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“Do you know those people?” I ask quietly.
“Oh heaven’s no.” She shrugs. “But these are the warriors standing between Steph and Death. I can’t do much, but I’ll at least acknowledge them.”
I nod in quiet understanding.
“Ah, here we are.” She points up at the sign. “The nurse said she was coloring in the play room.”
Gwen pushes the door open.
We step into a large, play area. There’s a full swing-set—complete with a rubber slide, seesaw, and monkey bars. Soft, puzzle-shaped mats cover the floor.
Giant posters of smiling children are printed on the green, red and yellow walls. The kids in the pictures have shaved heads, are in wheelchairs and one is an amputee. It’s a stunning collage of inclusion, but even as I smile, sorrow creeps in.
These brave, beautiful kids.
It’s devastating enough to go through medical issues as an adult. I can’t imagine the toll it must take on a child.
Despite the bright colors and play equipment, the air feels heavy.
The room is quiet.
Subdued.
Kids are crawling all over, running and laughing. But it’s strained. As if they don’t have the energy to shriek with glee and scream like other kids. Or maybe they’ve been so conditioned to hospital life that they move quietly so they don’t disturb anyone else.
Both options have me fighting back tears.
“Oh there she is!” Gwen drags me forward. “Steph!”
A little girl with brown eyes, chubby cheeks and long black hair glances up.
The moment she sees Gwen, she hops to her feet. “Granny!”
“Hey, baby!” Gwen dips to one knee and spreads her arms wide. “Come here!”
The little girl races forward, her hair streaming behind her. At first glance, she looks like a normal kid, but on closer inspection I notice the tubes sneaking out of her hospital gown.
Gwen hugs Steph tight. When they’ve exchanged greetings, she pushes the little girl back. “I brought someone to meet you.”
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly.
Big, intelligent eyes take me in. “Hello, I’m Stephanie Phyllis.”
“I’m Elizabeth Garcia.”
“She’s a… friend of your uncle’s,” Gwen says hesitantly, looking to me for approval.
I nod.
My argument with Brogan today—while I still believe that he was totally out of order to tell me what to do—revealed his discomfort with my meeting Steph as his wife.
So I’m not.
I’m meeting her as his friend.
That’s a good enough compromise.
If he still has a problem, well, he can stuff it. I respect our agreement, but I’m not going to bow to everything he wants. I’ll still be Elizabeth after our divorce and I see no reason to change who I am.
