Sing

CHAPTER 48.

MONICA

That fucking waiting room, same as every other I’d seen when they wheeled him from unit to unit. As I exited the elevator I realized what a home they had become, with their greyed colors and worn seats. And I knew that no matter what happened, it would likely be the last day I spent in a waiting room, worrying about Jonathan.

They were all there, like a red-haired baseball team. Even Fiona had stopped blowing by long enough to hold her mother’s hand. They looked at me, eyes shaded from green to blue and back, and I stood by Margie’s seat.

“Sorry I didn’t text you,” she said. “I have other things.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you hear about Jessica?”

“Yeah.” She waved it away as if she couldn’t care less. Her mouth was tight and she looked drawn and panicked. I never thought I’d see Margie this flustered.

Next to her, Deirdre stood.

They all stood, and looked at a set of swinging doors. Through the window, I saw an older doctor with silver hair take his cap off and pull his mask down. He turned to another doctor, a woman, and opened the swinging doors.

Another followed. An Asian man, snapping his gloves off.

Three of them. One. Two. Three.

They came to us, and the older doctor put his hand on the woman’s shoulder in a gesture of what? Condolences? Professional commiseration? And when the Asian guy cleared his throat? What was that? Gathering strength?

Hope dropped out of me an flowed down an emotional drain, leaving a black despair in its wake.

Shit.

Three doctors. If one took a blow, the other held the family member, one sister, down, and the third called security.

Wasn’t that how it was?

I glanced at Declan, and he must have seen the panic on my face, because he smiled. And then I became that sister.