Page 6 of Hail Marry
My rescuer is walking past the four vending machines with a cup in one hand and his phone in the other. He’s got on a suit, but the tie is loose, and the collar is unbuttoned. With his height and muscular build, he looks like a Secret Service agent who just got off work. This agent had a very exciting day on the job, given the tear on the right shoulder of his suit and the shock of dark, wavy hair that’s escaped from his slicked bun.
He glances at the elderly woman in front of the snack machine and slows as she taps on the glass with a finger.
“Come on,” she urges the machine.
“Do you need help, ma’am?” he asks.
“It won’t give me my cookie,” she complains in a voice that shakes with age. “It took my money, but there’s no cookie.” She opens the flap at the bottom as proof.
“Which cookie is it?”
“The pink one. With sprinkles.” She makes room for him to stand in front of the glass.
“Looks like it’s stuck.” He grabs the sides of the vending machine and shakes it like it’s a dog toy rather than a machine that weighs hundreds of pounds. The cookie doesn’t budge.
The old lady sighs. “Darn. Thanks anyway, son.”
Without missing a beat, he pulls out a credit card, taps it on the payment machine, and presses a couple buttons. The stuck cookie drops, and so does another. He pulls them out of the slot and gives them to the woman.
Her eyes light up, and she smiles, admiring the frosted cookies. She looks up at him, which requires craning her neck, since she’s almost a foot shorter. “What a nice young man. Thank you, deary. I can write you a check.”
“That’s not necessary. Enjoy your cookies.” He turns away from her and toward me, his eyes back on his phone.
I hurry to my room and close the door softly behind me, then rush to the bed. I hop in, then pull the covers over myself and pretend to be asleep.
As kids, my sister Siena and I used to play Barbies next to the nightlight in our room after we were supposed to be in bed. When Mom or Dad came to check on us, we’d rush to our beds and fake sleep. I had no idea this guilty reflex would follow me into adulthood, but here I am.
There’s a knock on the door, and I debate responding or continuing to fake sleep. My debate lasts too long, and the door opens.
My ears are on alert as the footsteps stop short. There’s a pause, and I’m sure the guy’s eyes are on me. Unless he has a fascination with posters about chlamydia and the signs of stroke, I’m kind of the only thing to look at.
My heart races. He’s about to call me out on my horrendous acting skills.
Any second now…
A quick knock, and the door opens again.
The nurse’s voice sounds. “Hey, you’re still here after all. We thought you’d—oh!” Her voice turns to a whisper. “She’s asleep? I was just here a couple minutes ago, and she was wide awake.” Her voice is full of surprise and maybe a hint of suspicion.
Dang her.
Little does she know, sleeping is one of my superpowers. I can fall asleep in forty seconds flat in a cot, on the floor, draped over an armchair. I’m just not exercising that power at the moment. And to be honest, I’m not surepretendingto sleep falls under the umbrella of my superpowers. I’m best at the real thing.
“She shouldn’t be sleeping after a head injury, right?” my rescuer asks.
“No, she shouldn’t.” Footsteps approach, and the shadow of the nurse’s form falls over me, her hand covering my shoulder.
I panic and squint one eye open.
The nurse’s gaze falls on me, and her brows go up.
I shut my eye again.
“I think she’s okay for now,” the nurse says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I brought some cream for her injury.”
“How did the scan go?” There’s a rattle on the tray next to my bed, and I get a waft of cologne.
“Unfortunately,” the nurse says, “due to HIPAA laws, I’m not allowed to disclose any of her medical information without her consent. But the doctor will be in soon to go over everything, and Ms. Sheppard can provide permission for you to receive information at that point.”
