Something that ran deeper than the joking on the frame and the careful conversation in the kitchen. Because this was the real thing now. This was the middle-of-the-worst-day thing, and Marcus was here, and he wasn't going anywhere, and Emily saw it. The doctor came out a few minutes later, a tired-looking woman in her 50s, and asked which of them was family. "I'm his daughter," Emily said.
"I'm—" Marcus started. "He's family too," Emily said and reached over and took Marcus's hand. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it to both of us." The doctor nodded and got to it.
Harold had suffered what she called a cardiac event, not a full heart attack, but a serious warning, the kind the body sends when it's been asking for help for a while and finally decides to shout. His heart had an arhythmia they hadn't caught. Made worse by the fact that a 75year-old man had been spending every daylight hour for 2 months hauling lumber and swinging a hammer in a backyard. "The garden house," Emily said faintly. "He's been out there every single day."
"I kept telling him to slow down. I kept—" Her voice broke. "I kept telling him." "This isn't your fault," the doctor said gently. "Hearts like his, this was coming one way or another."
"The good news is he came in fast and we caught it, and it's very treatable. He'll need a procedure, a small one, to correct the rhythm. And then he needs to actually rest, which I understand from the paramedics may be the hardest prescription he's ever received." Despite everything, Emily let out a wet laugh. "You have no idea."
"Can we see him?" Marcus asked. "He's asking for both of you, actually," the doctor said, and she gave Marcus a curious look. "He was quite insistent. Said, and I'm quoting, 'Get the big fella too. He's the one who knows where the good spatula is.'"
Marcus laughed, a real, surprised, relieved laugh that came out closer to a sob. That was Harold. They found him propped up in a hospital bed, hooked to monitors, looking small and gray in a way that squeezed Marcus's heart, but his eyes were open and sharp. And the second he saw them, he tried to sit up straighter, which set off a beeping and earned him a stern look from a passing nurse. "There they are," Harold said, his voice weaker than usual but full of the same mischief.
"My two favorite people. Come to see if the old man kicked it." "Dad." Emily was at his side in an instant, taking his hand, and now she was crying openly. "Don't you ever—do you have any idea?"
"I got a message that said you collapsed, and I thought—I know. I know." Harold squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, M. I scared you. I scared myself, if I'm being honest, which I usually try not to be."
He looked past her at Marcus. "You got here fast." "I ran three red lights," Marcus said. "Atta boy." Harold grinned, then winced, then settled.