One parent in the room, the other waiting. Sometimes in the corridor. Sometimes in the small family lounge with dim lights and bad coffee. Sometimes just walking circles around the building because neither of us can stand to sit still.
Each morning, I drive home to shower and change clothes. I keep my phone in the bathroom, ringer on high, just in case.
And then I return.
I rent a hotel room next to the hospital for Rhea—have Gina arrange for it to be stocked with snacks, toiletries, comfy backup clothes, and ginger ale.
She never stays there overnight. She won’t leave Esme that long. But sometimes, when I’m with Esme, she slips away for a nap.
In the beginning, Esme sleeps. A lot. Sedated, mostly, but also bone-deep exhausted. Her tiny body rises and fallsunder the weight of machines and medicine. We watch. We wait. We breathe with her.
By day four, her color is better. Her breath slower, steadier. The sedation is lighter, and when she stirs, her hands twitch toward the wires on her chest and the IV in her arm.
She’s disoriented and cranky—and more alive than she’s been since the night Rhea called me.
It’s progress.
I read to her, and talk to her, about whatever comes to mind.
Rhea says, just talk, assume she understands it all. So, I talk her through the Bradford Group deal that’s closing next week, and the names of every French pastry I plan to introduce her to one day. And how we’ll rank them by flakiness, chocolate content, and joy.
But when she’s upset, I’m out of my comfort zone. I’m not sure how to calm her, or what to do when she fusses. I don’t have the magic touch that Rhea does.
On day five, Laney shows up. She’s there when I step out to hand off the baton.
“Spencer, this is Laney, your conspirator on the France trip.” Rhea says, trying to smile.
“Hey, Laney, good to finally meet you in person.” I’m on autopilot, and don’t have much else to offer. Laney sees it.
“Good to meet you, too, Spencer. And I hope you won’t think me rude, but you both look like you’ve been run over by a freight train.”
Rhea lets out a hollow laugh, “Well, it feels a bit like that, to be honest.”
I nod in agreement. “If not a freight train, at least a bus.”
“I’m banning you both from Esme’s room for the nextthree hours. So get out of here and go take care of yourselves. Take a nap, get some food, take a walk.”
Rhea starts to protest. “No, we can’t leave her…”
“I’m her damned second mother, Rhea. You leave me with her five days a week. I think I can three hours.”
So we go.
I propose a restaurant I know not far from here. She wonders if we should both just get some sleep. We agree on taking a walk outside, breathing the air, and stretching our bodies a bit.
It’s the first time we’ve really been together for more than a few minutes between shifts since the first day.
It’s beautiful and sunny outside, and we just walk. Not saying much, not holding hands. Just walking.
Then my phone buzzes.
Gina.
“I think I need to take this,” I say, “She’s screening things pretty tight, so it must be something…“
“Yes. Go. Take it.” She says, “I’ll hang out on that bench.”
“Hey, Gina. What’s up?”
