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Nick
“You’re still here?” Candice asks, as she pops her head into the ER med room. She glances at her wristwatch and then back at me. “I thought for sure you’d have headed out by now. Aren’t your folks in town?”
I push my glasses up to rub my eyes.
I’ve been staring at this screen for way too long. Staring… without really seeing anything.
I was daydreaming.
About Maddison.
About what life would be like… if she stayed.
I can’t even remember what I pulled these lab results up for. Was it to check a CBC? Creatinine? Cholesterol?
“I’ll be out of here soon,” I grumble. “Just finishing up Johnson’s paperwork.”
“No—the night shift can take care of that. You know they can.”
She’s right.
I know she’s right… and yet, I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to walk to the staff room, remove my white coat, and head out into the evening.
I’m dreading tonight. The first checkers club without Maddison. The firstand onlycheckers club without Maddison, because as of next Friday, the event is canceled.
“What time is it, anyway?” I ask, as I click the chart closed.
“Eight-fifteen.”
“Already?” I almost swear under my breath and pull my phone out. How did it get to be so late? It was only seven o’clock when I sat down to do this charting.
“You doing okay?” Candice asks, pity softening her voice.
No.
No, I’m not okay.
But I can’t talk to her about it.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, before slipping out the door.
It takes me a few minutes to change out of my clogs into sneakers, stash my gear, and put on a raincoat. I keep my head down as I walk out of the ER. I don’t feel like talking to anyone.
As I step through the revolving doors into the light drizzle of rain, I spot my father, seated on a bench not far away.
I tug the hood of my coat up and walk his way.
The bench is cold and wet. “What are you doing out here, Pop? You could have come in.” I feel bad that he’s waiting for me. “And I’d have come out sooner if I knew you were here. Where’s Mom?”
“She’s at the diner already,” he tells me. His voice is weak, and I know that’s not all because of the physical effects of his disease. He’s also been humbled by this illness. He used to be a man full of swagger and confidence. That melted away with his diagnosis. He speaks softer now, with more sincerity than I remember from my youth.
“I don’t mind the rain,” he says. “It’s been good, sitting out here and waiting. Saw plenty of people go in and out. Looks like you all had your hands full in there. I counted four patients in the last hour alone.”
“Friday evening. People get themselves in trouble.”
He chuckles. “That’s the name of the game, isn’t it? We all like to do foolish things. Keeps life exciting.”
“Ha. Yeah, I guess.” I lean back, and my mind drifts back to Maddison.
