It wasn’t hard to see why Nana had dubbed this one “Dr. Sunshine.” But if she was trying to scare me, it was definitely working.

Chapter 32

THE DOCTOR AND I went upstairs to see Nana together. There was safety in numbers, after all. Wasn’t that right?

“Mrs. Cross,” Dr. Englefield said, “you’re doing quite well, all things considered. I’d recommend one more night’s stay and then we can send you off.”

“I like that word, recommend,” Nana said. “Thank you for your recommendation, Doctor. I appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my grandson is going to take me home. I have things to do today, cakes to bake, thank-you notes to write, and so on and so forth.”

With a quick shrug from Englefield, I let it go. So did she. Forty-five minutes later, Nana and I were on our way home.

In the car, Nana reminded me of an old chocolate Lab we’d had when I was a kid in North Carolina, just before my parents died. The window was down and she was letting the air blow over her while the world flew by outside. I half expected her to start quoting Dr. King. Free at last, free at last…

Or maybe some choice line of Morgan Freeman’s from The Bucket List.

She turned to me and patted the upholstery with both hands. “How do they get these seats so comfortable? I could sleep much better here than in that hospital bed, I’ll tell you that.”

“So you won’t mind that we turned your room into a den,” I deadpanned.

She cackled and started to recline the seat. “Just watch me.” But when she got too low, her laugh turned into a coughing jag. Her lungs were still tentative; it doubled her over with a hacking sound that went right to my gut.

I pulled over and got a hand behind her until I could raise the seat again.

She waved me off, still coughing but better. My own heart was working overtime. This recovery was going to be an interesting dance, I could tell.

The coughing episode seemed like a good segue, so once we were moving again, I said, “Listen. Bree and I have been thinking about getting someone at the house—”

Nana gave a wordless grunt.

“Just for when we’re at work. Maybe half a day.”

“I don’t need some oversolicitous stranger hovering around me and fluffing my pillows. It’s embarrassing. And costly. We need a new roof, Alex, not nursemaids.”

“I hear you,” I said. I’d been expecting that answer. “But I’m not going to feel comfortable leaving the house otherwise. We have enough money.”

“Oh, I see.” She folded her hands in her lap. “This is all about what you want. I understand perfectly now.”

“Come on, let’s not argue. You’re going home,” I said, but then I caught a little eye roll from her. She was just busting my chops because she could—for the sheer fun of it.

Which was not to say she’d agreed to anything about any “nursemaid.”