phone. He’d propped her head on a pillow, elevated her feet, and chafed her hands until the paramedics got there.
Thank God he hadn’t had to do CPR.
The EMTs had been very interested in the situation yesterday and told him that she’d probably had a small heart attack already. The nausea and tiredness she’d felt were lesser-known but common symptoms of heart attack in women.
He pulled into the parking lot, cruising up and down the packed parking area searching for a spot and finally took one marked “Doctors Only.” Let those well-paid assholes drive around looking for a parking spot; they were just going to work while he was trying to find out what had happened to his one remaining parent.
He jogged into the emergency room and up to the admissions window. “Hi. I’m Adam Rodrigues. My mother was just brought in by ambulance.”
“Oh good. Glad you’re here. We had her information on file. Here are some admission forms for you to fill out.”
“Do you know anything? How’s she doing?” He took the clipboard and pen.
“I’m sorry.” The admissions nurse seemed to be doing her best to be understanding. “The team took her straight to the back, and they’re doing the best they can for her.”
“Okay.” He turned away—and faced a roomful of wailing babies, hunched street people, and anxious parents.
Emergency room hell.
He walked back outside, the automatic doors whisking open. He sat on a rock wall abutting the entrance under the canopy where the ambulances drove in and did some relaxation breaths. Remarkably, they seemed to help.
He stared down at the clipboard.
God. His mom. He knew that in many other places in the United States, young men with sisters didn’t usually end up taking care of their mothers—but this was Hawaii, and in his Portuguese-Hawaiian family, caring for parents was an honor and a matter of course. As the oldest and an unmarried man, he was the natural choice to be her caregiver.
It had never been as hard as this moment. He began filling out the particulars on his mom—her birthdate, social security, insurance, current symptoms, past surgeries. He didn’t know everything, but maybe one of his sisters would.
Mele was the one to waddle up to him first, her husband, Pat, trailing.
“Adam!” Mele’s face, a softer, prettier version of his own, was distorted with crying. She was wearing a bright green sleep T-shirt with a smiley face that bulged over her pregnant belly. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. They arrived before me and took her straight into the back. They’re working on her. The waiting room is a little full. I needed some air.”
“Oh God.” Mele covered her face, hunching her shoulders on fresh tears, and Adam reached out an arm. “C’mere, sis. It’s okay. Don’t get stressed. It’s bad for the baby.”
Pat nodded vigorously. “I’ll take the papers in if you’re done with them, Adam, see what I can find out.” Clearly relieved to hand off his emotional wife to her brother, he took the clipboard and hurried inside.
Mele sobbed on his shoulder as Adam rubbed her back, patted the tumble of her long black hair. Mele had been the apple of their father’s eye and had taken his death harder than any of them. The thought of losing their mother too, along with pregnancy hormones, was clearly more than she could handle. He felt bad for his impatience earlier.
“ It’s okay. She’s going to be okay,” he soothed, rubbing her shoulder, kissing her forehead.
That’s when he glanced up and saw Zoe with the green eyes walking toward him.
He froze, staring at her. He could tell she’d seen him kiss his sister, and he could tell she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion by her narrowed eyes, by the way she clutched her little silvery dog tighter and literally lifted her nose in the air as if she smelled something bad. She passed him, walking stiffly into the emergency room.
What was she doing here? And what the hell could he do about