The Law of Bound Hearts by Anne Leclaire

infections.”
    â€œWhat about the shunt? Does it hurt when you use that?” The shunt in her arm wouldn’t be healed and ready for use for another three weeks.
    â€œSometimes there’s a little discomfort with that,” Kelly said. “Nothing to worry about now. We rub a local anaesthetic on the site, before we needle.”
    Discomfort.
Libby knew what that meant. Pain. Just get through today. One day at a time.
    A technician rolled one of the wheelchair men in from the waiting room. Libby averted her eyes while he was attached to his machine. She couldn’t bear to think of what might be in her future, couldn’t imagine herself in a wheelchair, but then there had been a time in the not too distant past when she couldn’t have imagined herself here, hitched up to this machine.
    Richard returned, carrying the blanket. “They told me you might want this,” he said. “They said you might feel chilled.” He gave a glance at the machine, paled, and turned away. She hoped to hell he wasn’t going to faint.
    He sat in a chair by her side, took her hand. “Can I get you anything, Lib?” he asked. “Anything you want?”
    Was there anything she wanted? She ran over her laundry list of desires. “Yes.”
    He leaned forward, eager for the chance to do something, to help. “What?”
    â€œA new kidney,” she said.
    He laughed so loud the woman in the next station looked over. “A new kidney,” he said. He thought she was joking. He tucked the blanket around her, hovered over her.
    â€œListen,” she said. “There’s no sense in you hanging around here.”
    â€œDon’t you want me to keep you company? It’s four hours,” he said, as if by some miracle this pertinent fact had escaped her notice.
    She nodded toward several of the other patients, who were sleeping. “I think I’ll try and sleep,” she said.
    Kelly, returning to check the monitor, overheard. She nodded approvingly. “Lots of people nap. It helps pass the time.”
    â€œI could sit here while you’re sleeping,” Richard offered.
    â€œNo, really. Please. Why don’t you go to your office? Get some work done and come back later. There’s no sense in hanging around here for half the day.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes. I think I’ll try and sleep.”
    She wouldn’t. Sleep was out of the question. After he left, she looked around at the other patients, each tethered to a machine, blood flowing in and out. The TV chef was taking a casserole out of the oven but Libby noted he was not wearing hot mitts. Did they think viewers wouldn’t notice? Did they think people were stupid?
    She closed her eyes. She would just pretend she was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere pleasant. A chaise on a cruise ship, she decided, although she had never been on one. She tried to imagine sea breezes brushing her face. She imagined a deck, swimming pools, shuffleboard courts, courteous staff in white coats waiting on her. She pictured a cabin with crisp linens on the bed and a porthole looking out to the sea. Finally, when she guessed that at least a half hour had passed, she opened her eyes. She checked the clock. Five minutes had gone by. Five minutes. She didn’t know if she would be able to get through this. She scanned the room, the other patients. How did they stand it? She felt cornered. Claustrophobic.
    Libby shifted her gaze, scanned the room. Her attention was caught by a girl at the station across from hers. The girl looked vaguely familiar, like someone Libby had once known. She had cropped blond hair and was thin. Beyond thin. Skeletal. So gaunt her body didn’t appear capable of holding organs inside its frame. Libby couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the girl, had seen her somewhere, not like this—this creature of bones and sinew—but a healthier version.
    The