I watch until he gets in an old black truck near the back and squeals away, relief swamping me as he disappears down the road. Worry inches up my spine as I walk inside the store. What’s going on with Devon’s dad? Frowning, I text Devon what happened and hit send. My phone dies right after, and I groan and add phone charger to my list.

“She needs another day or so for us to monitor the arrhythmia in her heart.” The doctor looks at me. “Besides the atrial fibrillation, her glucose and iron levels are low. Her knee is sore and swollen, and the cortisone shots we administered will alleviate some of that in the next few days. However”—he gives the woman in the bed a firm look—“a knee replacement is recommended. I have a list of orthopedic doctors who are excellent.”

Myrtle pushes up in bed. “Like I already told that nosy nurse, all I need is my cannabis. Some studies show it helps arrhythmia.”

The doctor arches a brow. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know about your cannabis. I’m not aware of this study.”

“Well, get busy earning my money, and read it and write me a prescription,” she huffs. “As it stands, I have to sneak around and buy my special cigarettes on the sly.” She looks wary and a little scared. My protective instincts flare; they’ve been doing that a lot today.

The doctor is a tall man with white hair and wire glasses and seems acceptable to treat my bestie, but he’s in a hurry, already eyeing the door to get to his next patient in line. That bugs me. “Where did you go to medical school?”

“Vanderbilt.”

Well, of course, it’s top notch, but I stand firm. “Nice. Now, perhaps we should revisit the issue of cannabis. It’s the elderly who benefit the most from medicinal marijuana,” I tell him, not even caring that I don’t have a medical degree. This is Myrtle, and she’s been enjoying her Mary Jane since the eighties. “She smokes because of migraines and her knee pain.” Mostly. “What are the guidelines for getting a recommendation for a prescription?”

“It calms me and improves my appetite,” she adds, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

“Unfortunately, medical marijuana in Tennessee is all but nonexistent.” His words are flat. No budging there. I can tell by the hard look in his eyes. I exhale.

She huffs. “I should move to Colorado.”

“I’d miss you terribly,” I say sadly.

After he’s gone, I reach over and pat her hand, wishing I could convince him to help us, but my gut tells me it might be impossible. “You’re back to being feisty. Guess I should have known you’d bounce back, but I’m mad you didn’t tell me about having A-fib.”

“Give me a mirror. My hair is everywhere.” She fingers her scalp, trying to arrange the wayward brown curls.

I pluck one from her bag and give it over.

She cries, “I look like death! Lipstick, stat. Mr. Wilcox said he might drop by with lunch. Can you believe they released him last night? Apparently he’s very healthy.”

I tug out her usual pink, and she swipes it on.

“Patricia? Did you call her?” I ask.

She grimaces, that worried look back on her face. “I did. My daughter has five-year-old twins and is too busy to fly from New York to see me.”

I grit my teeth but dip my face so she can’t see. If my mama was in the hospital for a few days, I’d be on the next plane to see her.

“How long have you dealt with A-fib?” I keep my voice light. Apparently after they brought her in, her heart went into arrhythmia, and they sent an electric shock to restore the regular beat.

She throws her head back on the pillows. “Years. As long as I take my meds, I’m fine, but sometimes . . .”

A fire can throw everything haywire.

“When we get you home, we’re going to start eating healthier. No more red meat, more exercising, and less alcohol—”

She pouts, cutting me off. “I have maybe twenty years left, and that’s being optimistic, and I refuse to spend them being an old fuddy-duddy. I want fun, Giselle, crazy laughs, roller coasters, and men with big schlongs—”

“Hey, ladies!”

I look over at John Wilcox. He’s about five-eleven and lean with thinning hair and a big smile. He looks so much better than last night that I jump up and give him a hug, squishing the takeout bag from a sushi place. He chuckles and pats my back. “Ah, it’s good to see you well. Guess we didn’t get a proper introduction last night. I’m thankful you saw the smoke so soon. This is my son, Robert.” He indicates the younger guy behind him.

“And you delivered sushi.”

John grins and holds up the bag from Myrtle’s favorite restaurant. “It’s just what she asked for. I brought it. That’s how I roll.” He looks at his son. “Get it?”

His son shakes his head, smiling. “Dad, we all got it.”

My grin feels like it might split it’s so big. I like him, my eyes tell the lady in the bed.

Yeah? her expression says.

I lean over and whisper in her ear. “Big hands.”

“One minute in the room, and they’re whispering,” John muses, setting the food on the small table in the corner.

“If we don’t make you wonder what we’ll do next, it’s not worth the effort,” Myrtle chirps.

He smiles at her.

I feel the zing between them.

Robert looks a little older than me, in slacks and a summer blazer. Rather handsome in a studious way. We chat for a few moments, catching them up on Myrtle’s situation, sans the marijuana request. John tells me they ran by the apartment and found his cat, and I mentally cross that off my list of things to do. They settle in some straight-backed chairs his son finds in the hall and divide up the food. They offer me some, but I tell them I had a big breakfast.

John says he’s staying with his son until a new place comes up, and it dawns on me that Myrtle doesn’t have anywhere to go when she’s discharged. Once the apartment building is open, it may take weeks for the restoration. I pick up my phone that’s still charging and type a few notes.

1. Research A-fib.

2. Find M a place to stay.

3. Find myself a place! Can’t stay long at Devon’s.

4. Call All-State Insurance.

5. Call Patricia. Come on . . . she’s your mom.

I glance at the clock and jump up.

“Sorry, guys, I have to go,” I say, grabbing my things and stuffing them in my bag. After my Walmart visit, I came straight here, and the time flew while we waited for the doctor to show up so I could talk to him. “I’m on rotation to teach a summer class today.” I dash over and kiss Myrtle on the temple and give her one last squeeze. “I’ll call you later and let Pookie hear your voice. Maybe I can get a night visit in, yes?”

“Only if you have time,” she warns me. “You need to study and write more chapters and email them to me. I can read on my phone. Thank goodness it was in my purse.”

“I can sit with her tonight,” John calls as I make it to the door. I look back, and he and Myrtle are gazing at each other—level five all the way.

A long sigh comes from me. Maybe something good came from the fire after all. If my bestie found zing, well, that’s pretty awesome.