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I jolt.
The doctor shrugs, plucks a candy from the box, right smack in the center, and makes notes on a chart. Her throat spasms as she chews and she gives me a grateful look.
“Those are amazing.”
“Her favorite. Your favorite,” I stress, looking at Lindsay as I stand, the bed moving slightly as my weight comes off it.
No reaction.
“Can we talk for a moment in the hall?” the doctor asks.
I leave with her. She pulls me aside and whispers, “I can’t give patient information, but because you have security clearance, I’ll tell you this: half the nurses hate you for bringing all this candy, because Lindsay’s parents send it to the nurses’ lounge.”
“What about the other half?”
“The what?”
“The other half of the nurses. You said half of them hate me. What about the others?”
Her eyebrow goes even higher. “They want to...” She looks away. “ -- date you.” It’s clear that “date” isn’t what they’d like to do.
I laugh. “What’s their favorite?”
“Silas,” she says, without thinking.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh!” She blushes. “You meant favorite candy.”
My turn to arch that eyebrow.
“Anyhow, Mr. Foster,” she says hurriedly. “I wanted to let you know that Lindsay does react emotionally after your visits.”
I nod, looking back at her room. Lindsay’s eyes are closed, her breathing even.
“Any idea when she can leave the hospital?”
“I can’t share that information.”
I nod. The tiny rectangular window in the metal door to her room has wire mesh between two panes of glass, criss-crossing my view of her.
Do I go back in? Do I just leave? What do I do next? How do I achieve an optimal outcome?
Through the window, I see Lindsay open her eyes and look to the left, then right.
She leans down, uses her good hand, grabs one of the chocolates --
And pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly, eyes closed. I shake my head slowly as I walk away.
Victory comes in so many forms.
Lindsay
“Oh, my God, girl, someone loves you dearly. Are those chocolate creams?” Myles, my nighttime nurse’s assistant, picks up one and sniffs it. It’s eight p.m. and two different nurses have tried to get me to eat another maple cream, but I can’t. Not in front of them.
They left the giant box on my bed tray, though. I’ve had three so far.
Fucking Drew. I don’t want to like them. I don’t want to want them. I don’t want to have volition.
