“Let’s swim.”
We spend a long time in the water, swimming, fooling around, and touching each other on every occasion. Before sunset, we climb in the boat again, dress, and drive back to the shore. We walk to the car holding hands, and as we let go of each other, I can’t help the sinking sensation forming in my stomach. Come fall, I will have to let him go for good.
Chapter Eleven
Pippa
The next few days are like a dream. Eric and I don’t see much of each other, but we text and speak whenever we get a chance. I’m counting down the days—and hours—until we’ll be together again, which should be tomorrow night. Just thinking about it makes me feel giddy.
It’s late in the evening, and I’m at home when my phone rings. Max.
“Hi, brother.”
“Where are you?” he inquires. His tone instantly sets me on edge.
“At home. What’s wrong?”
“Dad had an accident.”
I gasp, a shiver running through me. “What happened? Is he all right?”
“He was with the renovating team at the farm, and he fell from the roof.”
“Oh, my God.” I try to calm myself and take deep breaths, but no air seems to reach my lungs.
“They brought him to San Francisco General Hospital. He broke several ribs, has a collapsed lung, and torn knee ligaments. They’re getting him ready for surgery.”
“But a collapsed lung can usually be fixed bedside with a chest tube, and torn ligaments aren’t operated on an emergency basis.”
“Yeah, but there’s been some significant injury to the lung.”
It takes me a few seconds to pull myself together before I can speak again. “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. Don’t want you to be alone right now.”
“Thank you.”
I could have taken a cab, but I appreciate my brother’s foresight. Heart thundering in my chest, I gather my things and head outside the building. My pulse races to the point I fear I might throw up. In the few minutes I spend waiting for Max, I manage to scare myself into imagining the worst scenarios. I try to reason with myself. The injuries Max listed, while bad, are fixable. But my dad is not that young. A surgery at his age is no small thing.
Max is pale when I climb into his car.
“Any news?” I ask as soon as the car lurches forward.
“No.” He sighs, frowning.
“What is it?”
“I should’ve stayed at the ranch with him.”
“What?”
“I went there last weekend to help out. He was overworking himself.”
“You mean he was his usual self,” I say as calmly as I can, trying to soothe him. “Don’t blame yourself, okay? Dad’s stubborn. Even if you stayed there, you couldn’t keep him from doing whatever he wanted.”
Max nods, but he doesn’t look quite convinced. We remain silent for the rest of the drive. I try to convince myself not to give in to panic and am almost successful. But when I walk into the hospital a while later, an avalanche of feelings hits me. I sway on my feet, suddenly more nauseous than before.
Max eyes me with worry, and I somehow manage to give him an encouraging smile.