Chương 15
Rebecca brought three of Mr. Arthur’s letters.
She had read nine by then. Some contained apologies. Some contained excuses disguised as explanations. One spent two pages complaining about a landlord and only one sentence asking about Noah.
“He was still himself,” Rebecca said.
“Is that bad?” Chloe asked.
“It’s honest.”
She gave Chloe a photocopy of the last letter.
Near the bottom, Mr. Arthur had written:
There is a kid at this hospital who brings me cookies and asks questions like a prosecutor. She reminds me of you before I taught you not to trust me.
I wish that sentence ended differently.
Chloe read it alone in her room.
She put the paper beneath the wire-rim glasses on her desk.
For several days, she felt angry that Mr. Arthur had compared her to Rebecca. She wanted their twenty-two days to belong only to them. She did not want to be a substitute for the daughter he had hurt.
Then she remembered the way he had looked at the clock.
Maybe she had been a substitute.
Maybe she had also been Chloe.
People could do two things at once. Rebecca had said the worst thing changed depending on the year. Denise had wanted her mother’s sewing machine and wanted Tessa not to hurt. General Hale had ignored a call because he was angry at Arthur and ashamed of himself. Chloe had given away the flag and wanted it back.
The contradictions did not fit neatly.
They remained true anyway.
In October, Parkview launched the volunteer program.
The hospital called it Sit a While.
Denise hated the name.
“It sounds like a porch sign,” she said.
Marisol liked it. “Old people like porch signs.”
“Not all lonely patients are old.”
“Fine. Lonely people like signs.”
The program required background checks, training, vaccination records, and scheduled assignments. No one was allowed to wander into rooms with homemade food.
Chloe was too young to volunteer alone.
She attended orientation with Denise and Tessa.
“You are not making me sit with strangers,” Tessa said.
“You came voluntarily,” Denise replied.
“I came for the free sandwich.”
“You ate two.”
“I am strengthening community resources.”
Colonel Brooks joined the program. So did two officers from the hospital salute. General Hale completed the training but was frequently absent because of travel.
Rebecca volunteered once a month after her night shift. She preferred patients who did not speak much.
Noah refused.
“I hate hospitals,” he said.
Rebecca let him refuse.
Chloe helped assemble welcome bags in the cafeteria. Each contained tissues, a puzzle book, a pen, lip balm, and a card explaining how to request a visitor.
Cookies were prohibited because of dietary restrictions.
Mrs. Coleman complained for three weeks.
One Saturday, Marisol came to the cafeteria carrying a request card.
“Room 214,” she said.
Chloe stopped stuffing pens into bags.
“Who?”
“Frank Donnelly. The bus mechanic.”
“The one who complains?”
“The one who has elevated complaint to a medical specialty.”
“Does he have family?”
“A niece in Arizona. They speak by phone.”
“Then he isn’t alone.”
“People can have family and be alone.”
Chloe looked toward Denise.
The program allowed supervised youth visits for children over ten if a parent and nurse approved.
Denise continued sealing welcome bags.
“You heard her,” she said.
“Can I go?”
“You may go for fifteen minutes.”
“What do I say?”
“I thought you asked questions like a prosecutor.”
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He probably won’t.”
“Mom.”
“You asked.”
Marisol led them upstairs.
The hallway looked the same and not the same. The fluorescent lights still buzzed. The floor still smelled faintly of disinfectant. A meal cart rattled near the elevators. New names appeared beside the doors.
Room 214 stood open.
Frank Donnelly sat in the chair by the window wearing a green robe over his hospital gown. He was broad rather than thin, with white hair growing from his ears and a gray mustache that covered his upper lip.
He looked at Chloe, Denise, and Marisol.
“No,” he said.
Marisol held up the request card. “You asked for a visitor.”
“I asked for someone who knows football.”
“You wrote ‘anyone who isn’t a chaplain.’”
“I was under medication.”
“You’re always under medication.”
Frank pointed at Chloe. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Then you know nothing.”
“I know you filled out the card.”
He looked at Marisol. “Take her away.”
Marisol checked the wall clock. “Fourteen minutes remaining.”
She left Denise in the doorway and returned to the nurses’ station.
Chloe noticed the bed had a blue blanket and two pillows. A plastic water pitcher sat by the window. The room carried no trace of Mr. Arthur except what she had brought inside herself.
Frank turned toward the television. A football game played with the sound muted.
“What teams?” Chloe asked.
He named them.
“Which one do you like?”
“Neither.”
“Then why are you watching?”
“Because the remote fell.”
It lay beneath the bed.
Chloe retrieved it.
Frank took it without thanking her and raised the volume.
For two minutes, they watched.
A player dropped a pass.
Frank muttered something Denise pretended not to hear.
Chloe sat in the visitor chair.
“Were you in the Army?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
Frank looked at her. “Why is that good?”
“I don’t want everybody in this room to be a hero.”
“I fixed buses.”
“Were you good?”
“Better than the idiots they hire now.”
He changed the channel during a commercial, forgot why, and changed it back too late. The game had resumed.
“What did I miss?” he demanded.
“A commercial.”
“No, after.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were sitting there.”
“I wasn’t watching closely.”
Frank sighed as though her failure confirmed a theory about children.
Denise remained by the door, checking messages on her phone.
Chloe looked at the table beside Frank’s chair. A paper cup held three wrapped peppermints. A pair of thick glasses rested on a crossword book.
“Do you like oatmeal-raisin cookies?”
“No.”
“Most people don’t.”
“They’re a punishment pretending to be food.”
Chloe nodded.
“Someone I knew liked them.”
“Bad judgment.”
“He had a lot of that.”
Frank glanced at her.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“People talk nicer about you when you’re dead.”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s better.”
The football crowd roared through the television speakers.
Chloe watched Frank’s hand move toward the peppermints and stop halfway. His fingers trembled. He tucked the hand under his robe.
She pretended not to notice.
“My fifteen minutes is almost done,” she said.
“Good.”
“Do you want me to come back next Saturday?”
“No.”
“All right.”
She stood.
Frank watched the television.
When Chloe reached the doorway, he said, “The game starts at one.”
She turned.
“I thought you didn’t like either team.”
“I don’t.”
“So why should I come at one?”
“The remote might fall.”
Denise looked at Chloe.
Chloe looked back at Frank.
“I’ll be here at one.”
“Don’t bring raisins.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“That’s what people say.”
Chloe left room 214 beside her mother.
The door remained open behind them. The television crowd shouted. Frank complained that the referee was blind, though the replay showed the call had been correct.
At the elevator, Denise pressed the button.
“You promised to come back,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to?”
“Yes.”
“Even if we’re late?”
Chloe watched the numbers above the elevator descend.
“We’ll come first.”
The doors opened.
Denise put one hand on Chloe’s backpack and guided her inside, walking the way Mr. Arthur had once described—as though someone, somewhere, was always calling her name.
This time, Chloe walked beside her.
May you like
In the pocket of her cream cardigan, she carried no flag and no cookie, only a peppermint Frank had thrown after her at the last second while insisting he did not want it.
She kept it anyway.
