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“I don’t care.” The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.
She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn’t take us as long as I anticipated, so Iris and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly. The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.
“If it’s any consolation, I hate hospitals too.”
Her head swings toward the direction of my voice. “You do?”
I nod. “Haven’t been to one since I was younger.”
“Why?”
My chest heaves as I consider the potential consequence of admitting my reason. I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner. “We spent a lot of time in hospitals while my mom was sick. I grew to resent everything about them, even long after she passed.”
Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I’m grateful she understands me enough not to ask any follow-up questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal to the years I’ve spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.
“I hate them too.” Her voice cracks.
“Why?”
She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. “Let’s just say my mom ended up in the ER a couple times for beingclumsy.”
I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “And did you have issues withbeingclumsy?” If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.
She shakes her head rather aggressively. “No.No.”
My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. “If you were, you can tell me.” While I can’t promise I won’t do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt.A lot.
The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don’t shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.
“It never got to that point. Nana made sure of it.”
“How?”
“She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa’s life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life.” A tear slips down her face, and I can’t stand the sight of it.
I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. “Did Nana’s plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?”
She forces out a laugh. “I think concrete shoes were more in style back then.”
I fake shudder. “Remind me to never make Nana angry.”
“Forget Nana. You’d have to deal with me.” She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.
“I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Mrs. Kane?” a nurse calls out.
Iris doesn’t move at the sound of her name.
“That’s you.” I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.
She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand. Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. “I’m here!”
The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay. Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.
The empty bed meant for Iris is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.
“I’d like my wife to be taken care of in a private suite,” I speak up.
