restrained.
"I'll be fine."
Her mother hurried off with a faint click of her low heels.
The lighting was subdued in the hospital lobby. Charlie absently checked for her watch, but her mother had not returned it to her, so she looked around the several alcoves of furniture and magazines, anywhere, for a clock. She finally spotted one on the wall in the glass-enclosed gift shop which was shuttered for the night. A plain-faced dial of a clock, its somber black hands rested at ten after three. Yet, even at this hour, one of the other lobby niches held a family, leaning close to one another as if for strength, murmuring quietly, their faces showing the strain of their vigil.
One brown-haired child had succumbed to sleep, his face bunched up against his mother's elbow in a rubbery, uncomfortable position, but his snuggled contentment apparent. Only he seemed at peace. The man and woman and brother all fidgeted and watched the elevator banks against the far wall with furrowed brows. That was the elevator, Charlie knew, which the doctor came down in after surgery.
In her own fatigue, she found herself staring, thoughts wandering off into a kind of blankness, and she looked away quickly, hoping they hadn't noticed. Instead she looked down at her blouse, tucked hastily inside her vest, because the buttons had been torn from the front, done her mother said, by the paramedics to check her vitals. The black sequined vest which matched her satin trousers seemed unharmed, and for that she was grateful. Evidently its two buttons had been easy enough to open quickly. Her bra had been cut into shreds and she had tossed it into the trash, along with the plastic bag from the hospital which had held her other garments. Self-consciously, she drew her vest closed a little tighter.
An aquarium bubbled in the corner, a tall and thin rectangular glass world, with fuschia and ivory sea fans as a backdrop to the saltwater fish who swam seemingly heedless of the hour. She watched it, knowing that the window to the sea was soothing as well as entertaining, far less stressful than a television set, yet as compelling to watch. Her neurosurgeon from years ago had had two such aquariums in his office. She could not count the times she had spent, nose nearly pressed to the glass, watching the fish and eel and hermit crabs among the rocks and flora. After the operation, she had found herself eerily identifying with the hermit crab, her own head bound in a turban of bandages, the rest of her venturing out into the world only when she could hope it was safe.
There was no hermit crab in the hospital tank. There was, however, one of those eels, peeking through a porous lava rock, his brown sleek self darting in and out as a brilliant fish ventured too close to his lair. She had never seen an eel eat a fish, so she thought it was to protect his territory.
A shadow fell across her view and she drew back quickly, prepared to see her mother. Instead, the dark-haired boy smiled shyly at her. His T-shirt had a small grape-colored stain on it, his round stomach peeked through a tiny hole, and he wore knee-length shorts meant to sag.
"Lady, could I borrow some quarters? My dad wants some coffee and we ran out of money."
"You've been here a while, huh?" Charlie reached inside her vest, to an inner pocket, where she always kept money folded up and secreted. She withdrew the bills, found a one crisp except for the crease in the middle, and gave it to the boy. "You can put this in the vending machine."
"I know," he said wisely.
She nodded. She could not tell if he was school age or not, but she knew the wisdom of children when it came to drink and candy machines. "Well, there you go."
"Thanks." He started to turn around, then looked back. "My sister… she was in a car accident. We don't know if she's gonna live or not."
His need for her to understand touched her. Charlie smiled briefly in sympathy. His brown eyes darkened for a moment. "You can pray
"I'll be fine."
Her mother hurried off with a faint click of her low heels.
The lighting was subdued in the hospital lobby. Charlie absently checked for her watch, but her mother had not returned it to her, so she looked around the several alcoves of furniture and magazines, anywhere, for a clock. She finally spotted one on the wall in the glass-enclosed gift shop which was shuttered for the night. A plain-faced dial of a clock, its somber black hands rested at ten after three. Yet, even at this hour, one of the other lobby niches held a family, leaning close to one another as if for strength, murmuring quietly, their faces showing the strain of their vigil.
One brown-haired child had succumbed to sleep, his face bunched up against his mother's elbow in a rubbery, uncomfortable position, but his snuggled contentment apparent. Only he seemed at peace. The man and woman and brother all fidgeted and watched the elevator banks against the far wall with furrowed brows. That was the elevator, Charlie knew, which the doctor came down in after surgery.
In her own fatigue, she found herself staring, thoughts wandering off into a kind of blankness, and she looked away quickly, hoping they hadn't noticed. Instead she looked down at her blouse, tucked hastily inside her vest, because the buttons had been torn from the front, done her mother said, by the paramedics to check her vitals. The black sequined vest which matched her satin trousers seemed unharmed, and for that she was grateful. Evidently its two buttons had been easy enough to open quickly. Her bra had been cut into shreds and she had tossed it into the trash, along with the plastic bag from the hospital which had held her other garments. Self-consciously, she drew her vest closed a little tighter.
An aquarium bubbled in the corner, a tall and thin rectangular glass world, with fuschia and ivory sea fans as a backdrop to the saltwater fish who swam seemingly heedless of the hour. She watched it, knowing that the window to the sea was soothing as well as entertaining, far less stressful than a television set, yet as compelling to watch. Her neurosurgeon from years ago had had two such aquariums in his office. She could not count the times she had spent, nose nearly pressed to the glass, watching the fish and eel and hermit crabs among the rocks and flora. After the operation, she had found herself eerily identifying with the hermit crab, her own head bound in a turban of bandages, the rest of her venturing out into the world only when she could hope it was safe.
There was no hermit crab in the hospital tank. There was, however, one of those eels, peeking through a porous lava rock, his brown sleek self darting in and out as a brilliant fish ventured too close to his lair. She had never seen an eel eat a fish, so she thought it was to protect his territory.
A shadow fell across her view and she drew back quickly, prepared to see her mother. Instead, the dark-haired boy smiled shyly at her. His T-shirt had a small grape-colored stain on it, his round stomach peeked through a tiny hole, and he wore knee-length shorts meant to sag.
"Lady, could I borrow some quarters? My dad wants some coffee and we ran out of money."
"You've been here a while, huh?" Charlie reached inside her vest, to an inner pocket, where she always kept money folded up and secreted. She withdrew the bills, found a one crisp except for the crease in the middle, and gave it to the boy. "You can put this in the vending machine."
"I know," he said wisely.
She nodded. She could not tell if he was school age or not, but she knew the wisdom of children when it came to drink and candy machines. "Well, there you go."
"Thanks." He started to turn around, then looked back. "My sister… she was in a car accident. We don't know if she's gonna live or not."
His need for her to understand touched her. Charlie smiled briefly in sympathy. His brown eyes darkened for a moment. "You can pray
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