Page 5 of Dove
I’d returned the paperwork to the receptionist a while ago, having filled it out the best I could. She sadly informed me my parents were still in surgery, and she didn’t have much of an update beyond that. I wanted to prod her for information I knew she wouldn’t have. Like what exactly was taking so long, how severe had their injuries been, and were the odds in their favor despite the length of time? I swallowed the questions down instead, and when she asked if I needed anything, I declined. She kindly pointed out where the restrooms and vending machines were in case I had need for them. I’d grabbed my wallet and little else, running out of the house when I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel, so at least I had some money on me.
But my stomach churned at the thought of food, and I hunkered back down in my chair, hating that all I could do was wait.
My phone sat on the chair beside me, a silent companion. It hadn’t rung, pinged, or so much as lit up with any notifications since I’d made my call. The fury that had heated my veins now turned to numb resignation. His silence wasn’t new. He’d made it clear when he left that there’d be no communication between us when all my desperate, pleading calls and texts went unanswered.
I’d just thought…
I’d thought this would be different.
Itshouldbe different.
Not only because our parents needed him here, but because I did.
Sitting by myself, alone with just my thoughts and anxiety for company, was driving me mad. There was only one worst case scenario swirling around in my head, and every time a doctor or nurse stepped through those doors, my heart seized. Every time it was for someone else, my turn eluded for the time being, Iwatched as families either cried in relief or were escorted away to sob in agony in privacy.
It was like watching my potential future on repeat, not knowing which fate would be mine.
My knee bounced up and down anxiously as the hours ticked by. By hour three, my nailbeds were picked so badly that one of them was bleeding, and I’d visited the lady up front twice for updates she still didn’t have, collecting every small, pitying smile she sent my way. I couldn’t focus on the TV in the corner, displaying the news of the world likemyworld wasn’t held in the vice grip of uncertainty. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at my phone for what must have been the thousandth time. I had no desire to scroll social media, which was just another view of the world passing by unaffected while I sat here waiting for mine to be determined. But Ididwant to send a text. Three hours was long enough to wait, right?
I know you want nothing to do with me, but can you at least confirm you got my message? I really need you.
I deleted the last sentence, not because it wasn’t true, but because I didn’t want to admit that to him. Instead, I added that they were both still in surgery, and so far, there had been no further updates. My fingers itched to type more, beg him to call, text,anything,but my pride wouldn’t allow it.
The simple messagewhooshedas it sent, and my stomach swooped as it readdeliveredbeneath it. My eyes stayed glued to the small screen, wondering if he’d open it, praying he did, but after a while, when it became clear it would go unanswered, I gave up hope, setting my phone down again.
I was well and truly alone.
The feeling wasn’t new.
I’d felt that way since the day he’d left, when he’d packed his stuff, ignoring my questions and pleas.
But I’d felt it before then, too. Before I’d ever known him, when I’d lost my dad. I’d had my mother, of course, but she was dealing with the loss of her husband, and I’d always been a daddy’s girl. My father and I had been close in a way my mother and I hadn’t. Losing him had cost us both such large parts of ourselves, it all but severed the connection keeping us together.
We’d no longer known each other in our grief, and as a little girl, I’d been lonely in a way I was unable to process.
For years, my mother and I drifted around each other, loving one another but not knowing how to express it through our pain. When she met Gareth, I started seeing the mom I remembered—the part of her that I’d believed died along with my dad. Hope had sprouted in my chest for the first time in a long time when I saw her smile light up her face, the sparkle back in her eyes. While seeing my mother heal made me happy, it increased the terrible ache inside me that missed my dad, and my loneliness tripled, knowing my new stepfather would never fill the gaping hole left in my heart.
Until my mom brought us to live with Gareth, and I methim.
“Miss Riley?”
My head whipped up, thoughts scattering at the call of my name.
A nurse stood a few feet away with a small, supportive smile etched onto her haggard face. It wasn’t her smile I focused on, but her eyes.
Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she crossed the floor to me. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter to talk to the doctor, sweetheart?” Her smile ticked up higher, and I wanted to tell her it wasn’t helping to hide the bad news she carried with her at all, not when her glistening, apologetic eyes held a sadness so deep it had my heart cracking in two.
Talking was painful, but I managed to choke out,“No.”I swallowed, mouth dry. When was the last time I drank anything? “Whatever it is, tell me here.” I didn’t have it in me to walk through those doors, for them to find me a quiet room to break apart in.
Her trained smile faltered, but she nodded her head dutifully before scurrying back to the nurse’s station. She must have relayed my message to the other nurses milling about, because a few of them glanced out of the corner of their eyes, sympathy lining their faces. Despite their attempts at discretion, their eyes felt like a thousand sharp arrows pointed straight at me, broadcasting my tragedy.Oh, that girl is about to receive some horrible news, poor thing.One of them swiveled in their chair to pick up the phone across the desk while the nurse who’d approached me disappeared back through those dreaded double doors.
A few minutes later, they opened again. This time, the surgeon stood in the doorway, disheveled, a smudge of something dark and suspicious staining his rumpled scrubs. He still wore the surgery cap on his head. His eyes locked on mine when I stood, and suddenly, I understood why everyone sat closest to those doors. The path he took from those doors to my chair stretched like a mile, and I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes watching us as I met him halfway, unable to wait for him to reach me.
My sneakers squeaked on the floor, slick from the tracked-in rain. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed in my ears, sounding as loud as a gunshot. Surely the room hadn’t been this quiet before? My breath quickened as I stopped before the doctor, who, up close, looked even more weary than he had from a distance.
I barely heard him as he introduced himself, my mind and heart too busy warring between hope and despair. Was it myturn now? Was this the moment where I became one of two people?
“Let’s sit down,” the doctor suggested, gesturing to a few open seats to the left of us.
