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“I’m here for my husband, Marco Garcia! They told me he was shot but that he was breathing. Is he going to die?”
With sympathetic eyes, the receptionist at the desk calmly says, “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Eleanor Garcia. Can I see him now please?”
“Ellie!” I hear Joe say to the left of me. He’s standing in the waiting room with other uniformed officers whose blurred faces look vaguely familiar.
I turn my voice to Joe and start walking in his direction. “Where is he? Can I see him?”
He grips my shoulders tight when I reach him. “The doctor just came out to update us. He’s going to be fine.” He says and I exhale for the first time since he called me. “He took two bullets to the chest and the vest stopped them but he’s bruised up pretty bad. They’re running scans to make sure he doesn’t have any internal bleeding, cracked ribs, or anything more serious. His ankle is a little twisted from the fall, but they don’t suspect he tore anything. He’s one lucky son of a bitch.”
I nod vigorously as I process that information.He really is going to be fine.
I don’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t. I’ve never let myself live in the possibility of something like this happening to him. The fear alone would swallow me whole.
“When can I see him?” I ask.
“The doctor said the scans shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you sit, and I can have one of the guys get you a water or coffee or something.”
I force a deep breath into my body right before I see Rosalita burst through the doors of the ER in a huff.
“Did you call his mother?” I sneer at Joe. My ears heat at the sight of her.
He shakes his head dumbfounded. “No, I didn’t. Maybe the media got wind of it?”
She doesn’t see me standing there, so she walks up to the nurse’s station and starts screaming, “Where is he? I want to see my son right this instant!”
“Ma’am, please calm down,” the same woman I talked to says to her.
“No, I will not calm down. My son is dying back there somewhere, and I demand to see him right now!”
At that moment, the last tether to my sanity snaps. The reality that I could have lost my husband today comes crashing down on me. I’m lost in a tunnel of red as my adrenaline peaks.
Nostrils flared, my hands in balls at my sides, I yell from where I stand, “Rosalita! Stop it! Stop it right now. What are you even doing here?”
She turns her body in my direction and begins to slither up until she’s right in front of me. “What did you say to me, Eleanor?” Her voice is dripping in disdain and her eyes are narrowed at me.
“You heard me! What are you even doing here? You have no right to walk in here yelling at everyone demanding to seemy husbandwhen no one asked you to be here…This is damn well your fault anyway.” I’ve lost all my marbles now but there’s no chance I could find them even if I tried.
“My fault?” She draws back like smacked her across the face.Don’t tempt me, bitch.
Raising my voice, the last sixteen years of resentment pours from my mouth. “Yes, your fault! He has never been good enough for you, could never do enough for you. He became a cop to make you proud of him and all you ever do is demand more from him. More, more, more!!” I throw my hands into the air exacerbated. “I could have lost my husband today, my kids’ father, and you come barging in here like you have the right to demand anything. You can sit your ass down and keep your mouth shut because the only one that will be seeing him when they allow visitorsis me.” I stomp my foot and the echo rings throughout the waiting room. “He doesn’t need any of yourdramaright now.” She shrinks away from me as though what I’ve just said is the first time she’s ever heard his truth. I roll my eyes at her. “He’s fine by the way. He got shot in the chest, but the vest stopped the bullets and now they’re running scans to make sure he doesn’t have internal bleeding.”
My irate eyes leave her, and I sink down into the nearest chair. My body begins to crash as silent tears fall.
I could have lost my husband today…
Chapter 26
Stupid Fucking Toilet Paper
Ellie
Ifeelalltheireyes on me as time passes and I’m forced to wait for someone to walk out those double doors to tell me my worst fear didn't come true and I'm not a widower after all. I see the sympathy in their faces, his colleagues who came to support me, to support him, but I also know they’re walking on eggshells so I don’t lose my shit again.
I can’t just stare at those double doors anymore, so I get up to find the nearest bathroom.
After I walk in, I quickly scan the room to make sure I’m alone and then I walk to a sink. My hands grip tight around the cool porcelain as I stare into my eyes, breathing steadily through my nose, trying like hell to regain my composure.
