Page 37 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

He bit his lip in frustration and tried to remind himself that it was a good thing they kept random people from getting personal information about patients. “Can you at least tell me if he’s here?”

She looked directly in his eye and repeated herself firmly. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to release any information to anyone unless they—”

“Family,” Tommy cut her off. “Right, I get it.” He felt like tearing his hair out, but he stepped out of line.

As he was trying to decide what to do, wondering if he could maybe get some kind of info by lingering in the waiting room long enough, he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He nearly jumped back and swatted it away, but when he turned he saw a familiar face looking up at him. It was Bobby’s mother.

“Tommy?”

She said his name softly, unsure. They only knew each other on the periphery. He’d seen her around town, knew who she was, but if it came down to it, he didn’t know if he could point her out in a lineup of other tiny fiftysomething-year-old women with short black hair going gray at the temples, clutching handbags. He wagered she’d have the same problem picking him out of a crowd of other young guys with dark hair that was too long and jeans that had too many holes in them.

“Mrs. McAlister,” he answered, stepping away from the line at the desk when she pulled him gently toward her. “Is he here?”

She looked like she was holding back a sob when she nodded. “One of the officers came by the house and brought me here. They said it’s not bad, but I’m still waiting to hear from the doctor.”

Not bad. That could mean anything from needing a couple of stitches to he might not walk again, but he’d live. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to ask her what she meant. She looked like she was ready to crack open and fly apart. “Mind if I wait with you?”

She gave him a sad, broken smile full of hurt and worry. “I’d like that.” She laced her thin arm through Tommy’s and walked him over toward a hallway that didn’t have many people lingering in it. “I’ve been telling Bobby for months he should bring you and the kids over to the house sometime.” She paused to look in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “He said he didn’t think you were ready for that.”

Her tone was free of accusation, but Tommy felt guilty suddenly. She knew about him, knew about the kids and the crazy, fucked-up mess he brought her son into, but he barely recognized her.

He tried to smile at her, and then he laughed at himself. “I guess I’m ready now.” She looked like she was about to say more, but he asked, “How, uh… how much has Bobby told you?”

She arched her brow at him and looked so much like her son it hurt Tommy to hold his eyes on her. “He told me he’s seeing you,” she said carefully. Tommy thought she might be done, but she went on. “He told me about the kids, about how much you work, how hard you try to keep them together. He’s proud of you.” She added the last in a quiet breath before saying more firmly, “He’s in love with you.”

Of all the things he thought she might say, that wasn’t it. Tommy felt the blood rush in his head, and he waited for the floor to jump up at his face as he passed out, but it didn’t happen. He stood there for a long moment, feeling unsteady on his feet and unable to look her in the eye. Christ, those words. He’d thought it himself a few times—loving Bobby—more and more recently, but fuck if he’d ever said it out loud. Bobby’s mother had just managed to point a finger at his worst fear and call it out from the corner he kept it hidden in. “He told you that?”

She laughed then. Not a quiet, concerned sound, but a genuine, honest-to-God laugh. Like she’d let herself forget her son was somewhere behind swinging doors, possibly in surgery, possibly dying.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m guessing by the look on your face that he hasn’t told you yet either.”

Tommy bit his lips between his teeth and shook his head. “No, we…. There’s not a lot of time in my life for that.”

Rather than comment on that, she asked, “Do you need to sit down? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She was closer to the mark than she probably knew, but Tommy shook his head again. “I’m okay. Just been a stressful night, ya know?”

“Isn’t that the truth?” She sighed and leaned back against the wall. They were both silent for a moment, the crowd milling around them. Tommy watched her dab at her nose with the tissue she’d pulled from her purse earlier. “I had Colleen in my first grade class. Did you know that?”

He’d forgotten she was a teacher before she retired early after her husband died. “I had no idea.”

Tommy let himself smile, remembering his sister at that age. She was six, and he was eleven. Their mother was still alive, their father was still holding his head above water, and they were almost a normal family back then.

She nodded her head and went on. “And Mike a couple of years after that. Everyone said I dodged a bullet by not getting saddled with you.”

She was teasing him, and Jesus, if he didn’t see where Bobby got that smirk from. She seemed to realize what she’d said and whispered something under her breath. A curse or a prayer, Tommy couldn’t tell.

“Bullets,” she murmured bitterly.

“They were right,” he said, trying to distract her.

They were almost a normal family back then, but Tommy had been well on his way to juvenile delinquent.

He was starting to feel antsy, fidgeting as he wished he could have a cigarette. No one told him that quitting a few weeks earlier would make him feel like punching a hole through a wall on days like this. “Think we should ask if there’s any news, Mrs. McAlister?”

“Judy, please,” she said softly before answering him. “But, no.” She tilted her head toward a small huddle of people in the waiting area. A doctor was standing in front of a curvy woman with long red hair. She was sobbing and looked like she might scream. “There are a lot of people getting much worse news than we’re going to get tonight. I hope, anyway.”

The look on Judy’s face when she said that ran a wide range of emotions. Guilt was front and center. “I feel awful for hoping something like that.”

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