vibe.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate them. Have a seat,”
Robert offers, sniffling.
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
Robert sits down next to me.
“They don’t know yet. Had a stroke sometime
last night. They’re just not sure. It’s a wait-and-see situation. Could wake up
any minute … We’ll see.” Robert isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Mr.
Spencer, who somehow appears ten years younger lying in the bed.
“He looks comfortable.” I don’t know what else
to say.
“Doesn’t he?”
Outside the room, the shuffle of doctors or
nurses echo as they enter the elevator and the muffled sound of their voices
disappears.
“You didn’t have to come,” Robert states.
“Would you prefer I leave?”
“No.” He nods towards the bouquet. “You just
didn’t need to go to the trouble to bring flowers.”
We sit quietly for a little bit, both watching
Mr. Spencer. The number of wires, monitors, and computer screens coming from
Mr. Spencer’s body are a testament to the value of human life.
“He’s a nice man, your father,” I say quietly.
“I got a chance to talk with him that day I delivered the package.”
“Did you? He’s not my dad,” Robert clarifies.
“He is to me , but he’s not my biological father. He adopted me when I
was a teenager.”
I briefly contemplate the tape and wonder where
it is now. At the thought, the Titanic rests somewhere in my stomach, full of
screaming passengers on the sinking vessel.
“He had a lot to say about you,” I add.
“Did he?” Robert’s eyebrows do a slow dance.
“It was all crap, no doubt. Have you eaten?” he asks.
“No, I haven’t eaten all day.”
“There’s a cafeteria downstairs. You should
eat, and I’ve sat here all day, could really use a bite. Why don’t we head
down?” He nods towards the elevator.
“Yeah,” I say.
We stand and stride out the door. He pauses at
the nurse’s station to tell her he’s going downstairs to eat. Then we walk
toward the elevator together, with his tall, long-legged stride and face,
handsome enough to garner him free sandwiches for life, leading the way, and my
criminal, sadistic, cruel, evil self pokes along behind him.
We enter the elevator and Robert presses the
button for the lobby. As we ride down together, he leans against the railing,
and I stand there with my arms crossed and my backpack slung over my shoulder. A
sign on the elevator reads, “Respect patient confidentiality. Don’t discuss
patient cases in elevators.”
Once we step off the elevator, I say to Robert,
“I just need to stop by the restroom. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
Robert nods and takes a right turn out of the
elevator, walking like a lost man toward the cafeteria sign. It’s a long, empty
carpeted hallway toward a room full of empty tables.
With a sense of obligation pinned like a knife
inside me, I slide into the ladies’ room and bend over, checking under the
stalls to make sure they’re empty. I yank my cell phone from my backpack and
press the “Henry” button on my contacts. It rings four times and goes to
voicemail.
“Henry,” I whisper. In the empty bathroom, my
voice sounds like remorse with a hint of panic. “It’s me, Caroline. Look,
you’ve got to intercept that tape before your boss gets it. It should be coming
in the mail tomorrow. I just can’t do it. I’m a chicken. It’s not right. And
what makes it worse is Robert’s dad is in the hospital right now. So you need
to grab the envelope when it comes in, before your boss gets it. Okay? And give
it back to me. Call me back to confirm you got this message.”
Hanging up, I look at myself in the mirror—I
mean, really look. A legion of horribleness sits behind my eyes. All that’s
missing is the bloodstained finery of animal skins, the animal bone hanging
from my neck, the battered spear in my hand, perhaps Robert’s severed head
clutched in my fingers.
Where did this person come from?
Chapter 7
“Al desdichado
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate them. Have a seat,”
Robert offers, sniffling.
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
Robert sits down next to me.
“They don’t know yet. Had a stroke sometime
last night. They’re just not sure. It’s a wait-and-see situation. Could wake up
any minute … We’ll see.” Robert isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Mr.
Spencer, who somehow appears ten years younger lying in the bed.
“He looks comfortable.” I don’t know what else
to say.
“Doesn’t he?”
Outside the room, the shuffle of doctors or
nurses echo as they enter the elevator and the muffled sound of their voices
disappears.
“You didn’t have to come,” Robert states.
“Would you prefer I leave?”
“No.” He nods towards the bouquet. “You just
didn’t need to go to the trouble to bring flowers.”
We sit quietly for a little bit, both watching
Mr. Spencer. The number of wires, monitors, and computer screens coming from
Mr. Spencer’s body are a testament to the value of human life.
“He’s a nice man, your father,” I say quietly.
“I got a chance to talk with him that day I delivered the package.”
“Did you? He’s not my dad,” Robert clarifies.
“He is to me , but he’s not my biological father. He adopted me when I
was a teenager.”
I briefly contemplate the tape and wonder where
it is now. At the thought, the Titanic rests somewhere in my stomach, full of
screaming passengers on the sinking vessel.
“He had a lot to say about you,” I add.
“Did he?” Robert’s eyebrows do a slow dance.
“It was all crap, no doubt. Have you eaten?” he asks.
“No, I haven’t eaten all day.”
“There’s a cafeteria downstairs. You should
eat, and I’ve sat here all day, could really use a bite. Why don’t we head
down?” He nods towards the elevator.
“Yeah,” I say.
We stand and stride out the door. He pauses at
the nurse’s station to tell her he’s going downstairs to eat. Then we walk
toward the elevator together, with his tall, long-legged stride and face,
handsome enough to garner him free sandwiches for life, leading the way, and my
criminal, sadistic, cruel, evil self pokes along behind him.
We enter the elevator and Robert presses the
button for the lobby. As we ride down together, he leans against the railing,
and I stand there with my arms crossed and my backpack slung over my shoulder. A
sign on the elevator reads, “Respect patient confidentiality. Don’t discuss
patient cases in elevators.”
Once we step off the elevator, I say to Robert,
“I just need to stop by the restroom. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
Robert nods and takes a right turn out of the
elevator, walking like a lost man toward the cafeteria sign. It’s a long, empty
carpeted hallway toward a room full of empty tables.
With a sense of obligation pinned like a knife
inside me, I slide into the ladies’ room and bend over, checking under the
stalls to make sure they’re empty. I yank my cell phone from my backpack and
press the “Henry” button on my contacts. It rings four times and goes to
voicemail.
“Henry,” I whisper. In the empty bathroom, my
voice sounds like remorse with a hint of panic. “It’s me, Caroline. Look,
you’ve got to intercept that tape before your boss gets it. It should be coming
in the mail tomorrow. I just can’t do it. I’m a chicken. It’s not right. And
what makes it worse is Robert’s dad is in the hospital right now. So you need
to grab the envelope when it comes in, before your boss gets it. Okay? And give
it back to me. Call me back to confirm you got this message.”
Hanging up, I look at myself in the mirror—I
mean, really look. A legion of horribleness sits behind my eyes. All that’s
missing is the bloodstained finery of animal skins, the animal bone hanging
from my neck, the battered spear in my hand, perhaps Robert’s severed head
clutched in my fingers.
Where did this person come from?
Chapter 7
“Al desdichado
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