Page 25 of The Beachgoers
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, shaking her head with a sad smile. “I’m Skye. Jason’s nurse this morning.”
“Nice to meet you, Skye. If this guy gives you any trouble, well, you let me know,” Kyle tells her.
Skye reaches over and tenderly moves a lock of Jason’s dark hair. “I think Jason’s had enough trouble already, no?”
“Yeah. Probably,” Kyle admits as he stands and moves out of her way.
“Jason?” Skye asks then, touching the prayer card in his hand. “Can I see?”
Jason loosens his hold as she takes it. The moment is quiet, almost reverential, and all about Neil. She lightly touches Neil’s photo before reading the verse on the back. “So special,” she whispers. “The beach, the sea. It meant a lot to him?”
“Sure did,” Kyle answers. “He and Jason were business partners, renovating beach cottages together.”
“So I’ve heard.” She looks at Neil’s picture again. “Here. I’ll just set this on your tray while we check a few things,” she tells Jason as she props the card there. Turning to Kyle then, she asks, “Would you mind giving me a few minutes? I need to check his vitals, change some bandages.”
“Oh, no problem,” Kyle says.
“If you wait out in the hall, I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
“Okay. I’ll be back, dude,” Kyle tells Jason as he pats his shoulder before leaving. “Don’t worry.”
* * *
Which seems to be all Kyle does.
Worry.
It’s written all over his face as he turns the corner out of the hospital room and hurries to a public restroom further down the hallway. Without stopping, he heads straight to the sink. There’s an urgency to his movements. An anger, even. Almost impatiently, he turns on the cold tap water and scoops one handful after the other onto his face, his neck. Drops of water spill onto his white shirt collar, and on the shoulders of his suit jacket. With the third handful, he just leaves his both hands cupped fully over his face as he stands there, bent over the sink.
A half-minute later, when he straightens, it’s with a ragged breath. There’s that anger again, too, as he tears a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser. The way he rips them—gets his hands tangled up in the clump of cheap towels, whips them aside and pulls off another fistful before pressing the towels to his face, holding them over his eyes, then dragging them down his jaw and along his neck—anyone could guess what the anger stems from.
It’s from seeing his close friend pretty much taken off the rails.
* * *
When Kyle returns to Jason’s room later, the nurse is still there. So Kyle waits outside the door and listens. Skye’s soft voice carries to the hallway as she takes charge of Jason’s life within those four hospital walls. There’s caring in her tone as she explains some medication, then some bandaging routine she’s doing. Maybe there’s disbelief, too, at his condition. When she exits the room minutes later, she finds Kyle waiting there in his black suit.
“Thank you, for taking care of him,” Kyle tells her. “He’ll be okay?”
Skye reaches for Kyle’s hand and gives a quick squeeze. “Jason’s got a long road ahead of him,” she whispers. “But he can do it.”
He nods. “I can go in now?”
“Yes,” she says, turning to leave. “Oh, and Kyle?”
Kyle stops and leans out into the hallway.
“He’s really glad you came.”
* * *
This time, Kyle is not pulled up short when he walks into Jason’s room. This time, he seems prepared for what he sees.
“Not bad digs here, bro,” he says, pulling his chair up close again. Before sitting, he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. “You want me to lift your bed a little? Sit you up more?” He reaches for the motorized bed’s remote control clipped onto the bed rail.
“Just a little,” Jason tells him.
Kyle presses the control, stopping when the bed rises a few inches. “Better?”
