“Em?” Patrick questioned, jarring her out of her thoughts.
She twisted the hemline of her blouse in her fingers. “Don’t you know how hard it’s been with my feelings, coupled with my pregnancy hormones, to ignore him?”
“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with his tenacity. Not even with Amy did he do something as heartfelt as that poetry book.”
Emma pinched her eyes shut. That damn book! It had almost shattered her resolve. When she had opened the wrapped package and found an antique edition of love poetry by the Romantics, she had wept uncontrollably for an hour. The sight of John Keats, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron brought thoughts not only of his nephews, but the glaring fact he remembered she loved their poetry. And while it was a book filled with sentiments of love, he still hadn’t said the words himself. For Emma, that meant everything.
“I’m truly sorry he’s going through so much. But I’m hurting, too,” she finally said.
“I know you are, honey. But if I asked you just to talk to him for a few minutes, would you humor an old man?”
“Oh Patrick, don’t you see. I’m scared.”
“That he’ll…cheat again?”
She bobbed her head. “With Travis, I never had to worry about him being unfaithful. He was totally devoted from the time we first started dating. I haven’t dated a lot or been out in the world, so I don’t know how to be with someone like Aidan and keep my sanity.”
Patrick rubbed his chin. Emma could tell there was something he wasn’t saying—something that held a piece of Aidan’s puzzle. “I don’t like to beg, but would you just consider sitting down with him and trying to hear him out? I know it would mean the world to him, and I think it would mean a lot to you, too.”
A whoosh of air deflated her chest. “I guess I could try.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, his face lighting up. “Good. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I could use some dessert. Want something?”
As if on cue, Emma’s stomach rumbled, and she grinned. “Even though I shouldn’t, would you bring me back some more of that homemade pound cake?”
Patrick smiled. “Good choice. I was going after a piece myself.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Just make sure it isn’t Mrs. Forrester’s. I think she accidentally put salt instead of sugar this time.”
He chuckled. “Oh lord. I do believe she has a screw or two loose.”
“You shouldn’t say that. You know she’s sweet on you,” Emma teased.
“And don’t think I’m not going to keep running away from her. She’d probably kill me with food poisoning or something.”
Emma laughed. “You don’t have to run too fast. She’s just one of your many admirers.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled. As he rose out of his chair, Patrick winced and rubbed his chest.
“Are you all right?” Emma asked.
“I’m fine,” he murmured. But when he took another step forward around the table, he gasped and then collapsed onto the ground.
“Patrick!” Emma cried, leaping out of her chair. She raced over to him and knelt down, grabbing his hand in hers.
“My heart,” he moaned.
“Someone call 911!” she screamed, trying to fight the rising panic that drummed in her chest.
“I will!” the bingo announcer replied, bringing his phone to his ear.
“Here give him this,” a lady said, thrusting an aspirin in front of Emma’s face. She took it from the lady and brought it to Patrick’s lips.
“Swallow this.”
He lifted his head and let her put the pill in his mouth.
“You don’t have any other medicine with you to take? Like nitroglycerin?”
Patrick grimaced. “Left it in my other pants,” he wheezed. At what must’ve been her horrified expression, he murmured, “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay.”
“Pray, angel.” A shaky hand came up to tenderly touch her cheek.
Tears stung her eyes. “Of course, I will. I am. And you do too! Say a Hail Mary or whatever it is you Catholics do!”
Patrick chuckled and then winced. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand tight and tried to give him a reassuring smile.
“If this doesn’t go well—”
Emma’s body tensed. “No! Don’t you dare talk like that!”
He closed his eyes briefly before opening them. “Listen to me. If I don’t make it, promise me you’ll give Aidan another chance.”
“Oh Patrick,” she moaned.
“Promise,” he urged.
The last thing in the world she wanted to do was lie to a potentially dying man. Somehow she found the courage to nod her head. “Okay, I promise.”
“Good girl.”
When firemen came barreling through the door, Emma said a thanks to God that the fire station sat just across the street from the VFW. Since most of them had EMT training, she knew they could help Patrick until the ambulance arrived.
“Excuse us, ma’am,” a young guy said.
Emma reluctantly dropped Patrick’s hand. The two firemen inched past her and squatted beside Patrick. Entwining her fingers, she brought them to her lips that were murmuring prayers. She watched as one man put an oxygen mask over Patrick’s face while the other took his pulse.
Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear the ambulance siren. The next thing she knew EMT’s had arrived and were putting Patrick on a stretcher. “Em!” came his panicked cry through his mask.
“I’m right here,” she called, pushing one of the firemen out of the way. Groping along the gurney, she snatched up his hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be just fine.”
The stretcher rumbled and shook along the uneven pavement as they wheeled him to the open doors of the ambulance. Emma had to fight to keep up with them, and she found herself winded as they started to load Patrick inside. His face crumpled when she was forced to let his hand go.
“I’m still here!” she cried, fighting the tears that scorched and burned her throat and eyes.
Emma felt a hand on her shoulder. A young fireman with kind eyes smiled at her. “Do you want to ride with him?”
“Please, can I?”
“Sure you can. Just come around to the front with me.”
Emma stepped closer to the doors of the ambulance. “Patrick, I’m going to be right up front. I’m not leaving you. Okay?”