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He bought a burnt cup of coffee and paced near the front desk, where they’d call their names soon, telling them Morgan was ready to see them. Although he didn’t ask for it, he still felt the image of Charlotte pass through his mind, a reminder of how frightened she probably was, right then. He’d literally kicked her from his bed at four in the morning, without an explanation. He’d probably made her feel two inches tall.
But whatever. Treating her this coldly was essential, ridding her of any lingering emotion for him. In a week’s time, she’d be screwing some barista in Brooklyn, like all the other twenty-somethings in New York. He’d be a passing memory, a story she could tell her friends. They wouldn’t even say hello in the hallways. And perhaps Morgan would forget about her, as well.
“Morgan McDonnell!” the woman at the front desk squeaked out, sending Quentin rushing toward her. Kate wasn’t far behind, leaving Jason with two steaming coffee cups and a ripped-up copy of Golf Digest. She shivered, placing her hand on Quentin’s back.
“Can we see her?” Quentin asked the woman.
“The doctor’s on his way out to speak with you,” the lady said, her words blasé. “Wait here.”
Quentin and Kate stood like people waiting for a train, their eyes at the door. They felt the rush of the doctor’s feet before they actually saw him, listening to the rushing taps of his feet across the linoleum floor. Quentin couldn’t control his racing heart.
Doctor Andrews was balding, with graying, blue skin, and sad, tiny eyes. His large hands were confident, drawn together at his chest. He greeted them both, Kate for the second time, and Quentin for the first. “You must be the father.”
He led them through the double, white doors, through the hallways.
“She’s conscious, now,” he told them. “We’ve reduced the allergic reaction, and she can breathe on her own again. Honestly, the shellfish was in trace amounts, which definitely saved her life. But I would avoid any trips to this restaurant—or any other dodgy place in the future.”
“Of course,” Quentin said firmly, wanting to instill the fact that he was a good father. “If I only would have known—”
Dr. Andrews opened the final door in the hallway, revealing his tiny daughter, with her blond hair whipped back on the pillow, her large eyes hunting the room, and a little tube in her arm. Her vital signs blasted on three different screens around her, dwarfing her. Immediately, Quentin’s chest felt squeezed.
“Hi, Daddy!” Morgan said, her voice bright. “Check it out! I’m a robot!”
“Ha,” Quentin said, trying to yank back his tears. “Finally, you’ve beat the humans at their own game. You don’t need us any longer. You’re bionic.”
Morgan giggled, trying to lift herself to a seating position, before failing from fatigue. “I’m so, so tired, Daddy,” she murmured. “And they said I can’t even go home till tomorrow.”
“It’s for the best,” Kate interjected, always the voice of reason. “They want to monitor you. Make sure you’re not sick anymore.”
Dr. Andrews appeared behind them, then, excusing himself. He bowed toward the hallway, explaining, “Just had an emergency down the hall. But you can reach me via the front desk. Morgan will be moved later this afternoon to a smaller room, without the machines. And then, as she’s already told you, we’ll release her tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Doc,” Quentin said firmly, making intense eye contact with the man. “This means more than you could possibly know.”
He returned to his daughter, sliding into a chair beside her bed and grabbing onto her little, chilly hand. She gave him a tight smile, revealing chapped lips. “Daddy, I just couldn’t breathe. It was stupid. And now, I won’t be able to practice for my piano competition today. I’ll fall behind!”
“One day off from practice isn’t going to kill your chances,” Quentin said, laughing. “Trust me. I didn’t practice for two weeks before I performed at Madison Square Garden, and I killed it.”
“You were a rock star, Daddy. Not a classically trained musician. I’m sure you made some mistakes,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes.
“Somebody hasn’t lost her spunk,” Quentin said, turning toward Kate and grinning madly. His heart fluttered with love for his daughter. She was going to be all right.
Kate appeared in the seat on the other side of the bed, taking Morgan’s other hand and rubbing at it. Wrinkles and darkness formed under her eyes, probably from not applying makeup before racing to the hospital. It was strange seeing time make its way across her face, especially when she took such care not to show it.
“Daddy, are you going to work today?” Morgan asked him then, her voice growing softer.
“Not unless you want me to,” Quentin said firmly, already divorcing himself from his tight schedule of meetings. This was more important. This was everything.
