in her wallet and a gift certificate for a meal at Shoney’s.
Reese stood outside the door to the hospital, watched as Gina drove out of the parking lot, heading back toward the marina. Then she pulled out her second cigarette in less than two hours from the pack Gina’s neighbor had brought to the hospital. She allowed herself no more than five a day—a decision borne of economics rather than concern for her health. If finances didn’t improve soon, she’d have to consider quitting, but the way she saw it, with all the problems she faced, she and Angel might both be better off if she kicked off in her fifties from lung cancer.
Still, she never smoked around Angel. Not to hide anything. Reese took care to always stay honest with her daughter. She just didn’t want the child breathing in smoke, plain and simple.
“Terrible the way they treat us, huh?” A skinny, middle-age man in his pajamas stood on the other side of the concrete cylinder that served as an ashtray. “Sending us outside in the heat like we got something catching.”
Reese regarded the man. The hard set of his mouth suggested a life of disappointment, or perhaps simply discontent.
“My daughter’s a patient in there,” she said, keeping her distance. “I don’t want her around this kind of air, so I really don’t mind being outside.”
The man shrugged, made a short, snorting sound, and walked to the other side of the entryway. Reese turned away from him, let her thoughts go again to Benjamin—and to Angel. Telling Angel would be hard. She had laid her plans carefully when she first told Ben about Angel. She’d screwed everything up when she panicked that last time they saw him. But this . . . She couldn’t have done anything to change what happened to Benjamin.
“Could I bum one of those?” An old woman, ancient really, stood in front of her. The woman’s back curved over in a perfect C shape—but at least she was on two feet. “My daughter took my last pack away and these damn nurses have no sympathy at all.” Reese looked at the woman; she liked her.
“Sure,” she said, reluctant still, but offered a cigarette out of her pack nonetheless. She’d cut down to four today. Not so bad.
“Thanks.” The woman produced a lighter from her pocket, shuffled away toward a bench at the edge of the circular entrance drive.
Maybe Benjamin’s patterns would have changed if she’d done things differently. His driving habits, usual routes. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if . . . Reese ground out her cigarette, refused to let her mind go that way. It happened. That’s all. Benjamin wasn’t alive anymore, as impossible as it seemed.
She made her way through the heat and stagnant smoke, went back inside, and tried to navigate back to the elevators hidden inside a maze of halls. Why were hospitals so complicated?
“Hold that, please,” a doctor called as she pushed the button for Angel’s floor.
She put her hand out, waited for him to get in. Good-looking guy. No ring. But her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t get her mind off Benjamin. Thirty-five years old, and suddenly he’s dead. How could that be true? She imagined his car, crushed and ruined, the skin of the convertible top shredded through by the timber.
“Here,” the doctor said, startling her. She turned her head to see him looking at her. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, held out a cafeteria napkin for her to take from the other. She felt the tears on her cheek and was suddenly angry with him for being there, but she took the napkin, mumbled a halfhearted thank-you.
When the door opened, she walked out without looking back.
Aside from the emotions, the overwhelming sadness of it, she had to deal with how to move forward. Gina seemed to be an obvious part of the solution, as odd as that was. Reese had let her hopes rise and fall, then rise again, looking toward another ending, one that didn’t involve Ben’s second wife. After meeting Gina, she saw that it
Reese stood outside the door to the hospital, watched as Gina drove out of the parking lot, heading back toward the marina. Then she pulled out her second cigarette in less than two hours from the pack Gina’s neighbor had brought to the hospital. She allowed herself no more than five a day—a decision borne of economics rather than concern for her health. If finances didn’t improve soon, she’d have to consider quitting, but the way she saw it, with all the problems she faced, she and Angel might both be better off if she kicked off in her fifties from lung cancer.
Still, she never smoked around Angel. Not to hide anything. Reese took care to always stay honest with her daughter. She just didn’t want the child breathing in smoke, plain and simple.
“Terrible the way they treat us, huh?” A skinny, middle-age man in his pajamas stood on the other side of the concrete cylinder that served as an ashtray. “Sending us outside in the heat like we got something catching.”
Reese regarded the man. The hard set of his mouth suggested a life of disappointment, or perhaps simply discontent.
“My daughter’s a patient in there,” she said, keeping her distance. “I don’t want her around this kind of air, so I really don’t mind being outside.”
The man shrugged, made a short, snorting sound, and walked to the other side of the entryway. Reese turned away from him, let her thoughts go again to Benjamin—and to Angel. Telling Angel would be hard. She had laid her plans carefully when she first told Ben about Angel. She’d screwed everything up when she panicked that last time they saw him. But this . . . She couldn’t have done anything to change what happened to Benjamin.
“Could I bum one of those?” An old woman, ancient really, stood in front of her. The woman’s back curved over in a perfect C shape—but at least she was on two feet. “My daughter took my last pack away and these damn nurses have no sympathy at all.” Reese looked at the woman; she liked her.
“Sure,” she said, reluctant still, but offered a cigarette out of her pack nonetheless. She’d cut down to four today. Not so bad.
“Thanks.” The woman produced a lighter from her pocket, shuffled away toward a bench at the edge of the circular entrance drive.
Maybe Benjamin’s patterns would have changed if she’d done things differently. His driving habits, usual routes. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if . . . Reese ground out her cigarette, refused to let her mind go that way. It happened. That’s all. Benjamin wasn’t alive anymore, as impossible as it seemed.
She made her way through the heat and stagnant smoke, went back inside, and tried to navigate back to the elevators hidden inside a maze of halls. Why were hospitals so complicated?
“Hold that, please,” a doctor called as she pushed the button for Angel’s floor.
She put her hand out, waited for him to get in. Good-looking guy. No ring. But her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t get her mind off Benjamin. Thirty-five years old, and suddenly he’s dead. How could that be true? She imagined his car, crushed and ruined, the skin of the convertible top shredded through by the timber.
“Here,” the doctor said, startling her. She turned her head to see him looking at her. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, held out a cafeteria napkin for her to take from the other. She felt the tears on her cheek and was suddenly angry with him for being there, but she took the napkin, mumbled a halfhearted thank-you.
When the door opened, she walked out without looking back.
Aside from the emotions, the overwhelming sadness of it, she had to deal with how to move forward. Gina seemed to be an obvious part of the solution, as odd as that was. Reese had let her hopes rise and fall, then rise again, looking toward another ending, one that didn’t involve Ben’s second wife. After meeting Gina, she saw that it
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