22. Lissa
Lissa
For a long time, neither of us moves. Oliver stares at the doorway where James has just disappeared, his shoulders stiff, back taut.
I fiddle with the zipper on my bag, biting my lip as I try to gather my thoughts, breathing through my nose with long, steady breaths to calm my racing heartbeat.
“We’re separated,” I blurt out, as Oliver slowly looks back at me, a stunned expression on his face.
No one should look that beautiful beneath the stark hospital lighting, but I can’t stop staring at him. There’s a very light jagged scar on his jaw that I’ve never noticed before, and I wonder how it got there.
“I—” I begin, desperately wanting to explain what he just walked in on, but then my heart lurches as I hear Henry’s voice calling in distress.
Shutting my mouth, I look up at Oliver apologetically and hurry past him out into the hallway and down toward the children’s ward.
Oliver must think I’m absolute trash to be doing this job when I have a child and a husband.
“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” I say quickly, rushing through the door of Henry’s room and over to his bed. My chest aches painfully when I see the beginnings of tears on his cheeks. I shouldn’t have left him alone—but he was resting comfortably, and I really needed some sugary coffee.
It’s been an overwhelming few hours, what with packing for the hospital, traveling here with all our bags weighing us down on the bus, and Dr. Erkhart’s visit to explain what the next few days will entail.
It’s obvious that Henry has hit his boiling point and he’s panicking. I sit on the bed, leaning over him, kissing him gently. He smells like antiseptic and chemicals, and all I want to do is lift him from this bed and take him home.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, mommy just needed some coffee. You alright now?”
Henry is shivering, the tears welling in his eyes as he sniffs, trying to get himself under control. I’ve rarely seen him like this, and it breaks my heart.
I clutch him tightly, wishing that our circumstances were different. If I didn’t have to work, I could be with him throughout his recovery, but I just can’t afford to take a whole week off.
“W—where were you?” he asks, looking up at me plaintively. “Is Dad here?”
I go still. Henry’s wide blue eyes are like a stormy sea as I hold my breath.
“No, sweetie, but I’m sure he’ll come see you soon, okay?”
“Who is that?” Henry asks, and I twist around in the bed, looking at the doorway, where Oliver is standing. It feels like two worlds colliding as Henry’s eyes bug out of his head as he looks Oliver over.
I have no idea what to do. My head is screaming at me to ask Oliver to leave. He might frighten Henry and make this even more difficult, but my heart is oddly grateful that he’s here.
An impractical part of me wants Oliver to meet Henry, to see a part of my real life that isn’t curated by the four walls of his office.
“Oh,” I say, uncertain how to explain who he is. “That’s Mr. Heath. He’s Mommy’s boss. You remember I started a new job, sweetie?” Henry nods. “Well, Mr. Heath happened to be in the hospital, and we ran into each other.”
I stop, wondering why exactly Oliver is in the hospital today, but my words have broken a boundary, and he walks into the room. A warm, almost sweet smile I haven’t seen from him before spreads over his face as he looks at Henry.
“Uh, Mr.… Oliver,” I stammer, unsure how to address him in this setting. “This is my son, Henry,” I say, watching Henry’s little mouth form an ‘o’ as he stares at him.
“You’re really tall,” Henry says, and I wince as I glance at Oliver. But his smile remains in place. “My friend Gregory’s dad is tall, but not as tall as you.”
“Is that right?” Oliver asks, his tone soft and friendly. “My Mom told me to stop growing when I turned sixteen, but I forgot and shot up another few feet.”
Henry thinks about it, his head cocked to one side. “Are you a giant?” he asks.
“Have you ever seen a giant?” Oliver asks.
“Only in books.”
“Well, they’re much, much bigger than me. I’d only be a toy to them.”
“Mom says when I’m better, we can get a puppy,” Henry says, changing topics in the seamless way children do, turning to look at me expectantly.
“Uh, not quite,” I say faintly. “I said we’d think about it. Remember how small our apartment is, baby?” I say, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
“Would you like to see a picture of my dog?” Oliver asks as I turn to him, surprised. He glances at me, as if asking for permission, and I nod as he steps forward, pulling out his phone.
He shows Henry a picture of a beautiful, sleek Italian greyhound looking up at the camera with an adorable expression on his doggy face.
“He can eat a whole bowl of food and still be hungry. He’s never tired and runs really fast anywhere he needs to go,” Oliver says, lowering himself into a chair beside the bed.
Henry takes the phone from Oliver, a habit he’s learned from Bethany and me, and I lean forward hastily.
“Hen, baby, remember how I told you it’s not polite to just take someone’s phone without asking?”
“That’s alright,” Oliver says. “There are a bunch of pictures of him. You can swipe through them if you’d like.”
Henry beams at him, flicking through the pictures. “He’s so small. I thought you’d have a big dog.”
“I like little things,” Oliver says, his dark eyes finding mine, and my cheeks heat at the memory of him scooping me up and carrying me around his office.
For the next few minutes, Henry looks at pictures of the dog, which we learn is named Truman. He really is beautiful with a perfect little snout and huge black eyes that always appear to be begging for something.
“I bet you spoil him,” I say absently. “I wouldn’t be able to say no to him with that sweet face.”
“He has me wrapped around his little paws, that’s for sure. And my mom is even worse than me.”
His expression changes, then, and he holds out a hand for his phone, which Henry quickly returns.
“It was very nice to meet you, Henry,” Oliver says solemnly. “But I don’t want to disturb you too long tonight, and you should get some sleep, okay?”
“Are you going to come visit again?” Henry asks.
“We’ll see,” Oliver murmurs, not looking in my direction, and I squeeze Henry’s hand as Oliver rises and walks out of the room.
He turns back just before he disappears into the hallway, with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
He nods at me, as if in reassurance of what’s passed between us, and it’s comforting.
“Can we get a gray dog?” Henry asks immediately, and I can’t help laughing at the eagerness in his tone.
“Maybe, sweetie. Let’s get your surgery over with first, and then when you’re feeling better, we’ll think about it.”
Henry grins and lies back in the bed as I pull a book out of my bag and start reading to him. By coincidence, it’s a story about a giant who saves a village from a huge boulder, and Henry insists I rename the giant ‘Oliver’, making me smile.
I continue to read, the light slowly fading outside the window as the night closes in.
Soon enough, Henry is fast asleep. I’m staying in the hospital for the next couple of days, having signed off on some emergency leave with Adelaide. But Oliver doesn’t know about it yet, and I wonder if I should have mentioned it to him.
Will he miss me on Monday and Tuesday? Or will he forget all about me and just replace me with another EA?
The memory of our time in his office makes me sick to my stomach, angry with myself for trying to overstep a clear boundary he had set.
The discomfort on his face when I tried to touch him isn’t something I’ll forget for a long time.
Rising from my chair beside the bed and stretching, I can feel a tickling dryness at the back of my throat and go in search of the cafeteria. I’ve received three or four texts from James over the past few hours, demanding to know the particulars of the surgery and the schedule of his visits.
I replied with perfunctory, clinical language, but every message made my anxiety spike.
I know James too well to believe I’ll be able to avoid him completely, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure Henry gets time with his father. It’s important, no matter how much I hate it.
Wandering down the long, white hallways, I see a sign showing the way to a cafeteria on the fourth floor.
Checking the time, I give myself fifteen minutes before I need to go back to Henry’s room.
He was passed out completely when I left, and I doubt he’ll wake up, but I don’t want to risk him finding himself alone again.
I find the cafeteria and get in line. The woman ahead of me leans heavily on a walker as she waits to reach the register.
I stand behind her, texting with Bethany. She’s messaged twenty or thirty times today with cheerful memes, happy gifs, and love hearts for Henry, and I’ve never loved her more. She was trying to cheer me up, keep me thinking positively, as Henry was poked and prodded all day.
There’s a clatter in front of me as the woman with the walker tries to pick up a tray, and it slips from her hand.
“Let me get that for you,” I say, as I step around her and grab the tray.
“Oh goodness,” she says hastily. “Sorry about that.”
“Want some help getting your food?” I ask, eyeing the walker.
She smiles and nods at me. “That would be helpful, but I was only really wanting some warm milk.”
“I’m just getting a drink too, let me give you a hand.”
“Thank you so much, dear.”
We move along the line as I order an herbal tea for myself and some steamed milk for my companion, who tells me her name is Anne.
As we grab our drinks, I turn toward the tables in the room. There are several empty ones, and a lull in the conversation suddenly creates a calm, soothing atmosphere.
“I’ve got a few minutes; do you want to sit together?” I ask, relishing the chance to have an adult conversation with this sweet grandmotherly woman.
Henry’s room does have windows, but the harsh lighting has given me a bit of a headache, and I already feel as if I’ve been in the hospital for days.
The large windows on the other side of the cafeteria look out on the back of the hospital, where I can see the shadowy trees blowing in the wind, illuminated by the lights in the parking lot.
“That would be nice, thank you, dear,” Anne says as we take our seats, and I hand her her milk.
“What are you in for?” she asks darkly, as if we’ve been incarcerated. I chuckle despite myself.
“Oh, uh, my son is having surgery this coming week,” I say, blowing on my extremely hot tea.
“Oh wow,” she says softly. “I hope everything goes well.”
“Thank you. He’s in good hands. How about you?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t ask any more questions about Henry—my frayed nerves can’t stand any more reminders of what’s about to happen to him.
“I had a silly fall”, she says with exasperation. “I’ve got a son, much older than yours, and he’s making an awful fuss. As are the doctors. I just want to be in my bed at home. There’s no one to talk to here, except the nurses, and it’s all very unnecessary.”
“It can feel pretty lonely, can’t it?” I say, as she sips her milk. She nods and swallows, closing her eyes with a little sigh of contentment.
“How old is your son?” she asks.
“Six. Seven in August.”
“What a brave little boy.”
It’s a nice sentiment, even though she doesn’t know Henry at all, and I appreciate her lack of follow-up questions.
We sit in relative silence for the time it takes us to finish our drinks. Anne seems really nice. She doesn’t force the conversation, occasionally mentioning a nice nurse who’s looked after her, or an incompetent doctor who treats her like she’s losing her mind.
She makes me laugh, I even make her laugh a bit, and by the time I clear the table and come back to help her up, I’m grateful to have met her. I look at her more carefully as I walk back to the table. She looks small and vulnerable, struggling to get up, even with both hands resting on the table.
“Would you like to come and sit with me for a while in my son’s room?” I ask impulsively. “If you’re tired and need to rest, then that’s no problem, but?—”
“Oh, I’d love to!” she says immediately. “I’m so bored I could die, and then my son really would be irritated.”
I laugh and help her with her walker, letting her make her own, slow progress back to the elevators.
“When’s the surgery?” she asks, as we go down a floor to the children’s ward.
“Monday. I’m off work until Tuesday, and then I’ll have to go back. But… his father will be here for a bit. I’m just so worried about him being alone in between times.”
Anne looks over at me, brightening.
“Well, would you like me to sit with him? I used to love reading stories to my boy when he was little, and I’m an old lady, but I can keep an eye on him.”
I stare at her as we make our way to Henry’s room, unsure what to say. Without another word, she hobbles inside, lowering into the chair next to the bed and watching him with a quiet awe on her face.
“But won’t you need to be resting too, during your stay?” I ask her.
“Oh, yes. They’ll fuss and tell me to go back to bed, I’m sure, but I would prefer sitting up to lying down. My muscles will atrophy if I don’t move about, and you’re right, he should have somebody with him. You don’t know me from Adam, of course, but I’d really love to help.”
I stare at my son, his little chest rising and falling peacefully, a warmth moving through me at the thought of him being with someone during the day.
I glance at Anne, unsure about her offer, but something in my bones tells me I can trust her. She reminds me a little of me. I can’t explain it, but I instantly feel at ease with her.
“I would love that. But make sure you look after yourself, too. Don’t feel obligated.”
She pats my knee. “I have never felt obligated a day in my life to care for others, my dear. I’m happy to do it.”
Sinking back in my chair, I smile at her, a little of the burden I’ve been carrying over the last few days lifting from my shoulders.