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I can barely see Eleanor. She’s surrounded by doctors yelling about pushing one of Epi and other medical jargon. I can only feel the panic nesting inside me, the dread, the feeling that this is somehow my fault. I should have told her no. I should have stood up to Dante and called this whole thing off.
A nurse yells for help as they careen into an open room. I try to follow, but another nurse blocks the entrance.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to wait in the lobby.”
“But that’s my girlfriend!”
“I know, but it’s hospital policy. When she's stable, we’ll have someone come find you in the lobby.”
I return to the waiting room. Someone is slumped forward in a chair with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders, shaking and sweating through their sweatpants. A mother holds her screaming, red-faced child, knowing that her attempts to soothe are useless. An elderly man clutches the side of his head, where someone haphazardly stuffed a hunk of gauze into a large gash. Each of us exists in a state of terrified stasis, silently united by our panic.
The fluorescent lights buzz above my head, mixing with the terrified ringing in my ears. Dante, Evan, and my mother are all huddled in the corner. Evan’s flipping through a water-logged issue ofGoodHousekeeping. My mother is squeezing Dante’s hand so hard it looks like she’s trying to snap his hand in two.
The green, vinyl plastic chairs squeak when Dante and Evan get up.
“How is she?”
“They said they’d let me know when she was stable. They wouldn’t let me go into the room with her.” I sink into a chair beside my mother. She slings a reassuring arm around my shoulder and holds me close for the first time since I was a little boy. I allow myself to cry, great, wracking sobs that cause my entire body and the shoddy plastic chair to shake. My face grows red. Snot drips down my chin, and I weep. Not just for Eleanor but for our children, even for Beatrix.
Time slows. I pace the thread-bare gray carpet like it’s my job. Sometime around three in the morning, Evan and Dante stop at the vending machine. They return with their arms full of junk food: red vines, potato chips, snowballs, and candy bars.
Dante hands me a tiny paper cup full of lukewarm coffee. “I don’t know how you take it. Do you want sugar or anything?”
“No, this is fine.” I take a sip. The coffee is burnt. I drain the acrid sludge in one gulp.
Finally, a nurse in light blue scrubs pokes her head out into the lobby.
“Joseph?” She calls. My head snaps up.
“Eleanor’s awake. She’s asking for you.” I feel tears prickling in the back of my eyes.
The nurse leads us down a narrow hallway. The scenery blurs together. The beige walls and speckled tile floors seem to melt. I can’t tell if I’m relieved, exhausted, or both.
“It’ll be to your left here,” she says.
When Eleanor sees us, she gets up onto her elbows. She rubs the space between her eyebrows with her thumb and index finger. She’s pale, but she’s awake. She’s hooked up to a heart monitor and a bunch of other machines. “What the hell happened?”
I can’t speak. I sob and wrap Eleanor up in the biggest bear hug I can muster.
“Watch her IV!” The nurse reprimands.
Eleanor hugs me back, clutching me to her chest.
“I don’t know. You passed out. We didn’t know what else to do, so we brought you here.”
Eleanor’s brow crinkles, “We?”
“You gave us quite a scare,” Dante says, clapping her on the shoulder. Evan and Iphigenia follow, wrapping her up in fierce hugs.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dante asks.
Eleanor looks puzzled. “We were sitting around the table, and I put my hand on the diary. And then, oh God, Dante, it was so strange. It was like I was Beatrix. I could feel Martin’s hands in my hair. I could feel her dress tightening as her pregnancy progressed. I felt the ocean the night she died, and then it all went black.”
“Fascinating,” Dante mutters, “You have a true gift.”
“Do you think the cleansing ceremony worked?”
“We don’t know yet. Right now, we’re just glad you’re okay,” I say, kissing her forehead.
