Stay(63)

An ache tightens my throat, but Betty’s on it.

“I don’t think I’ve met, Kona. Hi, Kona, my name is Betty.” She shakes a stuffed fin.

Eli looks down at the black and white toy. “He says hi.”

“I have a very special job for you, Kona.” Betty leans down. “I need you to take care of Eli’s mom while he’s gone. Can you do that for me?”

Eli’s mouth twists with a frown, and he looks at the orca once more. A few seconds pass, and his small fingers move back and forth over the plush fabric. My chest squeezes, and I want to take away his fear.

Finally, he looks up again. “He says he can do that.”

Emmy gives the nurse an appreciate smile, and she takes Kona from her son.

Betty turns to us. “The doctor is on his way. He’ll check everything out, then we’ll take Eli back.”

The two women go to the monitors, and Emmy stands at Eli’s bedside. Her tight smile has returned, the one that tells me she’s quietly fighting her own fears.

“Henry said the surgery should take three, four hours tops.” I hope this gives her some comfort. I look up at the clock and it’s almost eight.

As I’m speaking, he enters the room. “How is everyone today?”

“Good.” Emmy’s voice is tense. “He slept all night.”

“Very good.” Henry walks over to the nurse, scanning her notes. Then he returns to the bed. “Sleep is very good for the brain. Good work, Eli.”

The little boy looks pleased, and two men in scrubs enter. Emmy’s face turns pale, and her hand goes to her throat. I take it as my cue to circle around and stand beside her. I know this is going to be a hard part.

“Looks like we’re ready.” Henry turns to me, and I nod. His eyes go to Emmy, but her eyes haven’t left her son. “Tell your mom you’ll see her in a few hours.”

“See you in a few hours, Mom!” Eli smiles, and she forces a smile.

“I love you, baby.”

Eli doesn’t even protest. He holds up a little hand, and I give him a high five.

I’m standing beside Emmy, doing my best to provide her with strength, but when they roll Eli out the door, fear hits me like a gut punch. My hand tightens on hers, and I focus on our goal.



* * *



Quantum physicists should study the passage of time in a hospital waiting room. I’d be interested to know how it transforms from normal to whatever’s slower than a snail’s pace. I’m doing my best not to climb the walls. The television is set to a home improvement channel, and I watch a man and a woman ripping out appliances in an outdated kitchen. I wish I could crawl in and help them.

Emmy stands by the window, looking at the flowers and landscaped paths.

“It’s really nice outside.” She says it as if it shouldn’t be.

The day your son goes in for experimental, high-risk, awake brain surgery should be overcast and gray.

I agree.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” I don’t know what else to do.

“Not really.”

The clock hands move so slowly, I’ll be ninety before the day ends.

“Lulabell texted to say she lit a candle for Eli and filled out a prayer card.” She’s looking at her dark phone screen. “Ethan said they’re praying. He’s sorry he couldn’t be here with me.”

“I hope you told him I’m here.”

Round blue eyes meet mine, and she nods. “I told him.”

Betty comes out every hour to give us an update on Eli’s progress. She’s been out two times now.

The first time, she said he responded well to the medication and was in twilight sleep. Henry had removed a piece of Eli’s skull, and all his vitals were good.

Emmy’s face blanched, and I took her hand, holding it firmly in mine.

The second time Betty came out, she was smiling. “He’s groggy, but he’s awake enough to speak and help with the brain mapping.” Emmy tries to return her smile. For me, it’s impossible.

“Dr. Rourke is taking it very slowly,” Betty says. “It’s a good thing.”

We thank her. I silently pray her next report will be they’re closing him up, and he’s headed to recovery.

More home improvement shows, more standing in front of the window watching. I try to come up with any topic for conversation, but Emmy’s too distracted.

Finally, after another hour-long eternity, I see the clock has reached noon.

Shifting in my seat, my eyes strain for Betty. Emmy stands and walks to the window, looking out at the yellow flowers, the bees bobbing from petal to petal.

It’s fucking torture.

Five minutes pass, and I scratch a nail along my cuticle.

Another nurse probably stopped Betty on her way to update us. Or perhaps Maddy had a question.

Another five minutes passes, and Emmy leaves the window, joining me where I stand in front of the television. Tension ripples off her in waves.

“She’s usually out at the top of the hour.” Her voice is strained. The fine lines around her eyes deepen, telling me she’s afraid.

Reaching up, I rub my forehead, racking my brain for any reason the nurse could have been delayed. “Hospitals are busy places. She probably got tied up talking to someone.”