seeing anything at all. “Damn it,” he swore before grabbing the rake from where he’d left it leaning against the house. He’d reached for it intending to go back to work, but instead he now carried it to the garage and put it away. Now that he’d decided, Patrick hurriedly turned out the lights and locked the house before rushing back to the garage and getting into his car. He was on the road toward Marquette within a matter of minutes.
He’d made the drive a million times, but never in ten minutes flat. Thankful he hadn’t been pulled over, Patrick parked outside the hospital emergency room and hurried inside. “Can I help you?” the woman behind a glass window asked, and Patrick stopped cold. He began to motion for a pen and paper. “Are you having trouble breathing?” she asked, and Patrick took a deep breath to show her he wasn’t. Reaching through the hole in the glass, he grabbed a pen and pad. “ I’m mute ,” he wrote first. “ I’m looking for Ken Brighton and his daughter .” He handed the pad to her.
“You aren’t here for yourself?” she asked, and Patrick shook his head. The woman looked relieved and began typing. “Please have a seat,” she told him, and Patrick sat in the waiting area, glancing around him. A few minutes later, he was called, and he followed the woman through a set of doors that opened for him. They closed by themselves, and Patrick followed her down a hallway to a small room where Hanna lay in a bed. She looked so tiny, with a mask over her nose and mouth, her eyes closed, her small body looking lost under all the covers.
Ken stood up, looking shocked, worried, and scared. “I thought she had the flu,” Ken explained and began to cry. Patrick had no words of comfort. Those had been taken away, so he stepped closer and tugged Ken into a hug. He felt the other man stiffen at first, but then Ken’s warm body melted to his and Patrick held him tighter. He wanted to say that everything would be okay, that the doctors would figure out what was happening and be able to help Hanna, but he couldn’t. All Patrick could do was hold Ken as tightly as he could to let him know that he was there. Instead of using words, he had to use touch.
Patrick heard Hanna mumble, and he loosened his embrace, peering over Ken’s shoulder. Hanna’s eyes were open. Ken stepped away and turned to Hanna, sitting in the chair next to the bed and taking her tiny hand in his. “Patrick came to see how you are,” Ken told her, and she nodded slightly before closing her eyes once again. “They don’t know much right now,” Ken told him quietly, anticipating his question. Ken stood up and motioned Patrick toward the chair. Patrick shook his head, but Ken motioned again. “She knows you’re here.”
Patrick relu ctantly sat down and took Hanna’s hand. She mumbled something softly under the mask, and Patrick felt her give his hand the slightest squeeze. Patrick lightly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, looking at her, marveling at how quickly a six-year-old girl could steal his heart. He felt tears well in his eyes and he blinked them away until he looked at Ken and saw the same tears in his eyes. He was such a goner. Sitting in that chair with Hanna’s hand in his, Patrick knew he’d given his heart to both of them. The walls he’d constructed to protect himself from the pain and barbs of the world cracked and threatened to crumble as he sat in the hospital chair.
“This must be Mr. Patrick,” a woman said from the foot of Hanna’s bed, and he looked up. “I’m Dr. Pierson. Hanna has told me a lot about you during her visits.” The doctor began examining Hanna, removing the mask so she could look at her face and then placing it carefully over her mouth and nose once again. “We need to determine what’s happening, so I’ve ordered some tests for tomorrow. We’re going to move her into a room and make her as comfortable as we can.”
“Thank you,” Ken said
He’d made the drive a million times, but never in ten minutes flat. Thankful he hadn’t been pulled over, Patrick parked outside the hospital emergency room and hurried inside. “Can I help you?” the woman behind a glass window asked, and Patrick stopped cold. He began to motion for a pen and paper. “Are you having trouble breathing?” she asked, and Patrick took a deep breath to show her he wasn’t. Reaching through the hole in the glass, he grabbed a pen and pad. “ I’m mute ,” he wrote first. “ I’m looking for Ken Brighton and his daughter .” He handed the pad to her.
“You aren’t here for yourself?” she asked, and Patrick shook his head. The woman looked relieved and began typing. “Please have a seat,” she told him, and Patrick sat in the waiting area, glancing around him. A few minutes later, he was called, and he followed the woman through a set of doors that opened for him. They closed by themselves, and Patrick followed her down a hallway to a small room where Hanna lay in a bed. She looked so tiny, with a mask over her nose and mouth, her eyes closed, her small body looking lost under all the covers.
Ken stood up, looking shocked, worried, and scared. “I thought she had the flu,” Ken explained and began to cry. Patrick had no words of comfort. Those had been taken away, so he stepped closer and tugged Ken into a hug. He felt the other man stiffen at first, but then Ken’s warm body melted to his and Patrick held him tighter. He wanted to say that everything would be okay, that the doctors would figure out what was happening and be able to help Hanna, but he couldn’t. All Patrick could do was hold Ken as tightly as he could to let him know that he was there. Instead of using words, he had to use touch.
Patrick heard Hanna mumble, and he loosened his embrace, peering over Ken’s shoulder. Hanna’s eyes were open. Ken stepped away and turned to Hanna, sitting in the chair next to the bed and taking her tiny hand in his. “Patrick came to see how you are,” Ken told her, and she nodded slightly before closing her eyes once again. “They don’t know much right now,” Ken told him quietly, anticipating his question. Ken stood up and motioned Patrick toward the chair. Patrick shook his head, but Ken motioned again. “She knows you’re here.”
Patrick relu ctantly sat down and took Hanna’s hand. She mumbled something softly under the mask, and Patrick felt her give his hand the slightest squeeze. Patrick lightly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, looking at her, marveling at how quickly a six-year-old girl could steal his heart. He felt tears well in his eyes and he blinked them away until he looked at Ken and saw the same tears in his eyes. He was such a goner. Sitting in that chair with Hanna’s hand in his, Patrick knew he’d given his heart to both of them. The walls he’d constructed to protect himself from the pain and barbs of the world cracked and threatened to crumble as he sat in the hospital chair.
“This must be Mr. Patrick,” a woman said from the foot of Hanna’s bed, and he looked up. “I’m Dr. Pierson. Hanna has told me a lot about you during her visits.” The doctor began examining Hanna, removing the mask so she could look at her face and then placing it carefully over her mouth and nose once again. “We need to determine what’s happening, so I’ve ordered some tests for tomorrow. We’re going to move her into a room and make her as comfortable as we can.”
“Thank you,” Ken said
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