“Mr. Raymond?” I step into his hospital room. “Would you like some company?”
From his reclined bed, Mr. Raymond’s smile spreads and reveals his discolored teeth. His gray, thinning hair and mustache are highlighted against his aged, dark skin. He is a joyous man despite the tough years weathering his appearance.
“Well, sure,” Mr. Raymond says. “But what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
I give him my sweetest smile and sit by his bed. “Where else would I be? If I’m not here, I can’t see your dazzling eyes.”
The old man chuckles, nodding away like he’s heard the best joke of his lifetime.
“Aren’t you a sweetie-pie,” Mr. Raymond replies. “What was your name again?”
“Vanessa.”
“That’s right. Gosh, my memory keeps slipping. Sorry, dear.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “I’ve only visited you a few times. It’s better you remember the doctors and nurses instead.”
“I have rocks in my head if I ever forget your face.”
I sit back and lift the book. “Care to hear a chapter from ‘Wuthering Heights’?”
“I’d be delighted.”
I sit forward on the chair by Mr. Raymond’s bed, and he watches the ceiling as I read. I heard one of the nurses say he’s living on borrowed time. He is such a lovely man, and I want to do anything to brighten his days. Even if it’s just reading aloud a few pages from a classic novel.
Halfway through a chapter, Mr. Raymond drifts to sleep with a happy smile.
“Sweet dreams, Mr. Raymond,” I whisper, standing from my chair.
After reading, I make my way back to the nurses’ station. A few days ago, I found myself a side project of organizing the stationery cupboard. I get such a thrill from things being orderly and color-coordinated.
Things are in such disarray at the Logan’s Point hospital. Or, dare I say, chaotic. Not exactly the vibe you want for a functioning hospital. Although, can you really call this place functioning? It is severely understaffed and in desperate need of new medical gear. There’s no emergency department, just one wing that functions as a catch-all for patients.
If the people from Logan’s Point are lucky, they can travel to Victoria Falls for better treatment. Sadly, most people in this community can’t afford that luxury. But they shouldn’t need the option. They should be able to seek treatment in their own town.
Contrary to public opinion, I’m not perfect. I have a bad habit of lashing out at people who don’t deserve it. After my last transgression, I want to be better. Firstly, I can easily raise funds for this hospital. I come from the wealthiest family in Victoria Falls and have successfully choreographed many high-society events. Secondly, I’m well aware of how red tape creates delays in funds getting to a cause. This is why I chose the instant reward of giving over my time.
My parents prefer I don’t get my hands dirty, and work on projects that serve the Ashworth family image. But once I pointed out how this community directly benefits our family, I got their approval. My father’s manufacturing plants provide the majority of income in this working-class town.
Sadly, I didn’t anticipate how my philanthropy would be twisted into a marketing stunt. When benefactors became interested in my venture, a lightbulb shone over my mother’s head. Now she’s adamant that my friends sign-up to volunteer as well.
My friends are beneficial to my school reputation, but I don’t want their vibe in this hospital. Having them here, complaining about the smell of bleach, or a patient’s cough, will ruin my soul-cleansing experience.
Thankfully, a sense of ease washes over me from standing in front of the stationery cupboard. As I zone in on the placement of items, making labels, and the overall aesthetic of the shelves, the surrounding noises dull.
“Wow, Vanessa,” Nurse Cindy says, mesmerized by the open cupboard. “You’ve done a fantastic job. The pens and highlighters look so pretty arranged in jars, and all the paper supplies look so orderly with their labels. Gosh, it’s shameful how we had it before.”
I close the cupboard and give her a bright smile. “No, it isn’t. You need to spend your time looking after the patients. There’s only so many hours in a day.”
Cindy looks over at the computer and sighs. “I can’t wait until you finish organizing the patient files. I know it’s taking forever, but it’ll be so worth it in the end.”
“I’m just sorry I can’t spend more time here.”
“You haven’t graduated high school yet. I’m sure you have much more important and, let’s face it, fun things to be doing.” Cindy grabs an extra patient file from the desk and moves around the counter. “Thanks for everything you’re doing.”
“No problem,” I say, as she leaves down the hall.
As I sit at the computer and take a sip of water, something grabs my attention. From the corner of my eye, a boy enters the floor. I creep the wheeled desk chair forward and peer over the counter. The boy is tall with scruffy, coffee-colored hair. His broad frame is accentuated by a black leather jacket, commando-style trousers, and large, heavy boots. His head hangs low in an attempt to go unnoticed.
