‘I’ll be across the creek if you need to get in touch,’ I say. ‘I have a mobile phone now if you’d like the number? In case of an emergency.’ Or a change of heart.
She’s hating this moment as much as I am. I can see the pain in her eyes pushing outwards. ‘I suppose it would be good to pass on to your father. He keeps calling me.’
That’s sensible—and hurtful.
She pulls a pad and pen out of her handbag and closes the distance between us, looking away as she hands it to me. I scrawl my number on it and hand it back to her.
‘I’ll keep praying for you,’ she says to the ground between us.
Am I supposed to thank her or tell her to stop? This grief is so senseless.
‘Okay.’ My eyes go to Banjo. ‘See you, boy.’
His whining follows me up the driveway.
I walk to the hospital, grateful for the chance to clear my head and calm myself. At least it’s out of the way and I don’t have to worry about an awkward first encounter in public.
When I arrive at the hospital, thirsty and slightly sunburned, I grab a drink from the water fountain and head to reception to find out which room Kevin’s in.
‘All the way to the end of the corridor, left, then second door on the right,’ the woman tells me.
I’m not really sure how I feel about seeing him. Am I angry? Empathetic? I don’t think it matters. Kevin’s self-loathing will be darker than any shade others will throw his way.
As I’m walking down the corridor, my gaze drifts to the open doors. Faces flash in and out of view. And as I pass room 36B, I glimpse a familiar face that makes me stop.
It’s Sister Maria.
As I’m debating whether to acknowledge the fact that we just made eye contact through the open door, I hear, ‘Sister Annie?’
My pulse quickens as I peer around the edge of the door, waiting to see what she’ll do next.
A smile spreads across her face. ‘I thought it was you.’
I step into the room but stay close to the door. ‘Hi.’
‘You’re back.’
Oh no. She thinks I’m back back. ‘Not permanently. I just came down for Maggie’s funeral.’
Her smile fades. ‘Such a tragedy. I was so sad to hear that you’ve become inactive.’
I shake my head. ‘Not inactive, disassociated. I left.’
Her face falls. ‘Oh. I’ve missed a lot of meetings of late.’
This is incredibly awkward now, because she’s just realised that she’s supposed to be shunning me.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘just remember that Jehovah loves all his children.’
I wet my lips. ‘I’m sorry to see you in here. I hope it’s nothing too serious.’
She touches the back of her head. ‘I had a bad episode and ended up needing stitches.’
‘Must have been quite a knock.’
Her hand falls to her lap. ‘It’s a good thing. They did a scan, just to be safe, and they found a low-grade glioma.’
My lungs squeeze. ‘You mean like a brain tumour?’