17
Abigail
“Hello, Doctor Rhett.” I walk along the oncology ward and smile at the handsome man I swear lives in these halls.
He haunts them day and night – except for when he’s forced away on a cruise with his wife. He always wears something to cheer his little fangirls up, his young, female patients that adore his cute face; he’ll sport a patterned tie, light-up shoes, or a face mask with an animal snout on the fabric.
At first glance, you’d think he works in a children’s ward, but he swears silly stuff isn’t only for the kids, and I know for sure that none of his patients mind. When you’re stuck in a place like this and know you’re staying awhile, a small laugh a day might be all you can look forward to. So they embrace the silly, and let him treat them and bring a smile to their faces.
“Aww, hey there, Abby. You look…” He pauses in the middle of the hall in a ladybug-patterned tie, and looks me up and down. “Different. Get your hair done?”
I reach up and pat it down. “Nope.”
“New haircut?”
I smile. “Nope.”
“Hmm…” He rolls his lip between his thumb and finger and considers me. “Mascara, maybe?”
“I’m wearing mascara, but I always swipe a little on. It’s not new.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m gonna figure this out, Ab. You watch.”
“Alright.” I laugh and start forward. “Can I see Marcie?”
“You sure can. She’s feeling a little better today.”
“Awesome. Can we go outside? We could sit in the sunlight and people-watch for a bit.”
“If she’s feeling up to it, I have no problem. Take her in the chair, don’t be more than an hour, and don’t let her pig out on milkshakes again.”
I laugh and continue to her door. “Party pooper.”
“It’s milk, Abby! You know it gives her a stomachache.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I stop by her door and open it slowly. I’m not knocking, but I won’t barge in and scare her either, so I slip through the gap I make with the door, close it again, and peek past the curtain. I smile when I find her waiting for me.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” She sits on her bed in gray sweatpants and a baby pink top. It’s loose, but anything would be on her tiny frame. She’s still frighteningly pale, but her lips are cherry red and curve up into the nicest smile. “Don’t you have a job? A family? Anything better than visiting this place?”
“You’re my family.” I move across the room and grab the folded wheelchair. “Wanna come for a ride?”
“Oh!” She hurries to the side of her bed. “You’re breaking me out? Does Rhett know? Is he gonna call my mom again?”
After unfolding the chair and setting the brakes, I move to the bed and help her with her cords. I detangle everything – I’m a pro at this stuff at this point in my life – then I take her hands and help her slide off the side and onto socked feet. I know she’s weak and rarely finds the chance to walk further than the bathroom lately, so I hold on tight and help her toward the chair.
“Rhett knows,” I answer. We both work on lowering her into the chair, but once she’s seated and the footrests are up, she turns to me with an electric grin. “And he said we could go outside for a bit. The sun’s out, time to get your guns out.”
She looks to her arms, lifts one, and tries to flex her nonexistent bicep. Where the muscle should be, is a barely healed scar from her old port. She can’t use that area for a while, until the veins have had time to heal, and the soreness has faded.
I have the same scar on my arm, but I’ve regained a lot of the strength she’s still waiting on.
“And no, he’s not going to call your mom. We have a free pass, but only for one hour.”
I release the brakes and toss my handbag to the visitor chair. Nothing is so important for the next hour that I need to have my phone, so I leave it behind and risk another scolding from my brothers.