“She’s weak.”
“I’ll be strong for her.”
He nods approvingly. “Good. She needs that.”
“That’s why I came back.”
I don’t know whether I mean back from Lost or back from the coma. I don’t think it matters. He seems satisfied, at any rate. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His hands are clasped on his clipboard, and he’s watching the numbers tick down on the elevator. It’s a slow elevator, and it rattles a fair amount for what should be a smooth ride for patients. It’s also twice as large as a normal elevator with railings on all sides for handicapped. I’m clinging to one of the railings and trying to act as if I’m leaning casually against the cool metal wall. Half the other walls are filled with posters describing what to do in a medical emergency. “I’d really hope that here of all places those posters wouldn’t be necessary.” I’m trying to joke. I don’t really succeed.
“Emergencies happen.”
“But aren’t you guys supposed to be trained?”
His lips curve up into a smile, and I notice he has nice lips. I don’t know why I’m noticing this now, when I’m on my way to see my mother. My brain’s way of distracting me. Even my subconscious has avoidance issues.
I think of Peter’s kisses, and I have to turn away from Dr. Barrett.
See, I did remember his name. Funny that. I hadn’t realized that I’d committed it to memory. “How long have you been Mom’s doctor?”
“Three years.”
“Oh.” I’d never met him before. “I thought it was that man with the white hair...”
“Dr. Scola? He retired a year and a half ago. I inherited his practice. Your mother has been coming to see me regularly for a while.” He looked at me. “Don’t feel bad. You aren’t expected to know her doctors. I don’t think she wanted you so involved.”
“She did. I didn’t want to be. I wasn’t ready.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Are you ready now?”
It’s a genuine question, and I wonder how many deaths a doctor has to see to stop caring, how many until the soul scabs over, how many until the losses stop hurting. “Yes.”
He holds open the door for me.
I don’t move. “Honestly, no, I’m not ready. I should be. But I’m not. Is anyone?”
He considers it. “Sometimes. But usually, no. If you’d like to talk afterward, have the nurses page me.”
I dismiss this as politeness. He’ll be too busy afterward.
“I mean it, Ms. Chase. I hope you’ll take me up on my offer.” He leads the way out of the elevator and then pauses as I hobble out. He holds out his arm.
I wonder at the fact that he’s taking the time to do this at all, to escort an obviously slow walker all the way over here. In my experience, this isn’t how people act in hospitals. They’re nice enough, they care, but they’re harried. He must have other patients, appointments, things to do. “Why are you being so nice?” I know I’m being blunt, but I can’t help it.
“It’s my job.”
“Seems above and beyond. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
“As I said, your mother is an extraordinary person,” he says. “When my father died, she went out of her way to be kind to me. I owe her.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” I guess I didn’t know a lot of what my mother did while I was at work, including her friendships. I feel an unpleasant flash of anger, then jealousy... But I wanted her to hide this from me, all the details of her dying. She was only doing what she thought I wanted. “I think I have a lot to talk about with her.”
“She tires easily,” he warns me.
I flash him a wan smile. “So do I.”
We’re walking very slowly now. He’s holding on to my arm, and I’m leaning against him more than is polite, but if I didn’t, I think I would melt into the linoleum floor and not be able to rise. I see him glance at a wheelchair.
“I don’t want her to see me in that,” I say. “I want to be strong for her.”
