A Stranger's Wish by Gayle Roper Page A

preparations for the coming school year, rhapsodizing at great length about my new bulletin boards. “I found the most wonderful marbleized paper for the background, and there’s lots of room for the kids to display their work.”
    He told me about his difficulty finding a car mechanic he was happy with. “This guy thought that just because I wore a suit to work, I wouldn’t recognize incompetence when I saw it.”
    I talked about a new art supply store I had discovered. “Brushes of all sizes and of such quality!” I even regaled him with an expurgated version of my afternoon in the emergency ward. “I was so scared I could barely breathe!”
    By the time we left the restaurant, I think we were both thoroughly bored. It was not one of our better evenings.
    “Can we stop by the hospital so I can check on Mr. Geohagan?” I asked as I snapped my seat belt. I had to do something to redeem the time.
    Todd turned to me with the key almost in the ignition. “Now?” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “We’ll miss the movie.”
    “Now. There’s just enough time before visiting hours end, and we’ll still make the nine thirty show.”
    “But it’s Saturday night.”
    I blinked. “People aren’t allowed to get visits on Saturdays?”
    “Okay, okay,” he said with a totally uncharacteristic lack of grace. “We’ll stop if you’re going to be that way. But please don’t be long.”
    I bit back a retort and glanced at my watch. “Don’t worry. They’ll kick me out soon.”
    I stopped at the circular desk in the lobby of the hospital and, smiling as sweetly as I could, asked where Mr. Geohagan’s room was.
    The receptionist turned to her computer, pressed a few keys, and said, “He’s not allowed visitors except family. Are you family?”
    “Just a very good friend.” Oh, dear. I’ve raised my level of relationship again.
    “I’m sorry. No visitors.”
    “Please,” I said, dropping my smile and looking as desperate as I actually felt. “If I can’t talk with him, I need to talk with someone who can tell me how he’s doing. I’m going crazy not knowing, and I’ve come all this way because I can’t get any satisfaction over the phone.”
    Just then an announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Visiting hours are now over. Visiting hours are now over.”
    “I’m sorry,” the receptionist said. “Even if they would tell you anything at the nurses’ station, it’s too late.”
    I nodded, turned toward the door, and paused. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that she was already packing up to leave, her head buried in her purse. I spun around and walked as quickly as I could past her and toward the elevators. I kept waiting to hear her yell, “Lady, I told you no!”
    But I got around the corner and onto the elevator without a problem. I hit the button for the coronary care floor and held my breath until the door slid tightly shut without a security person appearing to escort me out of the building. When I reached my floor, I followed the signs to the nurses’ station.
    A nurse was reading some reports, and I stood and waited until she became aware of me.
    “May I help you?” she asked. “Visiting hours are over.”
    I nodded. “I know. I’m looking for information on Everett Geohagan.”
    “Family?” she asked.
    I shook my head. “Friend. I just want to know how he is and if he can have visitors tomorrow.”
    She clicked some keys on her computer. “He’s doing as well as can be expected.”
    “Yeah, I know that. But what does that mean?”
    She smiled sympathetically. “He had a mild coronary. The next few days are critical, and we will watch him carefully to be certain nothing further happens. If nothing does, he’ll be able to leave here soon.”
    I felt relieved. A mild coronary. That didn’t sound too bad.
    “If he’s still doing well tomorrow, may I see him for a few minutes? I promise not to upset him.”
    “I’ll leave a note asking his doctor. Call tomorrow