The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,70
while Hunter slept.
“If you blame yourself, then you have to blame me too. I insisted you come to work full time, that we put Hunter in day care.”
“Jeff—”
“Just think about what I said. Sometimes bad things just happen.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
Merry watched him disappear through the door, and then she slumped in the comfortable chair next to Hunters crib. He had brought her a pile of women’s magazines, courtesy of Eugenie and the library. Eugenie had included a note, assuring Merry of her prayers for Hunter and letting her know that the Knit Lit Society had decided unanimously to postpone their December meeting until Hunter felt better. Merry glanced at the copy of Gone with the Wind that protruded from the tote bag at her feet. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to read about Scarlett and Rhett’s loss of their daughter, Bonnie Blue.
Hunter sighed in his sleep, and Merry turned her attention back to him. She’d learned the evening hospital routine quickly. The on-call pediatrician had stopped by earlier to check on Hunter and reassured them he was progressing as he should. The nurse had been in to check his vitals, and dining services had delivered a nutritious, if somewhat institutional, meal for Merry. An early evening peace settled over the hospital. Exhausted, Merry relaxed into the recliner and let her eyes drift shut.
“Merry?”
A soft voice at the door woke her. Merry rubbed her eyes and shifted forward in the chair.
“Camille.” She smiled, standing to greet her visitor. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Camille was dressed for an evening out in black pants and a shimmering emerald green blouse. She carried a black wool coat and a cashmere scarf. “Dante and I came to Nashville for dinner, but I wanted to stop here first.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Merry said, her throat tightening. She was certain that the last place Camille ever wanted to be again was a hospital. The poor girl had spent more than her share of time in them already, looking after her mother.
“How’s Hunter?” Camille moved farther into the room and stood beside the crib. “He doesn’t look sick. If you don’t count all the medical paraphernalia.” She waved a hand to indicate the tubing and IV stand.
“He’ll be okay, given time.” Merry forced back the sob that threatened to break free. “It was touch and go for a bit.”
Camille reached out, and Merry took her hand. The younger woman’s grip was firm and reassuring. “I’m sorry. I know how frightening it can be.”
Merry knew she did. Camille had been through worse than this with her mother. How the girl had managed, Merry had no idea.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to come.”
Camille paused, then gave Merry a look that told her she understood. “Yes, I did.” She looked around the room. “Do you need anything? I can get you some dinner.” She cast a disparaging glance at the tray on the nearby table. “Some real dinner.”
“Actually, the food has been pretty good. I just haven’t had much of an appetite.”
“You need to keep your strength up.” Camille paused, and a small smile etched the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I got so tired of hearing those very words from people through the years. You’ll eat when you need to. I always did.” She made a face. “Why is it that in a crisis people always want to feed each other? Like a sandwich or a bowl of soup will make a difference.”
Merry smiled in response. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we get frustrated that we can’t actually do anything to change what’s happening.”
Both of their gazes moved back to Hunter, who snuffled in his sleep.
“Is he going to be okay? Really okay?” Camille asked.
Merry thought about giving her stock answer, the low-key reassurance she’d repeated to friends who’d stopped by the hospital, to her mother on the phone. But the stock answer wasn’t the truth, not all of it. She could tell Camille the truth. Camille would understand.
“He may never be able to play sports,” Merry said, the words tumbling out on a whoosh of breath. “Jeff refuses to acknowledge it, but that’s what the doctor said. This disease can weaken the heart muscles, but there’s no way to know—”
“Merry—”
“Jake plays every sport known to man and then some that he just made up.” She felt pressure rising in her throat. “How will I tell Hunter that he can’t do what his brother does?”