Page 90 of Wild Abandon

We rush out the elevator and are quickly in front of the hotel. I run into the middle of the street and stop a cab. Nate flies in, and I get in next to him.

“Golden Gate Rehabilitation,” he tells the driver.

He spends the rest of the drive looking frightened, staring wide-eyed out the front window, willing streetlights to change and traffic to move.

We pull up to our destination, and Nate scurries while I pay the fare. It doesn’t bother me. I could use the moment to collect myself. Figure out what the hell is happening.

Yes, let’s go there.

What the hell is happening?

Twenty minutes ago, I was making love to Nate, and now, I’m standing outside a beige building where his wife is inside.

Does she work here? Is she a patient?

Oh my God, he has a wife. He’s married.

And I followed him. Here.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Do you ever have one of those moments when you run on autopilot, not necessarily doing the right or wrong thing? You’re just moving along with the actions because you haven’t had a moment to process what is actually happening.

That is me.

And call me a glutton for punishment because my feet are moving through the threshold, despite my brain telling them to stay away.

My heart even knows it’s about to break.

But my feet have a mind of their own.

“What happened?”

I hear Nate’s voice nearby. There is no one at the reception desk, so I peer down a corridor and see him talking to someone, a nurse perhaps.

“She’s okay. The doctor was able to stop the seizing. We have her…”

She is speaking, but all I can hear is the way Nate cries at what she’s saying. He’s tugging at his hair with one hand, the other covering his mouth, his eyes crimson. The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and he seems to relax at what she’s saying to him.

“Where is she?” he asks.

The nurse takes him through a set of double doors, and I stand, cowering behind a wall, as the doors close behind them.

The welcome sign on the wall says, Golden Gate Long-Term Care and Rehabilitation. The lobby area is large yet empty, closed for the day for visitors. They must have opened the door for Nate. Leaving it open for me was an accident. With marble floor, maroon chairs, and a wooden desk, the lobby is eerily quiet.

I move down the hall, passing the recreation room. My footsteps echo in the soundless space. Tables and chairs, board games, a sofa, and TV. Vending machines along the far wall. All unoccupied.

I walk toward the double doors where Nate disappeared. It’s open. The hall is empty, but there is the distinct sound of moaning. Someone is in pain or discomfort. I look into the room where the sounds are coming from and see a man in a hospital bed, calling out into the air. I want to go in and help him, but I can’t.

Many of the doors are closed. A food cart in the hallway has empty trays. There is an open door at the end of the hallway, a dim light pouring in. I walk closer and see the sign above the room says, Medical Center.

Someone is approaching, so I dip into a doorway and hide in the shadows. I don’t know why I’m hiding, but I do. A doctor walks out and down the hallway. I wait until he is out the double doors I came through before I step out of the shadows.

I walk through the opening of the Medical Center. The light is brighter in here. A nurse has her back to me, filling out a chart. When she’s done, she walks away, and I move past the nurses’ station to where there are two rooms. One is empty. The other takes my breath away.

Beside the bed, Nate is on his knees, head bowed. He could be praying, but by the way his back is shaking, I know he’s crying.

He is clasping the hand of the woman sleeping on the bed. Her hair is overgrown yet still has the shine that comes with youth. She has black hair and very pale skin. Her features are pretty with bowed lips and a straight nose. Her face has a puffiness to it, and even in sleep, it looks to be asymmetrical.