To Love and To Cherish

Chapter 3: Italus?-2

Nash walked into his patient’s room as the nurse’s aide was coming out. At a glance, he saw that Bernie’s belongings were all neatly packed. A trolley was full with the remains of a fruit basket and balloon bouquet, together with a travel-sized rolling suitcase containing the personal items he’d brought with him to the hospital. A colorful throw blanket lay atop the luggage. The ever-present bottle of lotion, mobile phone, tablet, and chargers were no longer spread out across the over-bed rolling table.

“All set, Bernie? The rehab facility’s transport will be here soon.”

“Ready as I’m going to be, I guess.”

“Aw, physical therapy won’t be so bad. It’ll feel good to be mobile again, won’t it? And there’ll be plenty of people around to keep you company.”

“I know. But I wish it was all over, and I could go back home.”

“You’ll be home before you know it. You’re expected to be there for only three weeks, tops, right?”

Bernie nodded, and the smile that usually graced his face reappeared, although it seemed a bit forced. “My grandson’s worried about me. He’s not sure I’ll be safe at home alone when he’s working now.”

“Oh?”

Bernie’s expression was difficult to read. An odd grimace that looked more like he was suppressing a grin while attempting to appear serious. But then he said, “I get the feeling he thinks I need…full-time help.”

Surely not. Bernie was occasionally forgetful, but he was nowhere near ready for a nursing home, if that was what was being implied. He was in overall good health for his age, and he’d be mobile again within weeks. Sure, he’d probably use a cane for extra stability, but so what? Worst case scenario, he might be a good fit for an assisted living facility, but even that seemed unnecessary if he was living in a relative’s home.

The positive vibes Nash had been feeling toward the mysterious grandson dropped into the basement. The way Bernie carried on extolling the man’s virtues every time Nash was in the room with him, you’d think his grandson was a candidate for sainthood. To hear Bernie talk, Emmitt was the smartest, most hardworking, kindest, and selfless human being to walk the planet.

Bernie had been rather clumsily playing matchmaker. It was rather sweet, really. Who knew, it might’ve had potential if Emmitt had ever shown up during Nash’s work hours. Not anymore, though. Not if he was considering a premature ouster of this sweet old man.

Nash squatted next to Bernie’s chair. “Would you like me to talk to Emmitt about it for you?”

“Would you? I know he’d respect your thoughts on it, otherwise he wouldn’t have requested you be assigned to take care of me.”

He had? Perhaps Emmitt was a former patient.

“Of course. I’d be happy to offer my opinion. Or better yet, perhaps your surgeon, Dr. Beltran, or one of his partners—like Dr. Burlingham, he’s been in to see you a lot—could speak to Emmitt. It might mean even more to your grandson if it comes from a physician rather than from a nurse.”

Bernie looked blank for a moment, then he burst into his trademark cackling laugh and slapped his good knee.

Nash looked up as Dr. Burlingham stepped into the room and smiled at the older man. “I’m glad to see you’ve cheered up,” Dr. Burlingham said.

Bernie laughed even louder, pointed at Nash, and gasped, “He wants to have you talk to my grandson!”

Why was that so funny? Heat rose to Nash’s face as he realized he was the butt of some joke or misunderstanding.

Dr. Burlingham’s brows knit together in apparent confusion. He gazed at Nash. “Which one, and what about?”

“Emmitt. The one Bernie says he lives with.”

Dr. Burlingham raised an eyebrow, then sat on the corner of the bed and turned his attention to Bernie. “Grampy, you really need to quit calling me that.”

“Wait. What?” Nash stood, blurting out his thoughts before he could censor himself. “You’re Emmitt? I thought your first name was Myles?”

Dr. Burlingham nodded, unruffled by Nash’s informality. “Myles Italus Burlingham. First initial is ‘M,’ middle name starts with ‘It.’ Em-It. Emmitt.”

“Italus?” Which was a tactless thing to say. He didn’t want to appear to be making fun of the name and hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“It means ‘of Italy’ in Latin.”

Bernie added, with a sly grin, “He was conceived there on his parents’ ten-year wedding anniversary trip.”

Dr. Burlingham winced at Bernie’s overshare, and Nash nodded distractedly. So Dr. Burlingham was a funny boy…er…gay? Angela would love to get her claws into that news. Sadly, he probably couldn’t divulge it without Dr. Burlingham being able to trace the source back to him. Not to mention, it was flat-out wrong to out people who didn’t want to be outed, no matter how much status it would earn one on the hospital grapevine. Besides, it pissed him off that anybody’s sexuality would be considered juicy gossip anyway.

Bernie said, “So you’ll speak to him then, Nash?”

Nash wasn’t sure what to make of the glint in Bernie’s eye, but suspected the old fellow was back in matchmaking mode. Bernie needed to get over that idea.

“Speak to whom?” Dr. Burlingham asked. He squinted suspiciously at his grandfather, which was embarrassing. Bernie could at least try to be subtle.

“To you, of course!” Bernie replied.

Dr. Burlingham sighed and nodded. “I wanted to have a talk with you anyway, Nash.”

Damn. About what? His eyebrows shot up. “Sure. Uh, this’ll be a rather personal conversation, so where do you think we should do this, and when’s convenient for you?”

“You’re finishing up your three twelves, aren’t you? So you’ll be off on Saturday?”

Nash nodded. Apparently Dr. Burlingham had been paying attention to Nash’s schedule since he was taking care of the man’s grandfather. He’d worked six to six, Tuesday, Wednesday, and today. He’d be off for the next four days.

“It’s Dr. Beltran’s weekend for on-call and rounds, so I’ll be free, too. Would you be willing to meet me at the coffee shop that’s in the lobby at my condo? It’s about ten or fifteen minutes from the hospital and has seating that’s well suited for confidential discussions.”

Nash ignored the widening grin on Bernie’s face. “Okay, I can do that.”

Dr. Burlingham pulled a business card out of his pocket and scribbled on the back before handing it to Nash. “I’ve got more patients to check on. Call me, and we’ll work out the details.”

He leaned down to kiss his grandfather’s cheek. “I’ll check in on you again later, once you’re settled in your new place.” Then he swept back out of the room as swiftly as he’d arrived.

Nash glanced at the back of the business card, noting Dr. Burlingham’s personal phone number and address written in his precise handwriting before slipping it into his pocket. He turned to Bernie and chuckled conspiratorially. “Okay, Mister. Were you messing with me when you said his hair was down below his shoulders back in high school?”

Bernie chuckled gleefully. “Scout’s honor.”

“And he wore a Van Dyke in his college days? Seriously? We’re talking about Dr. Burlingham, right?” It was incredibly difficult to reconcile that imagery with the man Nash knew at the hospital.

“Myles Italus Burlingham, my late daughter’s youngest.”

His late daughter’s youngest.

Bernie had told him all about that sad story. Apparently, Bernie’s daughter and her husband—Dr. Burlingham’s parents—had been killed in a boating accident when Dr. B was seventeen. There was a seven-year age gap between the teenager and his next oldest sibling, who’d been barely starting his adult life. Bernie and his wife, who’d still been alive then, had taken in their youngest grandson and guided him through the rest of his education.

“I know I said this before, Bernie, but I’m so sorry for your loss. If I’m ever lucky enough to have kids, one of my greatest fears would be to outlive any of them.”

He nodded solemnly. “It was a difficult time for me and my wife. I think gaining responsibility for Emmitt…Myles—he always gripes when I call him Emmitt these days—anyway, we helped each other through the worst of it.”

The nurse’s aide returned to alert Nash that the rehabilitation facility’s transport had arrived and helped Bernie transfer into a wheelchair for the ride down.

Nash was actually going to miss the old fellow. “Good-bye, Bernie. I’m going to pester Dr. Burlingham for updates on your progress. I expect nothing but good reports.”

Bernie perked up and laughed, then waved good-bye as the aide and another helper wheeled him and his trolley of stuff down to the waiting transport.