Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,7

did show a significant bleed, but no head or neck fractures. The chopper is here. Are you okay to drive to Farmington?”

“We’re fine,” Juliet said, then looked at me. “Riley London’s watching the girls and Oliver’s on his way home. I’ll drive. Do you have your car? Can someone drive it home?”

The details of emergencies. Who drove which car? Did Lindsey have my coat? Did I thank her for driving me? Would she cancel all my appointments for tomorrow? Oh, wait, it was Friday. Should we take Route 9 or Route 2? What was the traffic like? Did I need the ladies’ room before we left? I did.

It’s strange how your body keeps going when your life is falling apart. I needed to go to the bathroom—I was seventy years old, of course I did. I washed my hands, aware that I was in a hospital with a lot of sick people. It was flu season. It wouldn’t help anyone if I got sick.

My husband might be dead right now.

Juliet had pulled her BMW to the entrance. I got in and buckled up. “I didn’t text Sadie,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you told her anything yet. I thought it might be better if we knew something first. When he’s stable. Or . . . if he doesn’t make it. I hope someone can drive her. She’s gonna take this hard.”

Exactly my thoughts. “Are you all right to drive, sweetheart?”

“I’m a rock, Mom.” Her voice shook a little, but she was. She really was. She drove efficiently and safely, always using her turn signal.

We didn’t talk much. But she reached over and took my hand and squeezed it. “Whatever happens,” she said, “we’ll get through it.”

* * *

— —

By the time we got to Farmington, John was already in surgery. He was still alive, the nurse told us, but it was a critical situation, given his age and the location of the aneurysm.

According to the paramedic report, John had been riding his bike. In January, down Canterbury Hill Road, and honestly, why? I mean, sure, he had to have his hobbies, and when he started that whole silly running/biking/swimming thing last year, I was relieved that he’d found something to keep him occupied. But riding a bike in January? That’s just foolish, even if today had been real nice.

“Based on his injuries, the doctor thinks he had the stroke first and then fell smack onto the pavement, which is why his face is banged up,” the nurse said. “He didn’t raise his hands to protect himself.” She demonstrated how someone would instinctively cover their face. “He has a concussion on top of the stroke, and his nose is broken, but the bleeding is the big problem right now.”

“Will he live?” Juliet asked. My strong girl, asking the hard questions.

“These things are hard to predict,” she said. “Try to keep good thoughts. We’ll tell you more as soon as we know.” She put a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I know this is incredibly hard. I wish we had more information.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“I’ll call Sadie,” Juliet said.

“Oh. Yes. Do you want me to?” I asked. “Maybe I should, don’tcha think?”

“No, Mommy. You sit down, okay? I’ll be back in a few. I’ll bring you a coffee and a snack. There’s a Starbucks here. I’ll be right back. Text me if there’s any news.” She smiled suddenly. “I can hear your Minnesota.”

“Oh, can you, now?” I asked, exaggerating the accent as a joke, and we managed a little laugh. It was true; stress brought out the accent.

Off she went, and as ever, I was so grateful that she was mine, and here.

The family waiting room on this floor looked like an airport lounge, sleek and cheerful. I found a chair and sat down, still in my winter coat. The chair was meant to look like a Morris chair, sturdy and reassuring. A good choice for this place.

When we first moved to Stoningham, I’d loved tag and estate sales and combed half the state looking for antiques that needed a little sanding, some repairs. John still worked in family law then, and we had to be smart about money, what with all the house costs we had—new kitchen, bathrooms, a leak in the roof, a new boiler. But we also had to furnish the place.

One day, I’d come across a beautiful wooden chair with leather cushions and clean lines. It cost ten dollars. I brought it home, cleaned and