Chapter 9 Phylogeny and Biology #2
About an hour later, after a second update from the doctor (“Still stable, monitoring closely, more tests coming back”), I handed Joey to Martin, slotted him into the baby sling, and did a slow lap of the hallway to clear my head.
Now that I had food in my system, I could think a little better.
Unfortunately, with the ability to think came questions.
On my second pass, I found Tara walking slowly in my direction, completing another of her endless circuits.
I hesitated, then sidled up to her. “May I ask you something?”
She didn’t look at me, just kept scanning the waiting room, checking the exits, the hallways, the corners. “I called it in, and I have a night-shift security detail ready to go for the next week, if needed. After that, we’ll have to get creative. Don’t worry about coverage for now.”
Smiling at her reflexive train of thought, I shook my head. “It’s not that. But thank you.”
“Oh. Sure, ask me anything.”
I gestured vaguely in the direction of the diaper bag next to Martin and Joey. “Andre—I mean, Mr. Kristiansen the younger. He brought the diaper bag and all the stuff, didn’t he?”
Tara spared me a sideways glance. “Yes.”
Neither my brain nor my body had any immediate reaction to this news, good or bad.
Keeping pace with her, I asked, “And the food? That was him as well?”
“Yep.”
I chewed my lip, struggling to ponder this confirmation of my suspicions and what it might mean. But my mind was slippery with worry for Kaitlyn. Thus, I filed it away for later analysis.
“Thanks,” I said, turning to go. But then another question occurred to me. “Wait. Did he request that I be told? That you let me know it was him?”
Tara shook her head. “No. He made me promise not to tell you.”
My feet stopped moving. I required several seconds to process this. By the time I did, Tara had already moved twenty feet away. I quickly caught up with her, asking, “He did what?”
“He didn’t want you to know. Made me promise. Got the food from your friend’s place, hoping you would assume it was from her.” She met my stare with unblinking calm before giving her attention back to the room.
“But you’re telling me even though you promised?”
“I work for you, not for him. And I like you better. And since I didn’t do it, I didn’t want you thinking it was me.” She paired this with a shrug. “I don’t like taking credit for work or ideas that aren’t mine.”
I accepted her explanation with a nod. Then, still walking alongside her, I spoke mostly to myself. “Why—I don’t understand. Why didn’t he want me to know?”
“Didn’t say,” Tara replied. “But my theory is that he doesn’t want you to think he’s helping with any ulterior motive.
He seemed genuinely concerned when he stopped by and saw the baby crying.
” She scratched her cheek, adding, “Well, you know. As much as he shows any expression at all. Like, his eyebrows moved a little.”
My gaze narrowed. “He was here? He came here?”
“Yep.”
I scoffed. “Okay. Fine. He was concerned about Joey. I can accept that, I guess. I . . . I should thank him.”
Neither Martin nor I had the capacity to think about things like baby diapers, toys, and food at present.
Living moment to moment, unable to proactively plan for whatever came next, I felt certain we both continued to miss the obvious, even now.
Having someone who wasn’t so emotionally invested in Kaitlyn, someone capable with a clear mind doing the logistical thinking for us was hugely helpful.
And if Andreas Kristiansen was one thing, he was capable.
The corners of Tara’s mouth turned up, and her eyes softened as they connected with mine. “Sam, you’re dealing with a lot right now. Don’t make someone else’s feelings for you a burden or a distraction. Focus on your friends.”
It was so gentle, so unexpected, that I didn’t know what to say. I felt the urge to argue, to point out Andreas didn’t have feelings for me, he wanted something from me. But the gears in my brain refused to mesh.
After a beat, Tara added, “Andreas will still be in love with you and making an ass of himself after your friend recovers. If you want my opinion, you should exploit his feelings for your own benefit, right? Watch him suffer up close. It might make you feel better.”
Studying her, I eventually gave up my attempt to parse through her meaning. “What, specifically, do you suggest?”
“Call him up, drag him down here, and make him help. You could use some extra hands and, like you said, he was concerned about the baby.”
A weird laugh escaped me. Suddenly, my vision was blurry. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Tara.”
She nodded, gave my shoulder a squeeze, then continued on her way.
I wandered back to our corner of the waiting room, where Joey dozed in the sling while sucking on a pacifier and Martin stared at nothing.
Scrolling on my phone, I noticed that Diya hadn’t texted me back yet, which wasn’t unusual.
Some days she didn’t get a chance to check her phone until the end of her shift.
Tara came by once more before my security team’s shift change, this time with two soft blankets, a basket full of snacks, and two Americanos from Central Grounds, my favorite coffee place.
She deposited everything in the seat next to mine except for the coffees, which she placed in our hands.
Pointing at Martin, she said, “Don’t drink it while holding the baby.”
He nodded, placing the cup on the floor just under the chair. Poor guy. Usually, Martin Sandeke was the most methodical and clever person in any given room. But he was basically helpless right now, reckless and thoughtless and completely overwhelmed. It was . . . hard to witness.
To me, she said, “Jerome and his team are taking over.”
I nodded.
She seemed to hesitate, then—to both of us—she said, “Did you know they have VIP suites here?”
This snagged Martin’s attention and his gaze cut to hers. “What?”
“VIP suites for rich patients and their families. Someone told me that if you speak with hospital administration, they’ll set you up.
It’s wicked expensive, but the rooms have couches and rollaway beds.
They can even bring in a crib. If you pay for it, they’ll bring you meals and all the suites have private bathrooms with showers.
Then you don’t have to wait out here, worry about food, or go home. And you can get some sleep tonight.”
My expression flattened. “Someone told you that?”
The side of her mouth tugged in a rueful-looking curve. “Yeah. Someone.”