Mid Life Love: At Last (Mid Life Love #2)(65)

It always used to pain me to see her body connected to numerous tubes, but I’d never let my concern show on my face. I always told her that “This time is the last time. You’ll never be in this room again.” And after we graduated high school together I’d believed those words were true.

“Next!” The woman at the security desk motioned for me to step forward. “I need your license and your parking ticket from the garage for verification. If you caught the bus, I need a separate form of ID.”

I handed her my license and my therapy card.

“Who are you here to see, Miss Gracen?”

“Amanda Meadows. Oncology.”

“Amanda Meadows?” She shook her head at her screen.

“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Amanda Hayes. She married...”

She nodded and filled out a green ID badge before handing it over to me. “Visiting hours are over at nine unless you’re given special permission by the doctors on that floor. Keep your ID badge on at all times. You’ll get your license back once you return it. She’s on level twenty three. Next!”

I slid my purse over my shoulder and slowly walked over to the elevators, taking a deep breath.

Why am I doing this? I don’t owe her anything...

Before I could talk myself out of seeing her, the elevator doors sprung open and I forced myself to step inside. It took several minutes before I reached the twenty third floor; the cart seemed to stop on every level and everyone who stepped on was pre-occupied with whatever conversation they were having on their cell phone.

“Twenty. Three.” The elevator system’s speaker droned out and I pushed my way to the front to step off.

I looked down on my ID badge where Amanda’s room number was written and headed to the left. Each room I passed had cards and ‘Get Well Soon’ messages taped onto the door frames.

Room 2323....

I stopped directly in front of the door, forcing myself not to wince as her name—Amanda Hayes, stared me right in the face in red writing.

I knocked four times but there was no answer. I shrugged and decided to walk away, but I heard a faint “Come in.”

I hesitated, wondering if I should face her or not.

I twisted the handle and stepped inside. When I rounded the corner, her eyes immediately met mine.

I stood there completely frozen, taken aback by her ghastly appearance. Her skin was pale, her eyes seemed yellowed, and all of her hair had been shaved off. She didn’t look anything like the woman I’d seen in the catering store.

I looked next to her bed and spotted a full, brown wig hanging off the nightstand.

“Claire?” She croaked as she slowly sat up. “I didn’t think you would actually come to see me...”

“Me either.” I kept my distance. “I heard your surgery went well.”

She nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

“Well, good for you...” My eyes veered towards the flower arrangements that were sitting on her window sill. They were all red roses—polo style. The exact same ones Ryan used to give to me when we were married.

“Would you like to take a seat?” She cleared her throat. “If you’re not too busy that is...”

“Actually, I am.” I took a step back. “I’m not even sure why I came here in the first place...I wish you well with everything and—good to know you’ll be well in the years to come...Goodbye, Amanda...” I turned around to walk away, but she mustered a throaty “Wait!” from her lungs.

I paused and barely looked over my shoulder.

“Please, listen...If you find a small—however small it may be, part in your heart that would forgive me for what I did to you, what I did to us and our friendship...I would really appreciate it. I’m trying to really fix my life and work on being more positive so I...I would just like a clean slate...”

“A clean slate?” I slowly turned back around. “Is that what you said?”

She gave a weak nod. “I don’t want this to weigh down on my conscience anymore...There are some days that the very thought of what I did...It makes me so sick that I can’t stomach it and I literally vomit or cry myself to sleep...It’s been years and I still can’t get over it. I want you to know that I really am sorry, Claire—for everything I put you through.” She paused. “I know we can’t be friends again—and as much as I wish that that wasn’t true, I just...I just want to be able to have a clear conscience again—to go a full year without waking up in the middle of the night thinking about what happened... ”

I took a deep breath and tried to swallow down the bitterness that I’d felt for years, that disgusting taste of betrayal. But it was still there—sour as ever, and sick or not, she was still a bitch.

I strolled over to her bedside and looked her right in her eyes, tempted to squeeze her oxygen bag until she begged me to stop.

“It should weigh down on your conscience every day.” I hissed. “Every. Fucking. Day. Every time you look into his eyes—the ones I used to tell you about, remember? How they look gray in the summer time and green in the fall? Every time he’s lying on top of you and you have to look at that tattoo on his chest—the one that reads “Claire” but can’t be removed because that small keloid is right underneath it, you should feel like shit. You don’t deserve a clear conscience, Amanda, and you’ll never get a clean slate from me. Ever.”