The House of Thunder by Dean Koontz

said, “Pete? He’s downstairs in radiology. They had some tests they wanted to put him through.”
     
    “Oh,” she said. “Well, maybe I’ll stop by later.”
     
    “Any message for him?”
     
    “No. It wasn’t anything important.”
     
    In the hall again, she considered asking one of the nurses for Bill Richmond’s room number. Then she remembered that he’d just had surgery today and probably wouldn’t be feeling too well. This was the wrong time to pay him a visit.
     
    When Susan got back to her own room, Mrs. Baker was pulling shut the privacy curtain that completely enclosed the second bed. “Brought you a roommate,” she said, turning away from the closed curtain.
     
    “Oh, good,” Susan said. “A little company will make the time go a lot faster.”
     
    “Unfortunately, she won’t be much company,” Mrs. Baker said. “She’ll probably spend most of her time sleeping. She’s sedated right now, in fact.”
     
    “What’s her name?”
     
    “Jessica Seiffert.”
     
    “Is she very ill?”
     
    Mrs. Baker sighed and nodded. “Terminal cancer, I’m afraid.”
     
    “Oh, I’m sorry.”
     
    “Well, I don’t suppose she’s got many regrets. Jessie’s seventy-eight years old, after all, and she’s led a pretty full life,” Mrs. Baker said.
     
    “You know her?”
     
    “She lives here in Willawauk. And now, what about you? Do you feel up to taking a couple of steps, exercising those legs a little?”
     
    “Absolutely.”
     
    The nurse pushed the wheelchair close to Susan’s bed. “When you get up, hold on to the railing with your right hand, and hold on to me with your left hand. I’ll walk you around nice and slow to the other side.”
     
    Susan was shaky and hesitant at first, but with each step, she gained self-assurance and moved faster. She wasn’t ready to challenge anyone to a footrace—not even poor Jessica Seiffert—but she could feel the muscles flexing in her legs, and she had a pleasant, animal sense of being whole and functional. She was confident that she would spring back to health faster than McGee thought and would be discharged from the hospital well ahead of schedule.
     
    When they reached the other side of the bed, Mrs. Baker said, “Okay, now up and in with you.”
     
    “Wait. Let me rest a second, and then let’s go back around to the other side.”
     
    “Don’t tax yourself.”
     
    “I can handle it. It’s no strain.”
     
    “You’re sure?”
     
    “I wouldn’t lie to you, would I? You might spank me.”
     
    The nurse grinned. “Keep that in mind.”
     
    As they stood there between the beds, letting Susan gather her strength for the return trip, both of them let their gazes travel to the curtain that was drawn tightly around the second bed, only two or three feet away.
     
    “Does she have any family?” Susan asked.
     
    “Not really. Nobody close.”
     
    “That would be awful,” Susan whispered.
     
    “What?”
     
    “To die alone.”
     
    “No need to whisper,” Mrs. Baker said. “She can’t hear you. Anyway, Jessie’s dealing with it damned well. Except that it’s been quite a blow to her vanity. She was a beautiful woman when she was younger. And even in her later years, she was handsome. But she’s lost an awful lot of weight, and the cancer’s eaten at her until she looks haggard. She was always a tad vain about her appearance, so the disfiguring part of the disease is a lot worse for her than the knowledge that she’s dying. She has a great many friends in town, but she specifically asked them not to come visit her in the hospital this time. She wants them to remember her as the woman she was. Doesn’t want anyone but doctors and nurses to see her. That’s why I drew the curtain around her bed. She’s sedated, but if she woke up even for a few seconds and saw the curtain wasn’t drawn, she’d be terribly upset.”
     
    “Poor soul,” Susan said.
     
    “Yes,” Mrs. Baker said, “but don’t feel too