Tangling Hearts

37. Annie

Chapter Thirty-Seven

ANNIE

F lorescent light: right above me. Cognizance: straining. My line of vision: filled with doctors.

“ S he’s back,” one says to the other.

“How’re you feeling?” the other says.

“Fine. I think I just…”

“You fainted,” they say over me. I’m not even sure I spoke. I feel weird. Suddenly I sit up, but they push me back down. “Now now.”

“Where’s Brendan?” I’m in a hospital hallway. People are walking by us, some sick, some working. “Where is he? Is he alive?”

The one looks to the other and leaves her to it. She checks my pulse, blinking too much.

“He’s in surgery. His lung was punctured.”

I drop my head onto the gurney. “Oh no.” I try to get up again. “I’m fine. I wasn’t shot. I have to go see him.” I throw my legs off and am about to stand when she grabs me by the arms.

“You need to rest.”

It’s obvious arguing isn’t going to do me any good, so I nod and lay back down.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” She looks at me for affirmation.

“Sure. Okay. I’ll be right here.”

The second she’s out of sight, I climb off the gurney and head to the information desk. “Where is Brendan Clark’s surgery room?”

The nurse looks up at me, her eyes flickering to my hands. I look down to see they’re covered with dark, dried blood. I look at her again, unashamed, my eyebrows saying, well? She frowns and looks at her computer. Reading it, she says, “The only thing I can tell you is that he’s not going to be out for awhile and after that he’ll be in the ICU, not able see anyone but family or those listed on his emergency contacts. Are you Mrs. Wells?”

I blink, not understanding the question. “No, I’m Annie O’Brien. He was at my bar when he was shot. I have to make sure he’s okay. For insurance reasons.”

She eyes me like she knows that’s not the reason. “Well, you won’t be able to visit him until visiting hours.”

I interrupt her from saying more. “I’ll wait. Will you please tell the doctors I’m here so they can come and tell me how he is? I want to know as soon as he’s out.”

As she watches me, I walk to a chair and sit down. I raise my eyebrows at her and she shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The next five hours are the longest of my life. Staring at the T.V. set and seeing nothing but moving images and blurred sound, I hear a voice next to me say, “It’s almost 10 a.m. You want a bagel or some coffee?”

I look over. An older gentleman, maybe sixty, is pointing toward what must be the direction of cafeteria. “At least some coffee? You look like you don’t want to sleep.”

I blink, and give my eyes a good rub. “Oh, um… that would be great. Thank you.”

I have no sense of time now. He comes back and it feels like he just left. “Here you go.” I take it and stare at the warm, paper coffee cup. “It needs a second to cool down anyway so take your time.” His voice is kind.

“Thank you.” My eyes return to him.

“Who’s hurt?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. He motions to my hands. “Oh!” I stare at the dark stains and wonder why I’m not disgusted. It occurs to me that women are probably made to handle a lot when we care about someone.

“Do you want to wash those?” His voice is soft and gentle, like he’s talking to a tiny stray dog whose ribs are showing, it’s so fragile.

“I guess I should.”

The door opens and we both look over to see a doctor approaching, his focus solely on me. My heart stops. I try to stand and find that my legs won’t hold me, so I slide back down into the chair, not taking my eyes off his face. He smiles. My blood starts rushing again as relief begs me to have hope. But I need to hear him say it.

“He’s going to be okay.”

I exhale and sink down deeper, staring at the floor. “He’s going to be okay? Really?”

The surgeon smiles, happy to have good news to report. “Yes. The bullet missed his vital organs. It grazed his right lung, so we had to repair that, but he’s young. And he’s healthy, so he should recover nicely.”

“So it wasn’t punctured?” I rise up and hug him. “Thank you!”

He pats me on the back because I won’t let go. “It’s always good to give good news.”

“What can I see him?”

“As soon as he’s out of the I.C.U. That won’t be for a few hours. Until then, Mrs. Wells, he can’t have visitors.”

I was nodding until he called me that. “I’m not Mrs. Wells.” Kicking myself for speaking so soon, I add, half-joking, “Unless it’ll get me in there.”

The surgeon looks from me to the gentleman who brought me coffee. “Oh. I just assumed. Mrs. Wells is listed as Mr. Clark’s emergency contact in our records.”

“It must be his mother, then. I’m his…” I stop, realizing I’m not really anything to him in terms of a title. “I own the bar where he was shot. I guess I’m his friend.”

The surgeon considers my hesitation. We’re both awkwardly standing here wondering what to say.

The older gentleman chimes in to help. “Friends are sometimes better than girlfriends, am I right?”

This brings a relieved smile to both our faces and the surgeon excuses himself after saying, “That’s true. Well, I’ll let you know when you can see him, Ms…”

“O’Brien. Thank you.” I wait to sit back down until after he disappears through the door. I put my head in my hands and start to cry, all the suspense I’d been holding in rushing out of me. “Oh thank God. I was so scared he would die.”

The older gentleman pats my back. “Now that he’s okay, why don’t you get cleaned up? Maybe go home and take a nap.”

“You’re probably right. If he saw his own blood all over my hands...”

“Right. That might be stressful. Not good to take the chance.”

I stare ahead, sleep deprived and moving slow. “Right. Okay. I should go.” Looking around me, I realize I don’t have my purse. Tracing my steps in my head, I exhale and slink down in my chair. “I left everything in the bar. I have no way of getting home. It’s okay. I’ll stay here and wash my hands in the bathroom sink or something. It’s okay.”

“You live in the city?”

I nod.

“Here.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a twenty and a ten. “Take this. It’ll get you home.”

“I can’t take your money! That’s very generous of you, but I can’t!”

“Please. Accept the help. It will make me happy. I need to feel like… I’ve helped someone today.” He reaches for my hand and presses the bills into my palm.

I stare at him, suddenly aware that he’s here for someone, too. “Your wife?”

He nods. “She had a stroke.”

I say on a gasp, “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

He struggles to reply, looks away, and pats my hand, curling my fingers closed over the gift. “Yeah. Me too.”

I look around and see there are others here, in varying states of need. We all wish we were somewhere else, and we’re all hurting. I hate hospitals. But what would we do without them?

“Thank you. Really, you’re a good person.” I stand up and bend to hug him. He receives the hug and pats my back like the doctor did. “I’m Annie.”

The weight of what he’s shared is heavily on him as he introduces himself. “Doug.”

“She’s lucky to have you, Doug.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m the lucky one.” This breaks my heart and I don’t know what to say. He looks at my hands again. “You’ll have to wash those before you catch a cab.”

“They probably wouldn’t stop for this, would they?”

“Probably not.”

I head off to clean up. When I get back, he motions for me to come over. “I called you one. It should be outside any minute.”

“You are so amazing. Thank you!”

He humbly shrugs. “If you don’t help someone who needs it, what good are you? And it was just a phone call. You would do the same.”

I take that in, thanking him again, and walk out of the waiting room, tired and hungry. Shower, you’ve got your work cut out for you…