Page 63 of Lying Hearts
The door opens and we both look over to see a doctor approaching, his focus solely on me. My heart stops. I try to stand and find that my legs won’t hold me, so I slide back down into the chair, not taking my eyes off his face. He smiles. My blood starts rushing again as relief begs me to have hope. But I need to hear him say it.
“He’s going to be okay.”
I exhale and sink down deeper, staring at the floor. “He’s going to be okay? Really?”
The surgeon smiles, happy to have good news to report. “Yes. The bullet missed his vital organs. It grazed his right lung, so we had to repair that, but he’s young. And he’s healthy, so he should recover nicely.”
“So it wasn’t punctured?” I rise up and hug him. “Thank you!”
He pats me on the back because I won’t let go. “It’s always good to give good news.”
“What can I see him?”
“As soon as he’s out of the I.C.U. That won’t be for a few hours. Until then, Mrs. Wells, he can’t have visitors.”
I was nodding until he called me that. “I’m not Mrs. Wells.” Kicking myself for speaking so soon, I add, half-joking, “Unless it’ll get me in there.”
The surgeon looks from me to the gentleman who brought me coffee. “Oh. I just assumed. Mrs. Wells is listed as Mr. Clark’s emergency contact in our records.”
“It must be his mother, then. I’m his…” I stop, realizing I’m not really anything to him in terms of a title. “I own the bar where he was shot. I guess I’m his friend.”
The surgeon considers my hesitation. We’re both awkwardly standing here wondering what to say.
The older gentleman chimes in to help. “Friends are sometimes better than girlfriends, am I right?”
This brings a relieved smile to both our faces and the surgeon excuses himself after saying, “That’s true. Well, I’ll let you know when you can see him, Ms…”
“O’Brien. Thank you.” I wait to sit back down until after he disappears through the door. I put my head in my hands and start to cry, all the suspense I’d been holding in rushing out of me. “Oh thank God. I was so scared he would die.”
The older gentleman pats my back. “Now that he’s okay, why don’t you get cleaned up? Maybe go home and take a nap.”
“You’re probably right. If he saw his own blood all over my hands...”
“Right. That might be stressful. Not good to take the chance.”
I stare ahead, sleep deprived and moving slow. “Right. Okay. I should go.” Looking around me, I realize I don’t have my purse. Tracing my steps in my head, I exhale and slink down in my chair. “I left everything in the bar. I have no way of getting home. It’s okay. I’ll stay here and wash my hands in the bathroom sink or something. It’s okay.”
“You live in the city?”
I nod.
“Here.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a twenty and a ten. “Take this. It’ll get you home.”
“I can’t take your money! That’s very generous of you, but I can’t!”
“Please. Accept the help. It will make me happy. I need to feel like… I’ve helped someone today.” He reaches for my hand and presses the bills into my palm.
I stare at him, suddenly aware that he’s here for someone, too. “Your wife?”
He nods. “She had a stroke.”
I say on a gasp, “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
He struggles to reply, looks away, and pats my hand, curling my fingers closed over the gift. “Yeah. Me too.”
I look around and see there are others here, in varying states of need. We all wish we were somewhere else, and we’re all hurting. I hate hospitals. But what would we do without them?
“Thank you. Really, you’re a good person.” I stand up and bend to hug him. He receives the hug and pats my back like the doctor did. “I’m Annie.”