Chapter 9 #3
Hi Jewel. I’m so sorry about yesterday. Can we talk? I need to explain what happened.
She stared at the message, her pulse quickening. Perfect timing, or suspicious timing, depending on how paranoid she wanted to be. Ashley was reaching out now, when she was vulnerable, distracted, and desperate for anything to take her mind off the surgery.
I’m at the hospital. Cole and Susan are in surgery. Can we talk later?
The response came within seconds. Of course! I’m so sorry, I forgot it was today. Let me know when you’re ready. And Jewel? They’re going to be fine. I’m praying for them both.
The message was warm, just what a friend would say. But she couldn’t shake the image of Ashley taking that business card from Robert and tucking it into her purse as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She was busy trying to focus on Trevor when another text came through, this one from a number she didn’t recognize but suspected she knew.
I heard about the surgery. I hope everything goes well. We should talk soon about the next steps. –Robert
Of course he had heard about the surgery. Of course he would reach out today when she was at her most vulnerable. Finding the pressure points and pushing until something broke was Robert’s specialty.
She deleted the message without replying, then blocked the number just to be sure. Whatever game he was playing, she wasn’t interested.
The clock on the wall showed ninety-three minutes since they had been wheeled away. Still within the normal range for the donor surgery, she told herself. Still time for everything to go according to plan.
But the waiting was excruciating.
She closed the laptop, accepting defeat. She couldn’t focus on work right now or think about anything except what was happening in those operating rooms. Cole was unconscious on a table as they removed his kidney. Susan waited in the adjacent room for the organ that might save her life.
Two separate surgeries. Two separate teams. Two chances for something to go wrong.
The elderly couple across from her suddenly stood up, the woman quickly covering her mouth as a doctor in surgical scrubs approached them. She couldn’t hear what was said, but the woman’s shoulders relaxed with what appeared to be relief, and the man pulled her into an embrace.
Good news, then. Someone’s surgery had gone well.
She turned back to the window, watching cars pull in and out of the parking lot below. Normal people going about their daily lives, unaware that in the rooms above them, lives hung in the balance.
Her coffee had gone cold in the Styrofoam cup, but she took a sip anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste but needing something to do with her hands.
Another fifteen minutes ticked by. Then twenty. Then thirty.
No news was supposed to be good news, she told herself. If something had gone wrong, they would’ve informed her by now. The surgeries were progressing normally. Everything was fine.
But the knot in her stomach didn’t ease.
She pulled out her phone again and sent a quick text to Conrad. No updates yet. Still waiting.
His response came immediately. Hang in there. Beck keeps asking when his daddy’s coming home. I told him in a few days.
The image of Beckett waiting, confused about why his father had to leave, made her chest ache. That little boy had already lost his mother. Whatever truly happened to Vivian, she was gone. The thought of him losing Cole, too, was unbearable.
She put the phone down and forced herself to take a slow breath. Cole would be okay. Susan would be okay. This was routine. People donate kidneys all the time.
The door to the waiting room opened, and she looked up, hoping for news.
But it wasn’t a doctor. It was just a young man with tired eyes, joining the quiet vigil of those waiting for news about someone they loved.
She turned back to the window, watching the late morning sun climb higher in the sky, and tried to remember how to pray.
Time crawled forward. Two hours. Two and a quarter.
Still no word.
She tried to convince herself that this was normal, that the surgeries took as long as they needed to, and that the doctors would come when they had news.
But the silence felt oppressive, like the air before a storm.
She was looking at her phone, debating whether to text Conrad again just to pass the time, when she heard footsteps approaching.
“Excuse me, are you with Mr. Blackwell?”
The voice pierced her spiraling thoughts like a knife. She looked up to see a doctor standing in front of her, still wearing surgical scrubs, with a surgical cap pushed back from her forehead.
But it wasn’t the surgeon who had briefed them earlier. It was someone else—a woman she didn’t recognize, with a serious expression, her hands clasped in front of her, that made her heart start to race.
“Yes?” Her voice came out thin, reedy. Wrong.
The doctor’s eyes were kind but weary, the lines around them hinting at too many long shifts and tough conversations. “I’m Dr. Martinez. Could you come with me, please? I need to speak with you privately.”