Sing

CHAPTER 40.

MONICA

When I walked out, I must have been a sight. The bright lights of the hall hurt my eyes, and my hair was a rat’s nest pressed in the shape of Jonathan’s fingers.

Eileen approached. “How is he?”

I didn’t say anything. There were doctors to report facts to her, all I could say was something like, “he can barely tell me how he’s going to fuck me, because he’s dying,” and that wouldn’t be helpful, least of all me. Eileen passed me, then Sheila, then Margie and Deirdre. Leanne in Asia. Carrie far away. Theresa in some kind of trouble. Fiona, entourage-free for once, scuttled down the hall and blew past me.

Declan drew up the rear and whispered in my ear. “Fifteen minutes to a fire drill on the second floor. They don’t move brain dead patients for drills. He’ll be alone. Staff’s been arranged. Cops are a wild card. Good luck.” He winked at me with real élan, as if this was just delicious, and as much as I’d doubted Jonathan’s fear and hatred of his father, in that moment, I knew it wasn’t completely unfounded.