freezing driveway.
Jason. Jason will want to know.
Kyara rushed back to her restaurant. She ran to the kitchen, reaching for the little slip of paper still tacked up next to the phone. She dialed with fingers still numb from the cold.
It clicked through to voicemail
"You've reached Jason 'Jay' Hardison of the Valley News. Please leave a message stating who is calling, the time and date, and your reason for calling. Thank you."
He changed his voicemail, Kyara thought, he mind locking on to any extra thought.
"Jason, it's Kyara," she babbled quickly. "I just found your grandma. She was really cold. Officer Marsh took her to the hospital. She's alive, but I don't ... I'm not sure how bad it is. I'm going to follow them."
Kyara hung up the phone, running around looking for her keys and coat. She took a moment to scrawl a hasty "Closed due to emergency" note and pit it to the door. Then she was in her car and following.
Kyara sat in the waiting room, wishing she'd brought a book. Even her phone was dead, exhausted after straining to find some hint of a cell phone signal. It had been hours without word.
I hate hospitals. All the waiting. All the not knowing. Kyara choked back memories of the last time she'd been in a waiting room. It had been different then. She'd already known her father was gone.
Jason came through the door to the waiting room, looking tired and frantic.
"Where is she? Is she OK?" he asked the moment he saw her.
"I don't know. They won't tell me anything because I'm not family," replied Kyara, aching at the familiar look of hurt and loss on his face.
"Well, I am," he said, his voice resolute. "Come with me." He marched to the desk, Kyara trailing behind.
"I'm here to see Mrs. Janice Waite," he announced to the receptionist. "I'm her grandson."
The woman behind the desk nodded. "I'll have someone come get you."
Jason nodded as though the sheer force of his head movement could make that happen sooner. Kyara walked with him back to the seats. He sat, but was jittery, his leg bouncing with constant motion.
Kyara rested her hand on his knee, and he turned to look at her.
"Thank you for being here," he said, his voice small and strained. "I thought you went to the other hospital. I drove forty-five minutes in the wrong direction. I don't know what I would have done if no one had been here at all."
Kyara stroked his leg gently, not sure what to say.
She was saved by a nurse, a stout, middle aged woman with a weathered, sour expression.
"Mr. Waite?" she said. Jason stood.
"Mr. Hardison. Mrs. Waite's my grandmother." When the nurse looked hesitant for a moment, he added, "I have her power of attorney." That seemed to satisfy the woman, who nodded and held open the doors.
Jason stood and started to follow, then glanced back at Kyara. "Do you want to come, too?" he asked. His eyes, red-rimmed and vulnerable, begged her to follow.
"Is she family, too?" asked the nurse, her voice carefully neutral.
"This ... this is my fiancée," said Jason after a moment. "Right, Honey?"
Kyara stared at him for a long moment, his desperate posture begging her to go along with the deception.
Finally, Kyara stood. She took his hand and followed him through the doors.
What followed was a blur. Long, identical hallways and carefully blank, anonymous faces ferried them from place to place. Jan was resting quietly, dehydrated but alive.
Kyara mostly watched Jason. He was focused, asking all the right questions. But beneath that, she saw him struggling. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his head dropped forward whenever they were alone in the room. His eyes had turned a murky blue, deep and hollow next to the red which rimmed them.
When they started asking him about nursing facilities, Kyara decided to put a stop to it.
"Can we discuss this tomorrow?" she asked, cutting off a
Jason. Jason will want to know.
Kyara rushed back to her restaurant. She ran to the kitchen, reaching for the little slip of paper still tacked up next to the phone. She dialed with fingers still numb from the cold.
It clicked through to voicemail
"You've reached Jason 'Jay' Hardison of the Valley News. Please leave a message stating who is calling, the time and date, and your reason for calling. Thank you."
He changed his voicemail, Kyara thought, he mind locking on to any extra thought.
"Jason, it's Kyara," she babbled quickly. "I just found your grandma. She was really cold. Officer Marsh took her to the hospital. She's alive, but I don't ... I'm not sure how bad it is. I'm going to follow them."
Kyara hung up the phone, running around looking for her keys and coat. She took a moment to scrawl a hasty "Closed due to emergency" note and pit it to the door. Then she was in her car and following.
Kyara sat in the waiting room, wishing she'd brought a book. Even her phone was dead, exhausted after straining to find some hint of a cell phone signal. It had been hours without word.
I hate hospitals. All the waiting. All the not knowing. Kyara choked back memories of the last time she'd been in a waiting room. It had been different then. She'd already known her father was gone.
Jason came through the door to the waiting room, looking tired and frantic.
"Where is she? Is she OK?" he asked the moment he saw her.
"I don't know. They won't tell me anything because I'm not family," replied Kyara, aching at the familiar look of hurt and loss on his face.
"Well, I am," he said, his voice resolute. "Come with me." He marched to the desk, Kyara trailing behind.
"I'm here to see Mrs. Janice Waite," he announced to the receptionist. "I'm her grandson."
The woman behind the desk nodded. "I'll have someone come get you."
Jason nodded as though the sheer force of his head movement could make that happen sooner. Kyara walked with him back to the seats. He sat, but was jittery, his leg bouncing with constant motion.
Kyara rested her hand on his knee, and he turned to look at her.
"Thank you for being here," he said, his voice small and strained. "I thought you went to the other hospital. I drove forty-five minutes in the wrong direction. I don't know what I would have done if no one had been here at all."
Kyara stroked his leg gently, not sure what to say.
She was saved by a nurse, a stout, middle aged woman with a weathered, sour expression.
"Mr. Waite?" she said. Jason stood.
"Mr. Hardison. Mrs. Waite's my grandmother." When the nurse looked hesitant for a moment, he added, "I have her power of attorney." That seemed to satisfy the woman, who nodded and held open the doors.
Jason stood and started to follow, then glanced back at Kyara. "Do you want to come, too?" he asked. His eyes, red-rimmed and vulnerable, begged her to follow.
"Is she family, too?" asked the nurse, her voice carefully neutral.
"This ... this is my fiancée," said Jason after a moment. "Right, Honey?"
Kyara stared at him for a long moment, his desperate posture begging her to go along with the deception.
Finally, Kyara stood. She took his hand and followed him through the doors.
What followed was a blur. Long, identical hallways and carefully blank, anonymous faces ferried them from place to place. Jan was resting quietly, dehydrated but alive.
Kyara mostly watched Jason. He was focused, asking all the right questions. But beneath that, she saw him struggling. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his head dropped forward whenever they were alone in the room. His eyes had turned a murky blue, deep and hollow next to the red which rimmed them.
When they started asking him about nursing facilities, Kyara decided to put a stop to it.
"Can we discuss this tomorrow?" she asked, cutting off a
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