Eighteen October 25, 2023
UNDER THE timber canopy of the emergency entrance to the Nanaimo Hospital, Elsie and Bailey lean against the wall waiting as their father undergoes a battery of exams, blood tests, brain imagery, and an ultrasound of his carotid artery.
His insides turned out for public viewing.
By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, her father’s face was back to normal.
The emergency doctor said it was likely a TIA, a “mini-stroke,” but that it’s probably the harbinger of a bigger stroke to come, if her dad doesn’t change his lifestyle.
Or maybe even if he does. But then Elsie already knew that.
Inside the building, the emergency waiting room is packed.
There’s no place to sit. The newish addition to this hospital has the bright, airy feel of an airport, but it’s filled with stressed and exhausted doctors and nurses, feverish and crying babies, stoic but ailing elderly people, the contagious and coughing, the traumatized and broken.
Outside the hospital, Elsie struggles to contain her tears. In the parking lot across from them, the Japanese maples still wear their cloak of red leaves. A few stars are visible between the pinkish clouds of the city’s night sky.
“Travis is on his way?” Elsie asks.
“He’ll be here any minute. His crew was late getting in from the bush.”
As Bailey scrolls on her phone, Elsie stares up at the wood of the canopy above them.
In the distance, an ambulance siren whoops.
It’s cold. Elsie’s still wearing her red dress from her date with Marcus, her sandals.
At least she thought to grab a hoodie. Bailey is bundled up in a fall coat but wears the slippers she had on when the ambulance arrived, ones with the silhouettes of dogs on them. A birthday gift from Travis.
“I shouldn’t have argued with Dad,” Elsie says. “I knew his blood pressure was high, and that he was about to have a stroke.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Bailey says. “Dad chose to eat whatever clump of fat clogged his blood vessel.”
Elsie zips up her hoodie, pulls the sleeves over her freezing hands. “I’m afraid he’s going to end up in a wheelchair,” she says.
“We don’t know that.” Bailey pauses. “Or I guess you do.”
As they’d followed the ambulance to the Nanaimo Hospital, Bailey had demanded to know how Elsie could possibly have predicted when their father would have the stroke, especially right down to the minute.
In response, Elsie had explained everything, about the atlas, her trips through time.
About Zander and Marcus. She’d gone on and on, talking out of nervousness, fear.
But Bailey had kept her eyes on the road ahead and hadn’t said a thing about it, until now. Processing, Elsie supposes.
“Can I see those photos again?” Bailey asks.
Elsie shows the pictures to her on her phone. Elsie the time traveller during the Christmas visit with her mom, along with her childhood self and sister, all of them in their mom’s party dresses.
Bailey takes the phone from her and studies the images for a time. Her nose is red and dripping from the cold. She pulls out a tissue, wipes her nose. “You really saw Mom again?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I would give anything to see her again, you know?”
Elsie does know. When her sister offers it, she takes her phone back. “You believe me, then? About the time travel.”
Bailey shivers, buttons up her coat. “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe.”
“Then come with me to the next location in the atlas,” Elsie says, pocketing her phone. “If you don’t blink, you’ll see me phase. Zander and Crystal say it’s like I fade out of existence for just a moment, and then pop back in.”
Her sister eyes her as she taps her own phone against her palm. “Do you think you could use the atlas to find out if Dad survives that big stroke?”
“I can try,” Elsie says.
The siren grows closer and then an ambulance pulls up to the emergency entrance.
The sisters watch as the EMTs roll a middle-aged man on a gurney into the hospital, just as they had with their father.
And then the emotion of the last few days hits Elsie all at once and she bursts into tears. “What if we do lose Dad too?” she asks.
“Then we’ll deal with it, together.” Bailey hugs her tightly.
Her sister smells of the lavender lotion she uses daily to quell anxiety.
“You don’t need to move out,” Bailey says over her shoulder.
“Not until we know what’s happening with Dad.
I’ll talk to Travis. You can stay downstairs as long as you need to. ”
“Okay.” Elsie feels an overwhelming sense of relief. To slide back into the familiar. To hide in the dark and musty comfort of her basement cell.
But then Bailey releases her as a horn honks and Travis drives by in his pickup. He turns into the lot across from the hospital to park his muscle truck next to Bailey’s tiny cartoon car. After locking the truck, he strides towards them. Bailey runs and jumps into his arms.
Beyond them, an elderly patient, underdressed for this October night in only a nightgown, stands on the sidewalk.
In this context, it takes a moment to register it’s the old woman, the ghost Elsie’s been seeing everywhere.
Her bare feet on the cold pavement. Her nightgown glowing in the shadows.
Her watchful gaze. “Hey!” Elsie shouts and takes a step forward, but her phone buzzes in her hand and in that instant the ghost vanishes.
Travis, thinking Elsie’s saying hello, waves.
Elsie checks the call before answering it.
Marcus? But the number isn’t one of her few contacts.
Maybe it’s a nurse with news of her father.
Oh, god. She’s just seen the old woman, the ghost. What does that mean?
Is the ghost warning her that her father has died?
Or is she about to experience another godawful turning point in her life?
“Hello?” she says, warily.
“Is this Elsie? Elsie Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“This is Crystal.”
Crystal. Elsie can hear the wind chimes tinkling in the background. The woman must be standing on her porch to make the call. So the call isn’t word of Dad’s death, then, or another terrible thing. She allows herself to relax a little.
“You still interested in the workshop?” Crystal asks.
“I got to thinking, it’s high time I let John go.
I’ve moved most of his crap out of the workshop and onto the lawn.
Having a yard sale all weekend. Likely all month.
Maybe all year.” She clears her throat. “The truth is, I could use the money, from renting the place out. If you still want the workshop, it’s yours. ”
Elsie stares up into the night sky, the stars and planets twinkling overhead. It seems a future with a baby, or at least with Marcus, is still on the table, if she wants it. But does she want it?
She looks back at Bailey and Travis hugging on the sidewalk then up at the moon, waxing gibbous, its light bruising the clouds. “Crystal,” she says, “can I get back to you on that?”