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I lay my hand over her trembling one. “Annalise—”
“You can’t, Marco! You can’t tell him!”
“He’d want to know.” I encapsulate her hand in both of mine, trying to read her face. Her fear. “Your family—”
“No, Marco!” Her voice breaks, the burst of energy gone. Her head rolls back and forth on the pillow. “Promise me you won’t tell!”
Why can’t her family know she’s sick? Isn’t this the very moment for family?
How can I not tell my friend?
Tears fill her eyes. “Please, Marco. Promise.”
The nurse sends me a look I can only interpret as a command to calm the patient.
“Okay, Lise.” Then I remember Kyle and my earlier resolve. I squeeze her hand. “Annalise.”
Her eyelids fall closed again. I ask the remaining nurse where they’re taking her.
“Surgery.”
“Surgery? What for?”
Annalise’s eyes fly wide open, spearing the nurse with a look.
I get a resigned smile from the R.N., and before I can ask what in themmmthat means, the curtains part and more bodies enter the bay. “Time to go,” someone says.
Edged aside as the gurney is wheeled from the bay. I clutch the arm of the nurse who’s guiding one of the IV stands. I have a dozen questions, but what slips out is, “How long?”
She takes pity on me. “Usually not more than an hour. I’ll send someone to let you know when it’s over.”
∞∞∞
When it’s over…
I’m certain—almost—that the nurse did not mean it the way it sounded, yet the words play again and again as I pace the surgical waiting area.When it’s over…
The phrase feels ominous in this setting.
Might help if I knew what the blazes was going on.
At first, I’m the only one in the waiting room. I suppose that happens sometimes at night, but after a short while, a small family joins me, whispering, huddling, and wiping tears on the other side of the room.
I check my phone for the time. Half past nine. For the sake of my fellow waiters, I stifle the urge to pace, but I go to the bank of windows and lean on a column there. Beyond the medical complex and a block of buildings, I make out the waters of the bay. On the horizon, the lights of seafaring vessels glimmer. The peaceful panorama belies the reality so many here are experiencing.
My stomach knots. The lies, including of omission, are stacking up, and they’re making me sick. But not as sick as Annalise, simultaneously flushed and pale, glassy-eyed, and wracked with fever. I can hardly reconcile the woman tonight with the healthy, playful woman who dared me to eat seafood.
Can it be only two days that we’ve known each other?
I close my eyes and see the girl inside the beautiful woman, whose fabulous blue eyes cloud over from time to time, reflecting stormy seas she’s weathering alone. Her friends were nice people, which confirms my instinct that she is too. A nice woman who’s having a rough time of things lately, if I’m rightly piecing together the clues.
And now this.
She doesn’t deserve this, I’m sure of it. What if she doesn’t get the chance to come back, rise above, and live the life I’m certain she’s destined for?
I drag my hands down my four-day-old beard. When I look again, the family across the way is praying. Heads down, hands joined. See, this is why Annalise needs her family. Her family would pray for her. Right now, she’s got no one. I’m not the guy for the job. I’d like to be—I’m just not.
But I close my eyes, and words flail around inside my head, some of which join up and begin to feel remarkably close to prayer. I want to see Annalise smile again. I have this feeling I’ve yet to see the real deal.
