Page 24 of Tribute Act

He blinked at me, as though surprised by my surge of energy. “Um, sure, okay.”

“Great,” I said, too brightly. “Back in a mo.”

I headed into the kitchen, closed the door behind me, rested my forehead against the hard wood, and groaned.

Fuck my life.

The surgery was scheduled for first thing on Tuesday morning when I was due to open up the café. Tuesdays were quiet and usually I opened up by myself, but that day I asked Katie to come in—and thank god I did. I was a mess all day, totally distracted and fit for nothing.

Mum and Derek were at the hospital while the surgery was happening. We exchanged texts throughout the day as I waited impatiently for news. When my phone finally rang just after three, I jumped, fumbling it with shaking fingers, my heart already pounding.

“Mum?”

“It’s me,” Derek said. “Everything’s fine. The surgeon said it went well. Rosie’s just been taken to Recovery.”

The relief was intense. “What about Mack?”

“He’s in Recovery too. He’s okay.”

I let out a hard sigh. “Can I come up now? I haven’t been able to concentrate all day.”

“She’s going to be out of it for a while,” Derek said. “Why don’t you come for visiting hours tonight? Seven?”

I was silent for a moment. Derek’s assumption that Rosie was my only concern annoyed me.

“Will it be the same visiting hours for both of them?” I asked calmly.

“I think so. Are you going to look in on Dylan too?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

There was a brief silence.

“Well, good,” he said at last. “Lorraine will appreciate that. She wants to be there for him, but she can’t quite bring herself to leave Rosie’s side right now.”

I paused, debating whether to say anything else. This probably wasn’t easy for Derek. It might not be the best time to raise the topic of how things stood between him and Mack. Nevertheless, I found myself asking slowly, “Aren’t you going to see him?”

“The last person he’ll want to see is me,” Derek replied, his tone flat and certain.

“I’m sure—”

“I’ll see you here at seven, Nathan.”

He hung up without waiting for a response.

That evening, I went to see Rosie first. She was still groggy and looked small and very wan in her hospital bed. Mum sat on a plastic chair at the head of the bed holding her hand—the one without the tube sticking in the back of it—and Derek sat on her other side, stroking her hair. They’d both clearly been through the mill today, faces drawn with lack of sleep and worry, but there was a peace to them now that hadn’t been there before the operation.

“Hey, Ro!” I called softly as I approached the bed, setting a cuddly gorilla on the cabinet beside the bed.

She smiled weakly. “Hey!”

“How you doing?”

“Oh, great!” She chuckled at her own sarcasm.

Derek said in a wry tone, “She’s all drugged up. Take a seat.”

He gestured at the last remaining chair, which was larger and more comfortable than the basic ones he and Mum were sitting on, though further from Rosie. The patient’s chair. As I sat myself down, I met Mum’s gaze.