“I’m Jeff.”
He steps forward and extends a hand that Gina takes with one arm still around Syd’s shoulders. Gina saw Syd through the worst of her battle against anorexia and the bond that they formed during that struggle is nigh unbreakable. It’s the silver lining that Syd never lost sight of.
“Ah, you’re the new guy. The Jefferson surgeon…” Gina trails off and looks at me.
“Jesus, Gina. Don’t tell him we talk about him. He’s already approaching maximum ego,” I say and then hurry the hell out of there before she says something to further embarrass me. Jeff grins and I pretend not to see it as I slip into Kayla’s room and plop down in the first chair I see.
“Rough night last night?” Kayla’s voice is raspy from the damage she’s done to her throat.
I nod and meet her eyes, the red lines still so pronounced that there’s barely any white around her iris. I can remember when Syd looked like this. When her elbows and knees jutted out from her skin beneath the sheets and I could see bones through the gown that the human eye was never meant to see. Syd’s cheeks were sunken, but Kayla’s are slightly puffy, her body’s inflammatory response to the damaged salivary glands.
“I danced myself back to the hospital,” I tell her, pulling my nose up into a regretful wince.
“At least you went out with a bang,” she says. “I’d kill for some dancing.”
It’s a simple enough statement, but I hear what she isn’t saying. Syd has trained me to see and hear the voice of the eating disorder in even the simplest of phrases. Does Kayla really want to dance or is it the need to burn calories screaming at her right now?
“Pre-calculus is just as fun as dancing.” I grin and Kayla literally sinks down into her fluffy white pillow, her angular chin slipping out of view last.
“Can we not?” she murmurs.
“Yes, we can!” I say in my cheerleader voice and she cranes her neck back up and has the decency to look embarrassed for me.
“My book is in the study room.” She starts to stand and I lift my hand to stop her. If she goes to get it, she’ll be gone forever, avoiding the introduction to the radian circle like it was sent from hell to collect her soul.
“I got it,” I tell her, and she narrows one eye at me in a look that says,Touché, you pain in my ass.
I head back out into the common area and watch the city move through the long expanse of glass. Cars crawl around the corners of the busy square in front of the hospital while pedestrians hurry up and down the flanks of 34thstreet. Always so busy. I’m exhausted just looking at it. I turn my gaze upward to the skyscrapers grappling for purchase in the soft blue sky. The spire of the Comcast Building pokes out above them all, claiming its victory beneath a soft streak of white clouds. It’s a beautiful view—if you’re into that sort of thing.
I slow down a little as I pass Abby and Sean’s room, curiosity overruling my good sense as it always does. I hear Syd’s squeaky laughter and Sean’s deep chuckle. Jeff’s voice is next.
“The worst part of all of it is that it is all so deeply unfunny, ya know. But we have to laugh. To get through it.”
“So, what happened to your sister?” Syd asks. I picture her leaning toward him, eyes wide, her fingers spinning her eyebrow ring like they do when you’ve got her rapt attention. And Jeff certainly has her rapt attention.
“She battled it until she was nineteen and went for six months to inpatient treatment near here actually—at Renfrew.She beat it there. I mean she still battles. But now she’s winning.” There’s a heavy pause, then Jeff says, “She’s got a daughter now. And she’s happy. Genuinely. There is an entire life to be lived—after.”
“Only if you win,” someone whispers and I crane my neck, trying to peek around the door frame.
It’s Abby. And this is the first time I’ve heard the girl speak.
“Not everyone wins,” she says and the pain in those words makes my chest so heavy I have to lean back against the wall.
“No. You’re right, Abby. And it’s not as easy as I just made it sound,” he whispers. “But you’re here and you’re fighting and that’s the first step.”
“True,” Syd admits.
“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told my sister every time she refused a meal and had to have that tube shoved up her nostril.” Jeff pauses and I can feel every ounce of pain drift off of him into the hallway as he remembers. “You are not alone.”
“Amen,” Sean says.
I close my eyes and echo thatAmenin my head. Jeff has personal experience with this. No wonder he was willing to come. Pieces of the Jeff shaped puzzle are starting to click into place in my head. And as I open my eyes and push off the wall, still reeling from the emotion beneath his words, I can’t help but admit that I no longer want to avoid him at all costs.
I want to know more.
Chapter Twenty
Jeff
