“Married. Fifty-two in September.”
“That’s a lot of practice at not listening.”
Margaret makes a sound that might be a laugh if it had more strength behind it.
“Oh, he’s very good at it.”
“What’s he good at when he does listen?”
She looks towards the other ambulance, but AJ’s voice brings her back before she can spiral.
“Margaret?”
She swallows. “Gardening. Terrible at houseplants, but the garden, yes. Roses. He grows roses. Talks to them when he thinks I can’t hear.”
“What does he say?”
“That depends if they’re behaving.”
AJ smiles, and it is not charming.
It is kind.
There is a difference, and for some reason that difference is harder to watch.
“Sounds like the roses have a strong union,” he says.
Margaret’s grip tightens on his hand. “Is he out?”
“Yes,” AJ says. “They’ve got him out.”
“But they won’t let me go to him.”
“They’re working on him now. That’s good. That means the right people are with him.”
“I should be with him.”
“I know.”
“I’m his wife.”
“I know,” he says again, and the quiet certainty of it does something to my chest I refuse to name. “And right now the best thing you can do for him is let them check youproperly, so when they tell you where they’re taking him, you’re ready.”
She shakes her head, tears slipping down her face. “I can’t sit in there. I can’t. Not where I can’t see.”
“Then we’ll stand here for a minute,” he says. “Just a minute. But you have to keep the blanket on, all right? I made a promise with my eyes to that paramedic over there, and she looks like someone who would win any argument with me.”
Despite everything, Margaret follows his glance to the ambulance.
The paramedic, who is indeed watching them with the expression of a woman deciding how much patience she has left, raises her eyebrows.
Margaret gives a tiny, watery nod.
AJ nods back. “See? Terrifying. We should cooperate.”
I stand a few feet away, invisible for once.
Not because no one can see me.
