while he gave us a moment to register his announcement.
Lauren twisted toward Paul, stared coldly, then returned her attention to the White Coat. Me? I was real sorry I’d listened to Boots about the dope and doubly sorry I’d talked myself out of Jimmy’s bourbon, whatever the fucking brand.
“We’ll have to go in,” Dr. Schneider said somberly. “He’s lost a great deal of blood, but we don’t know where it’s from.” He added curtly, “It makes a difference...”
I barely heard the rest of his words.
“...Stomach, liver, vital organs... young, strong, in and out of consciousness... I’m sorry to say there are no guarantees,” Dr. Schneider warned.
The surprise of learning about Lauren’s existence, rushing Ian to the hospital, the night’s thick, pungent blood, the doctor’s “we just don’t know, no guarantees” pushed past my guard, shoving me back to the countless hours I’d spent glued to an uncomfortable hospital couch. Stuck helplessly, hopelessly for Chana and Rebecca.
“We just don’t know, Mr. Jacob.” I could still hear the doctor’s words after all these years. “We have nothing in the way of guarantees in situations like these.”
They claimed not to know, but it was a lie. Those doctors said everything was a “maybe.” And that was a lie. Everything was a when, and I’d known it the moment I saw them lying in the Intensive Care Unit. I knew what I was waiting for during those interminable days and nights. I was waiting for them to die. Strapped onto beds, invaded by plastic tubes, obscenely scoped through cold scraps of metal machinery, and monitor screens. Their deaths had been the unspoken guarantee.
My memories triggered the same bitter rage and I felt it trickle through my veins. Soon after Chana and Becky died, that rage had me booked for assault and battery charges brought by a bartender who’d refused me a drink. But I was lucky. My longtime friend and high-powered attorney, Simon Roth, called in the outstanding paper and made it disappear. When I couldn’t face returning to social work, Simon pulled another ace and bought me a new career as a private investigator. My part of the deal was therapy. Four long years of it, I reminded myself, biting back the growing bile.
“Are you okay, Matty?” Lou asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I lied, relieved to be dragged back into the room. “I’m just tired of standing.” I wanted armrests for my clenched fists.
The doctor pointed toward a hallway. “There’s a waiting room a couple of doors down on your left. Don’t bother asking for information,” he said to no one in particular. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know something.”
I started down the hall while the Gown walked briskly in the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure if the rest of the group was following, but I knew my ghosts weren’t far behind.
The next few hours were a bone tired crawl. Lauren sat on the floor, straight-backed, hugging her knees on a tired braided rug right in front of a brown, Scotch-guarded couch. Most of the time she kept her eyes closed.
Paul slouched on the sofa behind Lauren, his long legs stretched alongside her rigid body. Lou sat in a chair, a respectful distance from the two. I sprawled across another hard settee on the other side of the room. Paul’s legs constantly jiggled though he wore a bored expression occasionally interrupted by a hostile glance toward Lou or me. Once in a while he’d brush against Lauren and she would purposely shift her body out of reach. When the general tension and Lauren and Paul’s dance became too much to take, I slipped out of the building for a cigarette.
It wasn’t much better. Chain smoking next to a hospital’s emergency room in this day and age, even on a quiet night, wasn’t a relax. Despite the cool, deep-night air, anxious sweat feathered my body. I crushed my second cigarette under heel and reluctantly returned to the waiting room.
Something had gone down during my absence. Paul was pacing, angrily pushing empty chairs out of his way and glaring back and forth from Lauren to Lou. He continued his tantrum until he reached the coffee machine, shoved some coins into its slot, and slapped the plexi with his palm. “If you teach these bastards respect, they don’t steal your money.”
“Damn,” he cursed, as a tilted cardboard cup slid through the chute. I watched as Paul futilely tried to right the cup before he lost all the coffee. His hand was lucky machines kept everything lukewarm.
Lauren now sat in the corner of my couch, long fingers covering her face. If she was aware of her ex-’s act, she kept it to herself. Lou seemed torn between joining Lauren and remaining where he was.
“Have you heard something from the doctor?” My throat felt tight but I sounded okay.
Lauren moved her hands, met my eyes, and shook her head.
“Nothing from the doctor,” Paul said pointedly. He looked as if he would continue talking if I pressed, but the only press was my silence. So he stood there, empty wet cup in hand, seeing me, really, for the first time.
“You picked Ian up from the bar?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“He give you shit?”
“He was out on his feet.”
“Lucky you.”
“Paul!” Lauren jerked upright in one harsh, powerful motion.
Paul quickly swung his attention toward her. “Ian isn’t easy to be with, and you know it. If I picked him up he would have raised hell. Out on his feet or not.” When he turned back after a long pause, his eyes looked genuinely unhappy.
Lauren wasn’t buying. “You just can’t stop complaining about the children, can you?”
“The boys, Lauren, just the boys.” Paul’s remorse scurried behind his sarcasm.
Lou finally made up his mind, sat down next to Lauren, and took her hand.
“I don’t know why I’m holding onto this,” Paul said nodding toward the wet cardboard, ignoring Lou’s place change. He threw the sog into the trash can, wiped his palm on the back of a chair, then rummaged through his pockets. “Damn, I’m out of change.”
I failed to fish enough coins for two. I despised vending machine coffee, only I hated having nothing to do even more. Lauren leaned into Lou’s bulk, resting her head on his shoulder. Every so often he’d run his fingers across her cheek. Watching them, I suddenly felt a disquieting kinship with Paul and amazed by Lauren’s connection to Lou.
“I think there’s a bill changer,” I said walking over to the machines.
Paul slapped his pants. “I ran out of the house so fast I forgot my wallet.”
“And if you’d brought it,” Lauren muttered audibly, “you’d only have a twenty.”
“I have plenty of singles,” I said quickly. The damn night was threatening to dredge up both my marriages. But before I had time to feed the machine, Dr. Schneider strode through the door.
“He’s okay,” Schneider announced. He still wore his gown, but now it was blood splattered. Ian’s no doubt. I wondered if that made me and the doctor blood brothers once removed.
“But
