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“I’m not a child, and it literally is my fault.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been working out in an abandoned recreation pavilion.”

Gabby chuckled, obligatory, pretending she believed this. “Come on,” she said as she stood. “Let’s find Ozzie. See if there’s any update.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks, but you go ahead. Text me if—”

“Nuh-uh,” Gabby said, reaching out, pulling Talia to her feet. “No more doing this family bullshit alone.” She put an arm around Talia’s shoulders and led her back inside.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Gabby

At two o’clock, the doctor came out to announce Dad was in recovery. The surgery had gone well, and he didn’t expect any lasting damage. With these words, I almost collapsed in relief. Perhaps if Dad could fully recover from what happened, so would I.

“I knew he’d kick ass,” Ozzie said and shoved a french fry into his mouth. He hopped to his feet. “It’s Marston fucking Gunn. He’s goated.”

“So goated,” Talia agreed.

“When can we see him?” Ustenya asked, materializing out of nowhere. Aside from a text asking whether anyone wanted tacos, she’d kept her distance. “How is he feeling? Is he normal?”

“She means is he okay,” I clarified.

“Uh. Yes.” The doctor adjusted his fingerprint-smudged glasses. “He still has a breathing tube and will be in the ICU a bit longer for monitoring. Standard for this type of procedure. But everything’s been textbook, start to finish.”

“Textbook?” I repeated.

“You’ve done this before?” Talia asked.

The doctor laughed haltingly. “I’ll take that to mean I appear impossibly young. Yes. I’ve performed the surgery many times.” He turned to address Ustenya. “Now, young lady, if you’d like to avoid a return trip, your husband must follow instructions more carefully this time.”

I glanced at Talia. Her features were pinched together in confusion. Ozzie was leaning forward, squinting, as if reading something on TV.

“We’ll send Mr. Gunn home with several prescriptions,” the doctor continued, “and a list of instructions, which will include lifestyle adjustments.”

Lifestyle adjustments. Was Dad missing a limb? Would he be forced to wear a colostomy bag? Was he permanently unable to walk? All because ofme? Dread landed like a boulder in my gut.

“Yes, of course, we’ll do whatever you advise,” Ustenya said, and thanked him again, using some idiom from the old country about a pot of stew.

“What will we need to do to the house?” I said, my mind going wild as it conjured ramps and elevators and widened doorways. “We’ll probably have to do some kind of remodel to accommodate him?”

“Before you jump to conclusions, or God forbid involve contractors, maybe read the instructions first?” the doctor said. “Most of the recommendations are very basic and don’t require extra equipment. Better stress management, for example. Eating a low-fat, low-salt diet that’s rich in fruits, vegetables, and whole grains. Being more diligent about taking heart meds.”

I cocked my head. “Managing stress?” I repeated.

“Heart meds?” Talia said, as Ozzie asked, “What the hell?”

“These might sound like minor suggestions, but they can have a tremendous cumulative effect.”

“Yes, yes, message received.” Ustenya rushed toward the doctor and physically turned him around. “Thank you so much for the update. Glad all is fine! Let’s pray it continues.” She spit over her shoulder twice for good luck. “Now get back in there and finish taking care of my husband!”

“He must take it seriously this time,” the doctor said, stepping out of Ustenya’s reach. He pivoted to face us. “I spoke to the team at Mount Sinai. They told me when they first diagnosed Mr. Gunn with CAD, they’d warned him that acomplete blockage could result in a major cardiac event. From what I’ve gathered, he followed none of the instructions, and the heart attack came to pass. We’re fortunate his son-in-law had the foresight to call an ambulance right away.”

“Not his son-in-law,” Talia said unnecessarily.

“What the fuck,” Ozzie said.

“Ozzie! Language!” Ustenya barked, even though she saidfuckall the damned time.