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Gaynor is sitting outside the entrance on a park bench, waiting for me.
The expression on her face is fraught with worry when she spots me tearing toward the sliding doors . “Stop!” she shouts, leaping up from her seat. I attempt to bypass her, but she blocks the path that leads inside.
“It’s too late! You’re already too late,” she hisses, planting her hand in the middle of my chest.
Horror grabs hold of me and takes me out at the knees. I can’t breathe. “What do you mean,I’m too late?”
“Brighton rushed her in as soon as she got here. I didn’t even know she was coming. She made me promise not to call you. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t.”
“She’s already inside? Or…or she’s already in pre-op, or—”
“She’s already in the O.R.”
“What?WHAT?”I’m gonna pass the fuck out. “Brighton doesn’t have new scans. She has no idea what Sorrell’s lesions look like right now!” She’s going in blind, just like she did with Henry. This is precisely what I was worried about. “I’m gonna fucking kill her,” I snarl. “I’m gonna grab her out of that operating room and rip her fucking head off.”
Gaynor grabs me, yanking me back. “And what good’s that gonna do, huh? Your girlfriend is already on the table, Theo. She’s gone all in. Cause trouble with Dr. Brighton now and where does that leave Sorrell?”
I quit fighting to get to the door, a broken gasp leaping out of my mouth. She’s right. She’s fucking right. My hands are tied. I can’t interrupt the surgery now. Sorrell is the only one who’ll suffer for it. I sink to my knees, right in the middle of the path that leads up to the building, and I cover my face with my hands.
Gaynor rubs my back, doing her best to comfort me. “It’s gonna be all right. It is. It’s gonna be all right. The only thing we can do for Sorrell now is hope and pray and have faith that everything will be all right.”
“I didn’t think I’d be seeingyouagain.”
I look up and there is Father Simmons, lighting the biggest candle I’ve ever seen, up by the lectern. He’s exactly how I remember him—face weathered, hands gnarled, eyes bright. In his early sixties, he looks a lot older than his years. I suppose a lifetime spent trying to alleviate other people’s pain and suffering will age a man beyond his years.
“Have you come to pray?” he asks, approaching the pew where I sit.
I laugh derisively. “Nope. Just a big fan of really hard, really uncomfortable wooden seats.”
Father Simmons’ laughter is far more genuine. “Y’know. Back in the early nineties, we replaced all of the wooden benches at my last church with these really nice new ones. Upholstered benches. Seat pads. Cushioned backs. They were so comfortable. Too comfortable, really. Within two months we had to go back to the original seats. The parishioners kept falling asleep during mass.”
I snort, picking at my fingers. “She’s in surgery again,” I say quietly.
“I think I heard something about that. Is there anything I can do for you, Theodore?”
I think about his question. Really think about it. There’s nothing he or his God or anyone else can do for me at this point. I let my head fall back, working hard not to fall to pieces. “You can do something forher,” I say quietly. “You can pray.”
29
THEO
It settlesover you like a weight sometimes—the knowledge that something is wrong. It’s happened to me before, but never with the same certainty as it does today. I’m sitting in the waiting room, listening to the sound of the inane reality TV show the nurses have on in the background, my mind skipping from thought to thought, when a ten-thousand-pound stillness falls over me. I’m glued to my seat, too afraid to breathe, or blink, or move a muscle. If I stay here, like this, locked in place, then maybe the bad news never comes. Maybe I can just exist here, in this state of limbo, and I’ll never have to face the fact that my life is about to go up in flames for the fifteen millionth time.
But of course, it’s damn near impossible to hold back a forest fire once it’s caught momentum, and this blaze has been raging for years now.
“Theo?”
Do not look up.
Donotlook up.
I'd do anything not to, but there is no hiding from this. Eventually, I lift my gaze and steel myself as I meet Gaynor’s eyes—eyes that are brimming over with tears. “I'm sorry, Theo. I'm so, so sorry.”
“Tell me she's fine. Tell me she's already sitting up in a bed back there, asking to fucking see me. Tell me anything other than you’re fucking sorry.”
“I—I don't know what—” A broken sob flies out of Gaynor’s mouth.
Breathing in a ragged breath, I fix her with a hard stare. “Is she dead? Just tell me, did she fucking die back there without properly saying goodbye to me?” If she did, then I swear to God, I will hold a grudge for the rest of my day. Since the universe hates me, I’m probably going to die an old man in my bed, having lived a long and torturous life without Sorrell Voss, just waiting to be reunited with her. The moment Idokick the bucket, and I find myself entering into whatever afterlife may exist for us once we shuffle loose this mortal coil, I will find that girl who died and took my heart with her, and I will give her the ass-kicking of the century.
