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He tugs his hand through his hair and asks if he can come in.
“Of course. Wait, is this about—”
I don’t get the full sentence out before he cuts me off. “Cal is in the hospital.”“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“Cal, lay back so the nurse can see your arm,” Derek says, sounding put out.
“Why? They’ve been running tests all day. I don’t need my blood pressure taken for the hundredth time, I assure you.”
Derek reminds him that the tests are necessary. They need to be absolutely sure they can rule out a heart attack.
“A heart attack? That’s what they think? No.” Cal sounds incredulous. “This was just a little heartburn, really.”
I stand outside Cal’s hospital room, leaning against the wall. Derek is in there now, along with a nurse. It’s probably a small room, so I stay out here, not wanting to get in the way. Or so I’ve told myself.
After the parade, I rushed straight to the hospital with Carrie and Thomas. They helped me navigate the maze of hallways, leading me past vending machines and empty waiting rooms, around corners, under official-looking signs and through stainless steel doors. It felt like miles between the parking garage and the hospital’s cardiac intensive care unit.
Once we walked in, a nurse stopped us right away, asking to see our visitor badges.
We had no badges.
She withheld a groan. “Who are you here to see?” I told her and she shook her head. “Family only.”
Carrie stepped forward, pointing to me. “She is family. Take her. We’ll wait out here.”
I fibbed and told the nurse my last name was Knightley. When she asked to see an ID, I told her I didn’t have it on me. With everything going on, I didn’t think to grab anything practical.
I know it was against hospital policy for her to let me pass, but chances are she took one look at my tear-streaked face and thought, I don’t have time for this shit today, because she sighed, produced a nametag, and demanded I wear it before pointing down to a room at the very end of the hall.
I walked there on numb legs, reached for the door handle, and then paused, listening to the voices inside.
At the time, Cal’s doctor was going over things with him. Half the words I didn’t understand, and the rest I tried hard to ignore. It felt like an invasion of his privacy, so I lingered outside until he left.
The doctor eyed me curiously but didn’t say a word.
That was an hour ago.
Since then, nurses have come and gone. I’ve lingered.
I wasn’t at the hospital the last time Cal had a heart attack a few months back. No one told me he’d been admitted until he was back home, resting. I went over for dinner and Ava shared the news. It didn’t really hit me then how serious it was. He seemed fine to me. He was up, walking around, dressed in his usual clothes. Other than the healthy dinners Ava started to prepare for us, nothing had changed. He seemed fine, but that can’t be, because here he is, back in the hospital again so soon.
“Could you go get me a snack from the vending machine?” Cal asks Derek. “Something salty? I’m starving.”
“Are you serious?”
“Fine. How about a granola bar? That’s healthy enough, right? What? As if having my blood drawn a thousand times isn’t bad enough, now you’re all going to starve me to death?”
There’s more conversation, but it doesn’t carry out into the hall. Then the door opens and I straighten. Embarrassed, though I’m not sure why.
Derek walks out of the room with his head down, focused. Then he catches sight of me and halts mid-step. We stare. Silent.
He’s still in his costume from the parade—the only splash of color in the stark hospital hallway. The last few hours are visible in his heavy, drawn eyes and disheveled hair.
We stand like that for a few moments as he looks at me. I don’t know if he’s surprised I’m here or upset that I’m intruding. His gaze flits down to my name tag: Whitney Knightley. He offers a small smile. I offer an even smaller one, about to open my mouth to apologize when he nods his head toward the room.
“Go in. He’ll want to see you.”
I wait until the nurse leaves, pushing her cart, then I knock gently on the door.
“Cal? Is it all right if I come in? It’s Whitney.”
“Finally! Someone I actually want to see.” I step inside but stall near the door. “Please say you’ve got a snack on you. Some pretzels, maybe?”
I shake my head, nibbling on my bottom lip.
“Why are you crying?”
Oh.
“I’m not,” I lie, wiping my nose.
It’s just that he looks so fragile lying in that bed in his hospital gown, twenty years older than the last time I saw him, pale and hooked up to a thousand machines.
