Chapter 18 Down by the Water #2
The documentation waited on her tablet. Date, time, patient name, interventions performed, outcome. Theo's fingers moved across the screen, filling in fields and checking boxes and typing notes.
She signed the forms electronically. Her signature appeared as a cursive scrawl across the bottom of each page, proof that she'd been there, that she'd tried, and that ultimately, it hadn't mattered.
She found herself walking toward the ambulance bay, where the paramedics who'd brought Harry in were loading supplies after another drop-off.
She recognized the pair, the older guy with salt-and-pepper hair who'd been cracking jokes earlier, and the serious woman who'd given such a thorough handoff report.
They were shoving packaged gauze into compartments of their jump bags.
"Hey," Theo said, her throat dry as she approached them. "You brought in Harold Lewis earlier, right? Where’d you pick him up?"
The older paramedic checked his tablet, scrolling through their call log. "The Marriott on Adams Street. Call from the manager came around twelve-fifty. He was pretty upset when we wheeled the guy out."
The Marriott? That wasn’t right. Catherine had said he’d only be there for a weekend. Not two weeks.
Theo cleared her throat. "The manager, did you get his name?"
"Jonathan," the paramedic said, then glanced at his partner. "Right?"
She nodded without looking up from her inventory checklist. "Yeah. Jonathan."
"Thanks," Theo said, already turning away.
She moved toward the staff corridor that led away from the main ER floor. She found an alcove near the supply closets, quiet except for the distant rumble of the hospital's mechanical systems, and pulled out her phone.
The hotel's number came up easily in a search. Theo dialed, listening to it ring three times before someone answered with practiced hospitality.
"Marriott Adams Street, how may I direct your call?"
"I’d like to talk to the manager, Jonathan, please," Theo said.
"May I ask who's calling?"
"Dr. Brennan from New York-Presbyterian. It's regarding Harold Lewis."
A pause, then hold music that was meant to be soothing but only made Theo's jaw tighten. Classical. Beethoven. Because the universe clearly fucking hated her.
The music cut off abruptly.
"Hello, Dr. Brennan." His voice carried the warmth of someone who'd worked in hospitality long enough to make genuine connections seem effortless. "Is Harry alright?"
Theo's throat tightened. Harry had no next of kin to inform in his medical file. She’d need to make a personal call to Carla, but for now, she needed to make sure his personal items were safe.
She pressed her back against the alcove's wall, feeling the cool surface through her scrubs. "No. He passed away this afternoon. I was his doctor." She paused, the next words requiring more effort than they should. "I was also his friend, and I’ll need to come and collect his things."
Silence on the other end, the kind that felt heavy with shock being processed. Then Jonathan's voice returned, quieter now, stripped of professional polish. "I'm sorry. He was a kind man. I should have checked on him sooner. I knew something was wrong when he didn't come down for breakfast."
"Nothing you did could have prevented his death," Theo said, the words automatic, the kind of reassurance she'd given to countless families.
"Thank you for telling me personally." Jonathan's voice wavered slightly. "I know Catherine will want to know. Should I wait before reaching out to her, or..."
Theo's mind stuttered over the name, trying to understand why Jonathan would mention Catherine in connection with Harry's death. "Catherine Matthews?"
"Yes." Jonathan sounded surprised by the question. "She was also a friend of his. She's been coming by every day this past week for dinner. I’m sure she’ll want to know that she doesn’t need to come this evening."
The information landed wrong, like words in a language Theo almost understood but couldn't quite translate.
Catherine visited him. Catherine sat with him for dinner.
Catherine, who had pulled back from everyone after the diagnosis, who rationed her time with people like it cost something, who had pushed Theo away because being seen felt unbearable.
And that same Catherine had been spending hours every day with Harry.
Harry, an aging addict with nowhere else to go.
Theo didn't know what to do with that yet.
"Dr. Brennan? Are you still there?"
Theo realized she hadn't responded, "Yes," she managed. "I'm here."
"I just want to make sure I handle this right," Jonathan continued. "Should I call Catherine, or would you prefer to tell her yourself?"
"No, you can tell her," Theo said. The words felt thick in her throat, difficult to push out. She swallowed and tried again. "And please pass along my condolences to her as well."
"Of course." Jonathan's tone gentled further. "And my condolences to you, too, Dr. Brennan."
They exchanged a few more words, practical details about when Harry's belongings could be collected. Theo answered on autopilot, her mind elsewhere.
When the call ended, Theo stayed where she was in the alcove, her phone still in her hand, staring at the blank wall in front of her.
She pushed away from the wall. Her shift continued for three more hours, and patients needed attention.
* * *
Theo reached The Lenox at eleven-thirty, weighed down by Harry’s few personal belongings and the exhaustion that came from living in the aftermath of someone’s death.
When her apartment door came into view, she saw something on it: a square of lavender paper that hadn’t been there that morning.
Theo slowed, her keys hanging useless from her fingers as she drew close enough to recognize the neat, controlled loops of handwriting she knew better than anyone else’s.
I'm so sorry about Harry.
I know words are insufficient, but you
mattered to him, so, so much, Theodora.
There was no signature. Not that it was needed. Theo read the note twice, then carefully peeled it from the door and folded it into her pocket.
She unlocked her door, expecting the quiet that had settled into it over the past week, but when the door swung open, Mary was sitting on her couch.
She looked completely comfortable, settled into the corner cushion with her cane propped against the armrest, wearing a plum-colored cardigan over a floral house dress.
She looked up when Theo entered, her expression carrying a mix of sympathy and practicality that made her impossible to argue with.
“Hey,” Theo's voice came out confused, still standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"
"Catherine knocked on my door about an hour ago," Mary said. "Told me you'd be home late. Said you'd need someone when you got here."
She shifted, making room on the couch beside her in wordless invitation. "Not sure why she couldn’t set aside whatever foolishness is going on between you and come herself, but here we are.”
"I'm fine," Theo said, the lie so familiar it required no thought at all.
Mary's expression didn't change. She just looked at Theo with steady eyes. "I'm sure you are," she said, but her tone made clear she thought nothing of the sort. "Come sit with me anyway."
Theo's legs carried her forward before her mind caught up. She crossed the apartment, dropped her keys on the counter, and lowered herself onto the couch beside Mary.
The cushions gave beneath her, familiar and soft, and she found herself sinking into them with relief so deep she almost sighed.
"I heard about Harry," Mary said, reaching out to pat Theo's arm. "I'm sorry. Losing someone is hard, no matter how prepared you think you are."
The kindness in her voice cracked something in Theo's composure, some barrier she'd been maintaining since the moment Natalie had called time of death.
"He was supposed to get better," Theo heard herself say. "He always got better."
"I know," Mary said, and her arm came around Theo's shoulders, pulling her closer. "Come here, sweetheart."
Theo let herself be pulled. She leaned into Mary's side, feeling the solid warmth of her body, the cushioned fabric of her cardigan against her cheek.
Mary's other hand came up to stroke Theo's hair with the same gentle repetition she'd probably used on her own children decades ago, and something in Theo broke completely.
The first sob surprised her with its force. It tore from her throat involuntarily, a sound she couldn't control or contain, and once it started, she couldn't stop it. Her shoulders shook, her breathing fractured into gasps, and tears she'd been holding back for days finally broke free.
She cried for Harry, for the man who told terrible jokes, who called her doc, who never quite stayed clean long enough to build the life he wanted. She cried for all the times she’d saved him before and the one time she couldn’t.
She cried for Catherine, who had sat with him every day, offering companionship and dignity. And for the way Catherine had thought to send Mary tonight, despite everything.
"That's it," Mary murmured, barely audible beneath Theo's crying. "Let it out. I've got you."
Theo cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned, and exhaustion finally overtook even grief's momentum.
She remained curled against Mary's side, breathing in shuddering gasps, her hands fisted in Mary's cardigan, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her anchored.
Eventually, the sobs faded to hiccups, then to silence, leaving only Theo’s unsteady breathing as the worst of the grief loosened its grip on her chest.
"You're going to be alright," Mary said gently. "Not tonight, maybe not for a while. But eventually you will be."
Theo nodded against Mary's shoulder, not trusting her voice yet, and closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth beside her, on grief acknowledged and tears shed and the comfort of not having to face it alone.