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“Fair enough.” Jasper sat down and stretched out his legs, one boot loudly clomping over the other. “However,” he said with an exasperated huff, “we’re going to be here for a while. It would give us a way to pass the time.”
I sat beside him, the chair creaking as it slid on the floor, and crossed my legs while I opened my phone and scrolled. Turning a photo toward him, my voice cracked. “That’s my dad.”
“Ah. You look like him. Same eyes.”
I twisted to look at the last photo of the two of us together; back before things got really nasty. Absentmindedly, I ran my finger over his face as a tear slipped out.
“Did it happen here?”
Running a hand over my ponytail, I smoothed it out wishing it calmed my heartbeat too. “I’m not from here. But it happened back in Red Deer.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Like I imagined a big brother would do, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.
Tears streamed again and my breath hitched in the back of my throat. “I don’t mean to cry. Especially to you. I mean, we don’t know each other well enough.”
“Hey, hey, hey. You had dinner at my house with my lovely bride-to-be, and my amazing brother-in-law-to-be, so I think that alone elevates you to friend status, so we’re good there, plus, part of my bartender training includes a course on empathetic listening.” There was a small, friendly smile accompanying his words, one I didn’t have the heart to return. “Are you scared about what happened to Carter?”
The nod came fast and quick. Was he hooked up to machines? Were they filling his bloodstream with drugs to sedate him and take away his pain? Morphine had been the doctor’s drug of choice for Dad, and no matter how much I told them he was still hurting, they never believed me and switched to something stronger or better.
“Cara?”
“Yeah.”
“Which part are you worried about?” Without unlocking his feet, he twisted in his seat and faced me head on.
I didn’t want to even say the word. Those five letters smashed together into one horrible word were the scariest ones to speak; it was torture just hearing them in my head. However, the steady stream of tears spoke on my behalf.
“You know what I think you need?”
Shaking my head, I shrugged. I didn’t have a clue what I needed or even what I wanted, aside from Carter. Huddled into my jacket, I knew I was warm, and yet, I was shaking uncontrollably. A sour feeling gnawed in my gut as if I hadn’t eaten in days, yet, I’d had a buffet of a meal not two hours ago. Fear ran rampant through my veins and yet in Jasper’s presence, it wasn’t as intense.
“Coffee. You need a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, you can’t get a decent cup in the hospital, so I’m going to walk across the street…” He twisted in his seat and pointed out the window. “There’s a corner store that makes an acceptable French vanilla. I’m going to grab one, and I’ll be back with one for you, okay? And we’ll talk. Or sit and stare at nothing. But I want you to breathe and just focus on that. One thing at a time, okay?”
Inhaling, I nodded.
“Things are easier to talk or to just be when you have a warm drink in your hands. It helps with anxiety when you have something to taste, smell, feel, and see. You just stay right here, okay?”
He rose and walked over to the nurse at the desk before giving me a quick five fingers and a wave.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered to no one.
Jasper disappeared into the corridor leading to the outside world. Through the snow, he sauntered through the parking lot until I lost sight of him.
“Don’t go.”
I was all alone and suddenly transported back in time to when Dad had his final trip to the hospital.
Rushed into the hospital, after I called 911 when he struggled to breathe, they forced me to wait, pointing to the brightly lit room filled with plastic and metal chairs, most filled with patients moaning and groaning. The TV hanging in the corner playedJust For Laughson mute although no one was laughing at the pranks. No one was watching either.
Beside the vending machine with overpriced snacks and juice, on the pitiful excuse for a side table, were stacks of ripped, outdated, but well-read fashion magazines. But it was the sounds and smells that really stuck.
Low painful moans, stifled sobs, and deep groans filled the tiny thirty-by-fifteen tiles waiting room.
Vomit reeked from the guy hunched over a garbage can. The copper-scented blood soaked a gauze pad on the forehead of a construction worker breezed with the AC. As did the strong scent of urine, but I refused to see who that belonged to.
Rather, I tucked my stares away, waiting and listening for my name to be called with an update.
There was no clock in the waiting room. Nothing to gauge the length of time. There wasn’t even a window.
