Lyndsey’s dark eyes study me, reaching deep down into my soul to assess the authenticity behind my words. After what feels like twenty minutes of her examination, she gives in, and says,
“She’s at Oakland Regional. Ask for Nora McKenzie.”
* * *
The corridors of the hospital are a maze of misdirects.
Every hallway looks the exact same. Paintings of flowers or landscapes act as the only decorations in an otherwise sterile environment, each one indistinguishable from the next. The same sad, miserable faces peer back at me from their rooms as I pass them. A cold embrace of fear envelops me.
I hate hospitals.
I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Aly to have spent as much time as she did here. Watching her father grow weaker, slowly slipping away from her. Now, it must seem like a recurring nightmare.
When I find the right room number, the ethereal scene before me nearly breaks my heart. Aly’s asleep on the small sofa next to the hospital bed. She’s curled into a tiny ball, arms crossed over her shoulder and her feet drawn tight into her chest. I find a soft blanket discarded to one side of the couch and drape it over her. Without thinking, my fingertips brush back the soft locks of hair tangled about her shoulders and face. She looks so peaceful, despite bunching her body up to retain warmth.
Who knows what quality of sleep she’s been getting? If it were my mother, I know I’d have trouble sleeping at all. I toss my coat on the arm of the sofa and walk over to check on her mother.
The first time I’m meeting Nora McKenzie and the circumstances are less than ideal. So this is the woman who raised Aly? This is the woman she’s constantly worrying about? The woman who shaped Aly’s career decisions and ambition.
It’s hard to tell whether Aly looks anything like her mother, or what traits they share in common. Not with all the tubes and contraptions Mrs. McKenzie has hooked up to her. The only noticeable characteristic is her vibrant red hair. I reach down for the log of notes at the foot of her bed and skim through them.
So not an overdose on sleeping pills but whatever benzos they’d prescribed for her depression.
Close monitoring for at least 48 hours after waking.
I set the log back down and try to think of the ways I can help. But what can I really do? I can’t stay with Aly’s mom. I can’t even hire a full-time care worker to watch Mrs. McKenzie’s every move for twenty-four hours a day.
“What are you doing here?” Aly’s groggy voice asks from beside me.
I turn toward her. She’s still laying down on the couch, snuggled up in the blanket I set over her. “I heard about your mom.”
“So why are you here?”
Damn. You really messed this up with her.
The many reasons for why I’ve come to be with her assail me, each answer sounding more pathetic than the last. I want to be with you. I was worried about you. Each one sounds selfish.
I’m here to appease my mind because I can’t stand to see you in pain.
I reach into my pants pocket and remove a long white cord. “I brought you your charger.”
Her sleepy eyes rove over me, suspicious. She closes them again and releases a soft chuckle. “Fine. I’ll accept your peace offering.”
Aly extends her hand outward, and I place the charger in her palm. Instantly, she tosses it to the side and holds her hand out to me again. Warmth radiates around my heart. I don’t deserve this woman or her forgiveness.
I claim her hand with my own and take my seat down beside her. “How’s she been doing?”
“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Aly mumbles. Her hand flexes around mine, and I tighten my grip to reassure her I’m here.
For this, for whatever’s next. Forever.
“The doctor said she should recover, just her body’s in shock or something like that,” she continues. “Lyndsey stayed with me all last night. She went home this morning to get some sleep. I’m guessing she’s not coming by.”
“She’s just waiting to hear from one of us.”
Aly sits up. Her hair spreads every which way in arbitrary clumps. She dreamily rubs the dust from her eyes and yawns. And she could not be any more beautiful than she is now.
“How long do you plan on staying?” she asks, facing me.