11. Clark #2
“Yes, of course.” I would have given an arm and a leg to be looped in on the conversation with Shepard and the hospital, but I couldn’t ask such a thing.
Shepard barely knew me, and this kind of call is supposed to be private.
I was just so damn worried. I could feel it from the tingling of my lips to the shakiness of my limbs.
I closed my eyes and thought, Come on, Clark.
Time to be brave. Whatever is going on, it’s happening to Olly, not you, and you need to buck up and be there for her.
I made record time walking through the pedway from the parking garage to the hospital, nervously paced while waiting on the elevator, and when the doors opened, I blessedly saw the information desk.
They were totally fine with getting me a porter, and thank goodness they did, because I would have been lost with this much anxiety riding me.
My legs were absolute jelly at this point.
As I slipped a mask on over my nose and mouth, I would have given the world not to be in this antiseptic-smelling germ pit about to see the person I wanted to...
what, be my girlfriend? She mentioned her gender like it was a secret.
But maybe the word “girl” didn’t even apply here.
My “partner”? After five measly weeks of hanging out and working together?
That sounded a little strange, even to me, no matter how much I wanted it.
The porter arrived with a wheelchair, and while I protested at first, I was convinced to sit down when they said, in a tone that implied they’d seen everything, “You look like hell, kid. Let me give you a ride there. It’ll take five minutes. Now, sit.”
I sat.
We were off, and I coughed, the mask not concealing the smell of disinfectant and that hospital odour.
The emergency room was packed, but at least I was taken back to a curtained-off space and not the waiting room.
I felt like I was going to be sick to my stomach when I saw Olly on the bed, looking so small with her eyes closed and attached to an IV.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the clear bag.
“I can’t tell you. I’m just your deluxe chariot driver to get you here.
Now, you wait a sec while I put the brakes on, and you can sit in that comfier chair by her bed.
” As soon as I could, I hopped out of the chair and thanked the porter profusely.
Within moments, we were alone, Olly and I, and I couldn’t help the few stray tears that made their way down my cheeks.
I was nervous as hell, but stayed quiet and didn’t ring for a nurse because the machines looked good.
Nothing flashing red or making noises, just a calm-looking display.
Not that the nurses would be able to tell me anything anyway.
I wasn’t her emergency contact, and there were privacy rules.
I took her hand that didn’t have the IV and a monitor attached to it and clutched it to my chest, and thought of the million little things I wanted to say to her.
I wanted to tell her about me playing hockey as a kid on a lake when we lived in Manitoba, and how the other kids took it easy on me because I was so terrible at it.
I never got practice time in because of my illness, so they were cool with me being awful, just as long as I got to play.
I wanted to tell her my mother’s secret peanut butter popcorn recipe, and then watch our favourite movies together, snuggled up on my bed.
And Rosie. I wanted to tell her all about my dear, dear Rose.
If she’d only had access to a hospital like this, maybe she would still be alive.
I had to stop that train of thought. I knew enough to understand that hospitals were triggers for what happened to Rose, and just made the anxious storm in my mind spin faster.
When a man’s near-frantic voice with an English accent could be heard in the hall, calling for Olly and being shushed by a staff member, I dropped Olly’s hand, got up, and peeled back the curtain to say, “Shepard, over here.” I only knew Shepard a bit, from arranging the costume surprise, but I was still embraced in a bear hug so tight that for a moment I was lifted off my feet.
Damn, he was strong, and he smelled amazing.
Jesus, what was I thinking about? I swear, I was so discombobulated seeing Olly like this that logic was fleeing me, and I wanted to sit in the corner and cry buckets.
Another part of me, which knew that was ridiculous, wanted to hold her hand and never let it go.
To run my hands over her hair, or her tummy, or the beautiful, lightly freckled cheeks.
Of course, as I hadn’t asked for permission to do those things while she was awake, I wasn’t going to take advantage and make grabby hands while she was unconscious.
I figured the hand holding was okay, but that was it.
Shepard finally released me, pulled up the other chair near the bed, and graciously filled me in on Olly’s condition.
“So I know I should have called you back, but I was in too much of a rush to get dressed and call a cab to get here. They told me she probably had a seizure. She’s got no history of them.
They also said she’s unconscious, but she’s stable.
Some things depend on how the next few hours go.
They’re taking her for an MRI on her brain any minute now.
” He ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair and looked down at Olly’s waxy complexion.
She was unresponsive on the bed, her fiery, tangled red hair framing her face like a halo.
She had a drip running to her right hand, but the nurse had told Shepard it was just saline for now, to keep her hydrated and the line open in case they needed to administer medication quickly.
He walked over to her bedside and touched her hair and then her cheek almost reverently.
Then he leaned down and kissed her, just once, on the same cheek.
It looked like a tender gesture, and one I should not have watched.
As if spellbound, he took his hands and put them on either side of her belly and gently rested his head there.
Tears flowed down his cheeks as he now held her hand, and I wondered at that moment if I even belonged here.
This was her lover and best friend of twelve years.
I was her new coworker and neighbour. But fuck it, I was the one she was choosing to spend her time with.
I was the one that she trusted enough to talk about her family with to the point that she made it snow in my apartment.
Just then, I had enough of the Shepard and Olly show.
I was in on this too, somewhere, and I wasn’t leaving.
I sat in the second chair in the room, and opened my mouth to just get some of the damned secrecy the hell out.
“Shepard,” I said in a low tone because I didn’t really want to be overheard.
“This might sound batshit crazy, but I’m beyond the point of caring.
Does Olly have like, magic powers or something?
She did something super weird at my place last night, and before she could fully explain it to me today, the shit hit the fan. ”
Shepard stood straight up and looked at me.
Like, really looked. He must have decided that what he saw passed whatever test he administered, because he said to me, “Or something. That’s what she’s got.
I mean, she’s magic, of course she is—she’s Olly freakin’ McLeod—but not magic like a fairy or witch from a storybook.
There’s just something different about her.
I never got the full story, no matter how much I wanted to.
The fact that she was going to explain something to you about whatever makes her different speaks more to me about how much she trusts you than anything else that’s happened so far. ”
“You know, Olly has a million stories that all involve you, and I’d like to get to know you better while we wait for her to come around.
If that’s okay with you.” I will not be jealous, I will not be jealous ran over and over in my mind, as if I could just make it so by silently saying it.
“But actually, before that, I wanted to talk about your drawing, if we could. Of the costumes? I have it with me.” I took the slightly rumpled, folded-up paper from my jacket pocket and handed it to Shepard.
I don’t know why, but my hand shook as I did.
Shepard took the drawing and looked at it again, a sad expression on his face.
“I’ve seen this same picture for years, you know, only the peoples’ backs are turned, so really all you see is the dress and the cape.
Olly draws a lot, but she keeps it very close to the vest. You know when we lived together, she had a lock on her filing cabinet, which was just full of sketchpads.
I’ve seen this same picture quite a few times, when she’d slip up and leave some of her papers on the kitchen table or wherever.
But when I was drawing my version, I felt like I had to draw it the way it wanted to be drawn, like that was the only way it would make sense.
And it’s you. It’s so obviously you. That cape has a lot of meaning to Olly, and finally seeing with her own two eyes who is supposed to be wearing it?
It would have been a lot for her to process. ” He handed his drawing back to me.
My heart rate went up as I accepted the drawing back from Shepard.
I could feel it, galloping away, and took some big breaths to try to clear my head.
“What did you mean when you said you drew me in the cape because that was how ‘it wanted to be drawn?’ It’s an inanimate object, not a sentient being, correct? How can a drawing want anything?”