Page 3 of Just One Look
She took her hand away. It felt like it belonged to somebody else. “Right,” she said. “I get it.” She considered saying that wood stoves contributed to asthma, but she didn’t. It wouldn’t exactly help. Mrs. Wong came over with the soup, and Elizabeth turned a head that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and said, somehow managing to form the words, “Could you box it all up, please?”
“Going home for Christmas Eve, eh,” Mrs. Wong said, beaming. “Good idea. Too late to be in a restaurant.”
Elizabeth didn’t correct her. When she’d gone, Kristoff said, “I’ll walk you home.”
“No. Go. Go call your … nurse? And report.”
He said, “It doesn’t matter what she does for a living. This isn’t about her. It’s about us.”
How did she know it was a nurse?Because it was always a nurse, or another doctor. Hospitals sometimes felt like the most clichéd places in the world. “Go tell her,” she said, “that you did it. That you were kind about it. That Elizabeth will be all right, because Elizabeth is always all right. Nobody’s even sure she actually has blood in her veins.”
“I’ll pay for dinner,” he said. “You can take it with you. You’ll need to eat tomorrow, and I’ll bet there’s nothing in your fridge.”
“Stop caring,” she said. “You don’t have to care anymore. Just go.”
She’d go home. She’d eat. And then she’d call and check about that little girl. A hospital was always short-staffed on holidays, and she wasn’t going to let that baby fall through the cracks.
Priorities.
