"Sure." Emma looked briefly at her computer. "Room 203."
Without saying another word, I headed for the elevator. Misery didn't even begin to cover the way I felt. When the elevator arrived, I got on, stunned when Burke walked on behind me.
I kept to the back corner and didn't look up. If I pretended I wasn't there, he would, too. After all, he had plenty of practice overlooking my existence.
"Will your father be okay?"
Startled that he was even speaking to me, I lifted my head and met his intense gaze. My heartbeat was so loud I was sure he could hear it as I ran my tongue along my lips to moisten them before answering. "I don't know yet."
As when speaking to Emma, my voice was little more than a mere whisper. I couldn't bear to keep my eyes on his for another second, and went back to studying the floor. My palms were damp, so I wiped them on my jeans while wishing a hole would open up and I could bury myself in it.
The ding signaling our arrival snapped me out of my daze, and I hurried past Burke and down the hall.
Mom came out of the room just as I reached it. "Oh, Kinsley!" She grabbed me and wrapped her arms around me, sobbing into my hair. I patted her back but didn't know what else to do. Finally, she pulled away.
"I'm so relieved you're here. He's in surgery, and I haven't seen him yet."
"What are they saying, Mom?"
Mom pushed my hair over my shoulder. "It looks good, but I'm so worried."
"All right, let's go in and sit down."
After managing to settle Mom in the reclining chair, I left her and headed back into the hallway. My destination was a vending machine in the waiting area where I could treat myself to caffeine and sugar to help me through the afternoon.
I was plugging quarters into the slot when I heard him behind me.
"No, I'll take care of it this evening. I said no, Caden.” He sighed. “Fine."
The bottle of Coke falling into the bottom of the machine suddenly seemed to be the loudest sound in the world. Bending to retrieve it and spinning back as quickly as I could, I nonetheless caught him watching me.
Burke still held the phone he'd been speaking into, though it was no longer at his ear. He wore a navy suit with a pewter tie which somehow made him look more intimidating than the gray one of the previous day. I wondered if he owned any other clothes, then remembered I was in jeans and sneakers. He must think me the dumbest country hick. With my head down, I walked off, feeling his gaze pinned to my back. Why was he suddenly interested in me now, after all this time?
Mom was asleep when I entered the room, and I could only be relieved. She was terrible in an emergency, and would make things harder for me if she was awake. Digging in my bag for the book I habitually carried, I opened it and settled in to wait.
Except, all I could focus on was Burke and why he would be at the hospital. His grandmother must be there, of course. There was only one hospital, and there were only two floors. I wondered how many hours a day he spent here and why he felt he had to be here at all. He was pretty important, as far as I knew, and I didn't think his world stopped moving just because he was gone. I didn't like to think about his business, because I knew he dealt in illegal activities, but sometimes I couldn't help it.
Three hours passed before a doctor and an aide appeared with Dad on a gurney, rolling him in as the doctor followed. I nudged Mom awake.
"Mrs. Hawthorne, your husband will be fine."
That was all it took for Mom to fall apart, dropping her head onto Dad's bedside and weeping loudly. The doctor looked at me, and I shrugged helplessly. Mom thrived on any chance to be dramatic.
"I'll come back later."
Nodding, I stood to move closer to the bed. Dad was pale, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. The aide moved around the head of the bed, hooking up all the diagnostic machines before he left the room. I picked up Dad's hand and listened to Mom crying, the ensuing rush of relief leaving me drained. All I wanted to do was sleep for hours and shut out the world.
It was another interminable hour before Dad opened his eyes. Mom popped up to hold a water cup with a straw to his mouth, brushing his curly hair off his forehead. He gave her a weak smile and sucked on the straw.
"We've been so worried about you."
His voice was raspy when he tried to reply, so he gave up.
"It's okay, Dad, you don't have to talk."
"Kinsley, baby, why don't you go on home?" Mom glanced at the clock over my head. "It's gotten late."
I frowned. "What about you?"
