Page 8 of Until Forever

A sympathetic sigh leaves me while I re-cover him and step away. I gather his chart and head for the door only to stop midway. My jaw tics from the urge to ask him about Jasper. I don’t need to know. Jasper obviously never cared—not the way I thought he did. He left and hasn’t checked in, in eight years, so why should I be looking around the corner for him?

“Um.” I turn slightly to stare at Mr. Vanek. “I’ll be back in a little while to check on you and empty your bag. If you need me, press the button on the side of your bed.”

He grunts again and waves me off, putting his attention on the television.

The counter is cold when I rub my palm over it as I walk to the other side of the nurses’ station. I drop the chart on the hard surface and flop down in an empty chair.

One of my colleagues is a few seats down, and I notice her glancing over her shoulder at me before I pull myself up to the computer.

“You good?” Crystal asks.

I don’t turn to face her. “Yeah,” I sigh. “The patient in three-twelve is a little difficult.”

“I heard he was like that the last time as well.”

I shake my head and bring up my shift notes and checklist. “I’m not surprised,” I admit and refocus.

Thankfully, Crystal doesn’t say anything else, and soon I’m lost in my work. It’s not until I hear Mr. Vanek cough that I’m reminded of the present. Hours have passed, and according to the clock, it’s almost time to check in on him again.

Great.

I don’t move right away and lean forward with my elbows on the counter. No matter how hard I try to keep my head clear, memories sneak through anyway. My mind takes me back to the night of my graduation. I thought it was the happiest day of my life. My family was there, and so was Jasper, and by the end of the night, we were supposed to move away together. But somewhere along the way, he changed his mind. While my father gave hisproud daddyspeech, Jasper snuck off, taking my heart with him. And for the next phase of my life, I lived it without him.

I find myself wanting to know where he ended up. Did he ever get his GED and take those computer classes we talked about? Then I wonder if he’s on his way here. I couldn’t tell you why, but I can’t help it. Surely he’s aware by now. It’s hospital protocol to contact the next of kin, so I know they’ve called him. Which means there is a chance he’ll show up at some point.

Maybe that’s the love-struck part of me that’s hoping for that. But the other half of me prays he still hates the man. That’s wrong, I know. Everyone deserves someone in their corner during a time like this. But if he still hates his father, I won’t have to worry about seeing him. Mr. Vanek can get better and go home, taking this painful recollection with him.

I shake away my thoughts and stand. Harmony returns before I can get to my feet. We step around each other with her staring at me.

“What?”

“So you’re coming tomorrow?” she questions with her hand on her hip.

I drop my shoulders. “I told you, I’ll stay in with JJ.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “You suck.”

I shrug and head toward my patient’s room. After sanitizing my hands, I flip on the light and snatch a pair of gloves from the box attached to the wall.

Mr. Vanek sucks his teeth and curses under his breath. “Turn the lights off. Can’t get any sleep with you coming in and out.”

I inhale and mentally tell myself not to let it faze me. “I need to empty your catheter bag.”

He mutters something else and struggles to adjust himself on the mattress. I rush over to help, only for him to swat me away.

“I got it,” he snips.

“Yes, sir,” I drag out and concentrate on the task I came in here for.

I note his output amount and hook the bag back into place. His eyes are half-closed when I glance at him, but he still watches me anyway. A wave of awkward energy washes over me, so I hightail it to the bathroom to empty his urine once I’m sure there are no discolorations or abnormal signs.

The moment I’m on the other side of the bathroom door, I press my back against it for a beat. A breath rolls through me, and I push off to empty the bedpan. When I reenter the room, my back is to the door as I discard my gloves in the waste bin.

My skin pricks from a familiar sensation—the one you get when you know someone else is in the room with you. I can feel the presence, and it’s looming over me. As I head toward the exit to see who it is, a deep voice sounds out.

“Hey, Dad,” the person says, their tone somewhat sarcastic.

I know that voice. I’ve never forgotten it.

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