graham, Sarah, and Malcolm. "How did you –"
"Malcolm got a set of car keys from the butler," Elizabeth dismissed. She pushed a bag of clothes into Ruth's hands. "He'll be all right," she tried to assure her. "Harry's a tough bastard."
"Yes, but –"
"No buts, young lady," Elizabeth said. "Go get dressed. There's a loo out the door and to the right about five doors down."
Ruth took the things and took a few shaky steps away. "Mum – thank you."
"Go get dressed," Elizabeth insisted. "I know you well enough to know you'll feel better if you're not traipsing around in your pajamas when the doctor comes to talk to you. Go on."
She hesitated again, and Graham added, "Please? I'll go get some coffee from the vending machine."
"All – all right," Ruth finally managed. She went to the ladies' and changed into the jeans and t-shirt that her mother had packed. Thankfully, she'd also thought to smuggle in a bra, otherwise everything would've been out on full display – the hospital's air conditioner was cranked up to eleven, and she was already shivering.
When she rejoined them in the waiting room, she felt more human – but no less guilty or upset. Her fingers were a mangled testament to her terror and nerves. She settled on the lumpy sofa with Sarah and Graham. Sarah immediately put her arms around her and held her close.
In the few days she'd known Sarah and Graham, they'd become as close to her as anyone; maybe not as close as Joe or Catherine… or, god forbid, Harry… but they were already a part of her new life, and she found herself leaning on them now in desperation.
"I texted Cate," Graham said. "She's freaking out worse than you are, Janet. I told her not to get on a plane till we know how bad things are."
Ruth nodded, the words barely making sense to her ears. "I need him to be okay," she whispered. "I need him to live through this."
"He will," Sarah said quietly. "Harry's a stubborn prick. He'll do it just because he knows he's not supposed to."
"This is my fault," Ruth exhaled painfully. "It's all my fault – we were arguing…"
"No," Sarah said, "it's not your fault. It's no one's fault. It's a thing that happens."
"I waited," Ruth murmured, feeling lost and alone in spite of everyone in the room. "I waited and hoped and prayed to a god I don't believe in any longer that he would find us and everything would be okay again. Everything was supposed to be easy and make sense and – and – it was just a fantasy I invented to keep going. And now, it's happened and all I've done is fight it. And nothing makes sense. I just need him to be okay." She ran her fingers over her cheeks, her temples, through her hair, dipping her neck and lowering her head nearly to her chest. "I won't hurt him again – I can't stand the thought of being the reason he's sick."
"You aren't the reason," Graham said, sighing. "He's got high blood pressure and this isn't the first time this has happened. Last time, they forced him to retire. The last one wasn't quite a heart attack; almost, though."
Ruth looked over at him. "Doesn't mean I'm not the reason this time," she muttered.
"He and mum had it out," Graham said. "If it makes you stop blaming yourself, point a finger at her."
"He shouldn't have had to 'have it out' with her," Ruth mumbled. "I should've exhibited some self-control and not risen to her bait."
"Jane is really good at baiting people," Sarah said quietly. "She's pissed off that Graham and I are having a baby already and that marriage wasn't necessarily put first. Well, really, sod her. She should be bloody thanking her lucky stars he's gotten clean and has been sober for a few years, and not worrying so much about him putting a ring on my finger before the baby comes. I just smiled at her and reminded her that at least her 'greatest disappointment' isn't in gaol."
"The bitch must be thrilled beyond measure that you're inheriting," Ruth sighed, rubbing her face with her hands and sitting back again.
Graham laughed. "I'm not sure which is worse: being a disappointment to dad, who just looks down his nose at you and bails you out of lockup without speaking to you, or being a disappointment to mum… who goes batshit off the rails crazy and reminds you of every god-awful thing you've ever done in your worthless life before she reminds you all about the position of power you're expected to inherit. As if it's not just a bloody pile of money. There's no manor house or estate lands anymore; it's all money and property in Edinburgh, London, and York. Like it's difficult to manage a property empire."
Ruth bit back a laugh. "That's what your dad and I were arguing about," she sighed.
Graham leaned over and said, "I don't want to have to deal with Bly on top of Harrowood. Please do me a favor and let them give it to Portia. She'll know what to do with it all; I haven't a bloody clue."
"She's just a girl," Ruth reminded him very softly.
"Yes, but some day, she's going to grow up and she won't be a little girl anymore," Graham reasoned. "She's my sister and I'm trying to look out for her. Besides, grandfather thinks the world revolves around her at the moment – it's safer to play along with him than risk pissing him off. Believe me."
"Oh god, this is such a stupid thing to be worried about at the moment," Ruth whispered. "When your dad is back there, maybe dying, and we're out here just… talking about the bloody succession that doesn't even matter right now."
Elizabeth sighed and glanced over the top of her magazine. "You're being so bloody dramatic. Harry's going to be fine. He's too pig-headed not to be."
"And what if he's not, mum?"
"Then we worry about it then. As of right now, I'd like to think of my son-in-law as still alive and kicking." She went back to her magazine and sighed.
Ruth refrained from pointing out that he wasn't really, legally her son-in-law; and also from pointing out that it was really rather weird that her mother was only four years older than her husband. She was trying to refrain from a lot of things; opening her mouth only seemed to result in trouble.
She was well on the way to getting worked up again when a doctor came into the room. "Pearce?" he called out.
Ruth shot out of her seat and over to him. "My husband," she managed to say.
"Mrs. Pearce, let's go talk in the corridor," the doctor said gently.
Ruth's stomach fell and she struggled to keep her traitorous stomach under control as they left the waiting area. "Please tell me he's not dead," she murmured.
"He's alive and relatively stable," the doctor said. "We're doing a scan right now, but we're not seeing any blockages in the preliminaries. It's possible he's had a coronary artery spasm, as his blood pressure was dangerously high when he was brought in – but this would only be if we don't identify a blockage in the meanwhile. Either way, he has had a heart attack; he will be weak for quite some time. I'm recommending admittance for at least a week, and then rehabilitation."
"But he's alive," she said, her voice catching on a sob.
"Yes, he is alive," the doctor replied.
"I was just sitting there in the waiting room, worrying about how I'd have to tell our daughter that her father was dead," Ruth said. "But he's alive – everything is going to be okay…"
"Not necessarily," the doctor warned. "I'll know more when the scans are finished. It'll probably be a couple of hours."
Ruth nodded and exhaled deeply. "Okay," she murmured. "Okay. When can I see him?"
"After the scans are finished," the doctor said. "I'll send a nurse to fetch you."
"Thank you," Ruth whispered. She repeated herself, louder. "I'm sure later, there will be more things I'll need to know and new rules and things for his recovery – but right now, I'm just glad that he's alive."
"You should go try to rest a bit while we finish up. Like I said, I'll send a nurse round to collect you when he's settled in his room."
She nodded and went back into the waiting room. Malcolm met her by the door. "Well?"
"He's stable," Ruth said quietly. "They're doing a scan right now, but it's looking like it was an arterial spasm – unless they find a blockage."
Malcolm exhaled in relief and muttered, "Thank god."
Ruth looked over at her step-son and said, "I need to you text Cate and tell her to take her time getting here. He's alive and he'll be in hospital for a while."
Graham nodded and said, "Does he need surgery?"
"They're doing scans of his heart right now," Ruth said, sitting down on the couch. "They haven't seen any blockages yet, so it's looking like it was just an arterial spasm. But that doesn't mean it's any less serious than the other."
"Okay – I'll go call Cate," he said. "Will you be okay here?"
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "He's alive; I'll be okay."
It took all the energy he had just to open his eyes; they felt like lead weights. He did a mental body inventory, but aside from twitching his fingers and toes, there wasn't much going on. Harry tried to take a deeper breath, but the oxygen just made him dizzy. His lips were parched, his head was aching, and the rest of his body felt numb. They clearly had him on the good juice.
His eyes flicked over to the right – so far that he got dizzy. She was there, though, curled up in an uncomfortable ball in the guest chair. "Ruth," he rasped, the word sounding painful, alien. She stirred a little but didn't wake. "Janet," he tried again.
That time, she sprang awake like she'd been burned. "Harry," she gasped.
"You okay?" he choked out.
She came over and poured him a glass of water. "Better now," Ruth murmured, helping him with the water. He felt annoyed that she had to help him; she shouldn't be slaving over him, she should be home happy and carefree with Portia. "How do you feel?"
He hesitated, then admitted, "Bad."
She leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against his forehead. "Then close your eyes and rest."
A nurse came into the room and Harry reacted, his arm jerking at the sudden intrusion. "Mr. Pearce, I'm just here to check your vitals and adjust your pain medication," the nurse said with a smile. "It's good to see you awake."
He grunted something that might have been a non-committal reply. She checked all of the machines, notated things on his charts, took his blood pressure, temperature, etc., and finally said, "And on a scale of one to ten… how would you classify your level of pain right now?"
He hesitated a moment, warring with his inner demons. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't deal with it, but he was decidedly older than the last time he'd been stuck in hospital and as such, maybe his pain levels were affected? "Five," he grunted. "But no stronger medicine."
"Are you sure?" the nurse asked.
"Feel numb and floaty," he complained, pouting.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" she teased gently. "I'll dial it down a little bit."
"Thank you," he whispered. She checked his catheter and gently retucked his blankets. He could tell that she was someone who took pride in her work and genuinely cared about her patients; and as such, he couldn't find it in his heart to be a raging bastard because he was laid up in hospital.
Ruth settled back in at his side and held his hand. She was quiet, quite unusual for her, and it made him begin to worry. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she said, simply, "I'm sorry, Harry."
His fingers curled around hers; it was too much work to speak, but the touch between them was perfect. It wasn't long before he drifted back to sleep.
"I wanted to be here when you got here," Ruth said, hugging Catherine very gently, knowing the younger woman was still incredibly sore. "Harry's having more scans done – they want to rule out a blood clot or an arterial blockage completely – so I got away last night and had a shower and a rest."
Portia was hugging Charlie tightly and they were gossiping back and forth about plane rides and train journeys and how awesome the house was. Gracie was hanging back, hiding behind Catherine a bit. "Nana?" Gracie said quietly.
"Yes, love?" Ruth murmured.
"Will you sign my cast?"
"Of course I will – and you know what? I bet we can get your granddad and your grandpa to do it, too, when he feels better," Ruth promised.
"I know where granddad keeps the markers!" Portia cried excitedly. "Come on, Charlie!" The two best friends took off at top speed, despite Alison barking orders for them to stop running.
"You want to go with them, honey?" Catherine asked Gracie. The little girl shook her head and clung tighter to her mother. "Are you still hurting? Do you need another pill, sweetheart?" Gracie nodded and Catherine sighed. "Okay, let's go to the kitchen and get something to drink and a snack for your tummy so the pain pills don't hurt it so much."
"I'll take you there," Ruth said with a small smile. "Want to hold my hand, Gracie?" She was rewarded with a tired, wan smile from the little girl and a proffered hand. "I'm sure Mrs. Whatley will square you away with some lemonade and something delicious to snack on."
"Mrs. Whatley's still around?" Catherine said. "Blimey, she must be old as –"
"She's not much older than your dad," Ruth said pointedly.
"Yeah, I guess that's true enough," Catherine replied. She followed Ruth and Gracie to the kitchen.
"Oh, now, who do we have here?" Mrs. Whatley asked. "Surely that can't be Miss Catie…"
"Please, just Cate now," Catherine said with a small smile. "You haven't changed a bit, Mrs. Whatley. And this is my youngest, Gracie. She's on some heavy painkillers, so we need something for her to eat when she takes them, please."
"I've got some leftover scones from breakfast," Mrs. Whatley said.
"That'll do," Catherine replied with a smile. "Things haven't changed here at all, have they?"
"Not since your father was a boy," Mrs. Whatley said proudly as she retrieved a plate of scones and some lemonade for Gracie. "Do either of you ladies want tea?"
"Oh, thank you, but later," Catherine dismissed. "I want to get the girls settled and go with Jan to the hospital to see my dad. Maybe when we get back."
Portia and Charlie ran back to the kitchen, giggling, a black marker clutched tightly in Portia's hand. "Now you can sign her cast, mom!" Portia cried.
"Are you three going to behave for Graham and Sarah?" Ruth asked.
Portia blinked at her mother, a portrait of innocence. "Yes, mom," she said quickly.
"We can go play outside, right?" Charlie added.
"Only if it's not raining," Gracie said with a little pout. "I don't wanna wear a trash bag on my arm."
Catherine stifled a laugh, as did Ruth. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something to do," Ruth said. "I think Graham said there are some games in a closet somewhere – or you can find granddad and borrow his telly for a while."
Catherine made sure that Gracie took her medicine, then ruffled her hair. "Go on, sweetheart," she said gently. "Nana and I will be back soon."
"Will grandpa be okay?" Gracie asked, clearly worried.
"He will," Ruth promised, kneeling down in front of the little girl. "He's just in a bad way right now. But he'll be fine soon." Gracie nodded, her expression dubious at best. "Oh, c'mere, you," Ruth sighed, pulling her into her arms and hugging her tightly but carefully. "I know you're worried because he's in hospital like your daddy was before he… before he died," she whispered into Gracie's ear, "but I promise you that grandpa will be all right soon."
Gracie hesitated, then hugged her back. "Okay, nana," she whispered back.
Ruth released her, and ruffled her hair. "Go play with the girls," she instructed gently. "Uncle Graham and Auntie Sarah should be around here somewhere." Gracie nodded and took off in the direction Charlie and Portia had gone a couple of minutes before.
Ruth straightened up and looked at Catherine. "You ready?" she asked. "We can steal the Lexus for a while."
Catherine laughed and said, "Steal?"
"Borrow with intent of joy riding to the hospital and back," Ruth teased. "David's fine with me taking the keys –"
There was a 'harrumph' from the doorway. Ruth glanced up to see the man in question, who said, "Joy riding? In my Lexus? I might have to come along on this excursion. My morning nap has already been interrupted by a couple of rapscallions in search of a marker."
Ruth smiled. "Harry would be glad to see you," she said gently. "He's getting stronger slowly." It was only three days after his heart attack, but Harry was up and slowly walking around with aid of a walking frame and a physiotherapist. It was because he was too stubborn for words, and his pride wouldn't allow him to admit defeat at the hands of his own ailing body.
"Then I suggest we leave the children here and adjourn to hospital," David said. "Mrs. Whatley, please ensure that lunch is served on time for the sake of the children – if we're still out, we can get something to eat then." He glanced over at Ruth. "My treat, of course."
"Of course," Catherine spoke up. "Granddad, you'll want to make sure you've got your wallet, then. Or it'll be a repeat of when you tried to treat Stephen and me when we were on honeymoon," she warned, shaking her finger at him and winking.
David scowled at her; in that moment, Ruth knew exactly where Harry's furious Grid face had come from. "Yes, yes, I have my bloody wallet," he grunted irritably. "Did you have a good flight?"
"Yeah, private jet is definitely better than the normal airlines," Catherine said cheerfully.
"Private jet?" Ruth questioned.
"Uh, yeah, well… Joe," was all Catherine said in reply.
"Oh, Joe," Ruth replied knowingly. "I'm surprised he hasn't made an appearance…"
Catherine, to her credit, didn't blush or flinch. "He had business in the city," she said. "Obviously, running a television network takes a lot of pots and fingers in all of them, but you know that and – and – he and his kids will be here tomorrow. He wants to talk to you about leave of absence until dad gets back on his feet and all –"
"Am I to ascertain that this Joe fellow is your boss?" David asked Ruth, with obvious distaste at the thought of her holding down something so vulgar as a television job.
"My boss and my friend," Ruth replied. "He's been good to Portia and me. David," she huffed, "don't give me that look. I've not slept with him or anything untoward – believe me, one mistake in the form of Iain bloody Lewis was more than enough."
"He better not so much as look at you sideways or he'll not be staying here," David snapped.
"Oh, please, granddad," Catherine muttered. "Don't be all noble and stupid – he's not interested in Jan. Trust me." This time, she did blush when Ruth glanced at her. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and Ruth's eyebrows lifted inquiringly; Catherine blushed more and looked away. "Can we go now? I want to see dad before he's too tired."
Harry hadn't realized that lying flat on your back in an imaging scanner, attempting not to move, was just as exhausting as any physical mission he'd been on in his misspent youth. They wanted him to try to walk back to his room after the test, but he was too shaky and weary to even make the attempt. Instead, he – and his IV – was wheeled back to his room in a chair in a rather undignified manner. Or, rather, he felt like he was suffering an indignity while the poor nurse chatted glibly about what he was going to get for lunch; which, for the record, sounded like an absolute bloody delight – in HELL.
It took a few minutes to get situated back in bed, and get his IV back on the pole. "I'll just do your vital check here and then you'll be free to take a nap or watch telly or whatever," the nurse said, beginning the endless rounds of checks.
Harry had been disappointed when Ruth had left the night before, but he knew she was absolutely shattered; she'd been by his side since he'd woken up in hospital, barely leaving to make a trip to the loo or to get a coffee and some toast in the canteen. The dark circles beneath her eyes were a testament to her devotion, and he had to cut her some slack and let her get some sleep. And some clean clothes. And maybe some actual food. Canteen food couldn't possibly be doing her any favors.
He'd been back in his room for maybe ten minutes or so when the door opened. BBC News was droning in the background and he jerked awake. He was expecting the orderly with the food tray; not his father. "Father," Harry groaned.
"Don't get up," David joked. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got run down by a lorry," Harry sighed. "I don't suppose you got the number plates as it drove past, did you?"
David laughed. "Not exactly. Your wife is grilling the attending doctor like it's her job," he commented dryly. "She wants all the details."
"It is her job," Harry muttered. "I've got no one else to care for me. I should feel bloody damn lucky she loves me enough to do it."
David settled into the visitor's chair with an audible wheeze of pain. "It's not like you to wallow in self-pity," he grunted. "Don't make me hit you with this walking stick, boy – it might impede your recovery."
Harry sighed and said, "I'm bloody worthless – I couldn't even get back to my room without a wheelchair and somebody pushing it. She doesn't deserve that. She deserves better than me."
"Don't be daft. You'll heal and be right as rain soon as." He paused. "Then you can get back to terrorizing football mums and driving Portia to and from school."
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "People think I'm her bloody grandfather, you know… people who don't know us, our history –"
"Let them. It shouldn't bother you. People are making a huge stink about me openly acknowledging her as my grandchild when she's not legally so. I don't care whether your name is on a piece of paper saying you're her dad or not; it doesn't make it any less the truth."
Harry nodded and felt drowsiness kick in again; he didn't fight it, just drifted away on a wave of sleep. When he opened his eyes again, Catherine was at his bedside. "Hello," he whispered.
"Hey," she said quietly. "Jan and granddad went to get tea."
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, more concerned with her well-being than his own.
"Much – Joe helps me change the bandages and put on the ointment," Catherine said, blushing a little. "I'll be healed up in no time, but there will probably be scars."
"Scars aren't a bad thing," Harry murmured. "They're a sign you survived. They're a reminder. Gracie?"
"She's okay," Catherine assured him. "She's worried about you, though."
"Poor mite," he sighed. "Give her a kiss for me." He paused. "Am I going to have to give Joe the lecture I gave Stephen before you married him? About treating my little girl right?"
"No, dad, I don't think so," Catherine murmured, her cheeks flaring up scarlet.
He nodded and relaxed a little more, listening to the soothing beeping of his monitors. "Is it lunchtime yet?" he asked, not sure what time it was.
"Yeah, soon," Catherine replied.
"Promise me you'll take Ruth and get something to eat," Harry said softly. "She's barely eaten anything since I woke up."
"Granddad's treating us," Catherine replied. "So I'll make sure she eats something."
The door opened and Ruth and David came in together. Harry smiled over at Ruth, hoping that he was faking feeling better than he was enough that she'd stop worrying. He hated the worry lines creasing her face, gathering at her lips.
"Your lunch will be here in a few minutes," Ruth said, leaning over and giving him a gentle kiss. His heart monitor beeped faster and she smiled against his lips. "Be good," she scolded. "How do you feel?"
"Better," he lied.
She frowned then. "Henry James Pearce, don't you dare lie to me," she scolded. "Truth, now."
He sighed, then capitulated. "Awful. Exhausted. Worthless."
"Not worthless," she whispered, stroking the top of his head, running her fingers over his sparse hair. "Never worthless, Harry. There are just some things you can't do right now. It's okay. Just… eat your lunch and rest. I'll be back after we eat and I take your dad and Cate back to the house. I'll be back in time for your physiotherapy."
He nodded his ascent and breathed her in deeply as she embraced him and held him longer than maybe she should have. "I love you," he whispered, his heart bruised and saddened by the thought that she could just up and leave him and he'd have no recourse but to stay put in this hellish hospital bed.
She kissed him gently on the lips. "Harry," she whispered, "I love you, too."
"Make sure she eats something," Harry reminded Catherine, who nodded.
When they were all gone, he indulged himself in a good, long cry. One that had been a long time in coming; it was part relief, part happiness, and part crushing depression all mixed into a hopeless soup of overwhelming intensity.
The orderly that brought his lunch just thought he was feeling sorry for himself and offered up a sugar cookie as a reward if he'd just stop bawling.
Harry didn't want a bloody sugar cookie.
END PART TWENTY-TWO