Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(25)

And I have no idea how to move forward.

That’s why I’m stuck in this hallway, right outside the hospital room where they brought her two hours ago.

I was dealing with another patient when Vicky found Maggie and dealt with the entire situation without my even being aware. She didn’t tell me until I finished up with two more patients and Maggie had already been gone for an hour.

Vicky said she noticed it was taking Maggie a while to get dressed and exit the room, so she went to check on her. Maggie was on the floor, just recovering from a blackout. Vicky tested her sugar levels immediately and then sent staff with her over to the hospital. The clinic I work at is adjacent to our hospital, so we’re used to having to transport patients. I’m just not used to the medical emergencies also feeling like a personal emergency.

Since the moment Vicky informed me of what happened, I haven’t been able to concentrate. I finally had a colleague take over so I could come check on Maggie. Now that I’m in the hallway, standing in front of her room, I’m not sure how to feel or what to do or how to approach this entire situation. We’ve been on one date with the potential of another. But now she’s in the hospital and in the exact vulnerable situation she was scared she’d be in when it came to us.

Her being constrained by her illness. Me being here to witness it.

I step aside when the door to her hospital room opens. A nurse walks out, heading for the nurse’s station. I follow her. “Excuse me,” I say, touching her shoulder. She pauses and I point at Maggie’s room. “Have you notified this patient’s family yet?”

The nurse glances at the name on my coat and says, “Yes. Left a voicemail as soon as she was brought in.” She looks down at the file. “I thought she was Doctor Kastner’s patient.”

“She is. I’m her cardiologist. She was at my clinic when her condition worsened, so I’m just checking in.”

“You’re from cardiology?” she asks without looking up from the file. “We’re aware of the CFRD, but have nothing on file about heart issues.”

“It was just a preventative check-up,” I say, backing away before she gets too nosy about my nosiness. “I just wanted to make sure her family was notified. Is the patient alert?”

The nurse nods, but also makes a face like she’s annoyed that I’m questioning her ability to do her job. I turn and walk back toward Maggie’s room, pausing just outside the door. Once again, I fail to walk in because I don’t know her well enough to know what kind of reaction she would prefer from me right now. If I walk in and try to pretend her passing out in my office wasn’t a big deal, she might be put off by my casualness. If I walk in and act like I’m concerned, she might use that concern as a weapon against us.

I think if we were more than just one overnight date in, the next few minutes might not matter as much. But since we’ve only been on one date, I’m almost positive she’s in there right now, regretting showing up at my office and regretting that I’ll see her in such a vulnerable state, and possibly even regretting that she even walked into my life on Tuesday. I feel like my next moves are extremely crucial to how all of this will turn out.

I don’t think I’ve ever worried this much about how to act in front of someone. I normally have the attitude that if someone doesn’t like me, that’s not going to matter to me or my life, so I’ve always just done and said what I feel like doing and saying. But right now, with Maggie, I’d give anything to have a handbook.

I need to know what she needs from me in order for her not to push me away again.

I put my hand on the door, but my phone begins to ring as soon as I start to push it open. I quickly back up so she isn’t aware I’m right outside her door. I walk a few feet down the hallway and pull my phone out of my pocket.

I smile when I see that it’s Justice, trying to FaceTime me. I’m relieved to have a few minutes more to prepare before walking in to see Maggie.

I accept the call and wait the several seconds it usually takes for the FaceTime to connect us. When it finally does, it’s not Justice’s face I see on his phone. His screen is covered by a piece of paper. I squint to see it, but the grade is too blurry.

“It’s too close to your phone,” I tell him.

He pulls the paper back a few inches, and I can see the number eighty-five circled in the top right-hand corner.

“That’s not too bad for a night of horror movies,” I say.

Justice’s face is on the screen now. He looks at me like I’m the child and he’s the parent. “Dad, it’s a B. My first B all year. You’re supposed to yell at me so I’ll never make another B again.”

I laugh. He’s looking at me so seriously, like he’s more disappointed that I’m not furious with him than he is disappointed in getting his first B. “Listen,” I tell him as I lean against the wall. “We both know you know the material. I’d be mad if you didn’t study, but you did. The reason you got a B is because you went to bed too late. And I already yelled at you for that.”

I woke up at three o’clock this morning and heard the television on in my living room. When I went to turn it off, Justice was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching The Visit. He’s obsessed with M. Night Shyamalan. His obsession is mostly my fault. It started when I let him watch The Sixth Sense when he was five. He’s eleven now, and the obsession has only gotten worse.