At the center of the group was a couple who looked to be in their forties. The woman was clearly at her breaking point, tears pouring down her face while her husband held her. Those poor people were fellow sufferers in tragedy. Ann had the most peculiar desire to run over and hug them.
A few other adults stood with them, but most of the group were teenagers. The boys all looked beefy and moved with the cockiness of athletes; the girls were all pretty—long hair and makeup, dressed to draw attention.
The back doors swung open, and a gray-haired man in a white coat came in. Ann jumped to her feet and rushed toward him, but he ignored her and walked toward the large group. The low hum of conversation was swallowed by silence as they gathered around him.
Ann returned to her seat, but she didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t listening. They were all in this together, and it mattered very much to her how her compatriots fared in their journey. The doctor looked at the mother when he spoke. “There are multiple compound fractures. We’re prepping him for surgery right now, and it’s going to be quite a long procedure.”
Surgery. Compound fractures. Ann wondered if the young man in question had been in an accident too. Had his poor mother ridden in the back of the ambulance with him while he hummed and talked to people who weren’t there? Fresh tears stung Ann’s eyes.
“Will he be okay?” The mother sobbed through each word.
“He’ll be laid up for a while, lots of physical therapy, but he’ll be fine.”
Ann almost shouted with the relief of it. There was good news coming through this place. She felt her own hope buoyed as she waited to hear the mother rejoice.
The woman sniffed and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “He’s coming up on his senior year, and football means everything to him. Will he be able to play this fall?”
Ann’s goodwill crashed down around her ankles.
What?
All this commotion was from a woman who was concerned her son might miss a season of football? Did she have no concept of true pain? Everything inside of Ann wanted to walk across the room and tell this woman exactly how much worse things could be—about Sarah, who was supposed to graduate in less than forty-eight hours, about the people she wanted to help, about the crash that was threatening to take it all away.
Ann leaned forward and wrapped her hands around her head.
One, two, three, four. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Keep your mouth
shut. Five, six, seven—
“Is there something I can do to help you?” The masculine voice directly to Ann’s left side startled her into looking up. She recognized him as one of the adults from the other group. About her age maybe. He could have been a surfer—sun-streaked hair that fell to his shoulders, dark tan, Billabong T-shirt, and flip-flops.
“No.” The word barely came across Ann’s quickly closing throat, so she shook her head. She stared at the double doors that Sarah had gone through just an hour ago. How was it possible that two hours ago she’d been laughing with Sarah over dinner?
“You were in an accident?” His voice grew softer.
Ann nodded. “My sister, Sarah, is in surgery right now.”
“Sarah. I was afraid of that.” He said her name in almost a gasp, as if he too shared Ann’s grief. He looked silently toward the double doors, and Ann supposed he would return to his group. Instead, he remained seated beside her in awkward silence, shaking his head and mumbling. He jumped suddenly to his feet. “I know what I can do.” He dashed out the door without a backward glance.
Ann looked toward the others and noticed that several of the teenagers, the boys in particular, were looking her way. She grew uneasy under their continued scrutiny, although she wasn’t sure why. Why should she care what a bunch of southern fried teenagers looked at?
The blue sign on the wall said Chapel—Fourth Floor. Ann supposed there was no spiritual prerequisite for sitting in the hospital chapel. Maybe she could find some quiet there.
She approached the redhead at the counter. “I’m going up to the chapel for a while, but I need to be notified immediately if my sister’s doctor comes out.”
The woman nodded. “Don’t you worry one little bit about that. Write your cell phone number right here.” She handed Ann a piece of paper. “Make sure you have the ring tone turned off, though, okay? And if anybody comes looking for you, I’ll make ’em stay right here and call you to come down. You go spend a little time with the Lord. We could all use a little more of that.”
“Sure.” Ann scrawled her cell number on the piece of paper, then looked for the stairwell. It required more than her limit of patience to wait for an elevator right now, and the four-story climb would help work off some of her anxiety. She ran up the stairs two at a time.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was breathing hard, which only seemed to aggravate the crushing weight that pushed against her chest. She shoved open the door to the chapel and found the first bit of relief she’d had all night. The place was empty. Finally something was working in her favor.
The inside of the chapel was not what she’d expected. It didn’t look
holy
, or at least not what Ann pictured holy to look like. No polished oak pews, stained glass, or burning candles. Only a wooden altar of sorts that looked more like a buffet table or sideboard. On top of it sat a small potted plant and what Ann assumed was a Bible. The kneeling cushion below it could have been an artfully displayed throw pillow. A few wooden chairs were scattered around, and on the far side of the room, a fountain gurgled on top of a small cabinet. The ripple of water falling against the rocks reminded Ann of her occasional visits to day spas. Yes, all in all, a very Zen-like chapel.
She dropped into the chair closest to the waterfall and farthest from the altar, relieved to be alone. For a long time she sat and did nothing but focus on breathing in and breathing out. Finally, she turned her attention back to the room. When her eyes came to rest on the Bible, she looked toward the acoustic tile on the ceiling and spoke aloud. “You know, now would be a good time to show Yourself and help Sarah.” Even atheists had been known to pray when in desperate trouble. But Ann knew that they were wasted words. God had never come through before—why should He start now?
A single piano note silenced her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed any music in here. A second note added to another and another, until a melody began to form. The piano went on, playing the same song but no longer one key at a time. The music became multifaceted, rich, harmonious. She found herself wanting to move toward it, to blend with the liquid sound that stirred so deep she almost heard color in its notes. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, simply listening, drinking it in.
The unusual rhythm of the water-music swells washed through her until it seemed the song was part of her—as if every cell in her body pulsed with the sound. A feeling of utter peace grew with each new note and she wanted to stay here and listen forever. Right now, in this moment, she knew that everything was going to be all right. The feeling—the song—was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Except . . . this music had the same soothing rhythm as Sarah’s humming from the ambulance.
It took her a moment to realize that it didn’t just have the same rhythm. It had the same tune.
Exactly.
The room began to feel small and stuffy, almost suffocating. Ann pushed to her feet and yanked open the door. She took a step out, drew a deep breath, and prepared to flee. She made it only one more step, though, because the surfer from downstairs was right in front of her, apparently pacing the hallway. He blushed when he saw her. “I’m sorry, but they told me you came up here, and well, I didn’t want to come into the chapel and disturb you, but I thought you might want this.” He thrust a bright green cloth toward her.
Ann stared at the item in his hand.
“It’s a shirt. I . . . uh . . .” He nodded toward her stained left side. “Well, I thought you might feel better if you . . . you know . . .” He swallowed loud enough that she heard him. “I thought of Sarah—and you just looked so sad, and I just felt in my spirit that I was supposed to help you, and I remembered this shirt that I had in the truck. It’s brand new, never worn. I got it last week and for some reason I just haven’t bothered to take it out of my truck yet. And well, this is really awkward, and I can see that you probably would prefer that I go away, and I’ll just go, but I just—”
“Thanks.” Ann thought it best to interrupt him because she had no idea how much longer he might go on. “This was really thoughtful.” She took the shirt.
“Good.” He looked at the ground between their feet.
Some of what he’d said caught up with her brain. “You know Sarah?”
“And you.” He paused. “Well, I think. You’re Annie, right?”
She nodded. “Ann.”
“I thought so. I’m Ethan.” He looked at her as if this explained everything, which it didn’t. After a few seconds of silence, he continued. “McKinney. I live in the neighborhood with Sarah . . . and used to live near you. My family moved in my senior year of high school, back when you were still living there with your grandmother.”
“Oh, right.” Ann had a vague memory of a new guy in the area. Still, she’d avoided her childhood memories for so long, she wasn’t certain.
“Is Sarah . . . gonna be all right?”
Was she? Ann wanted to give an optimistic response, or even a flip one, but the words wouldn’t come. “I don’t know.” The words took great effort.
Ethan dipped his head so slightly Ann thought she might have imagined it. The silence grew awkward. Finally, he nodded toward the chapel. “I’ll go say a prayer for her.”
“Thanks.” Ann started to walk away but stopped, unexpectedly not ready to end the conversation. “The music in there is very unusual.”
He looked surprised. “Music? There’s no music in the chapel.”
“Yes, there is.” The flare of irritation felt good; it provided temporary distraction from the fear. She wanted to hold on to this relief for as long as she could. “Open the door and see.”
“All right.” Ethan pulled open the chapel door and leaned inside.
She waited for his concession but heard nothing. At all. Including any music. She strained her ears and moved closer to the room. Nothing but silence.
Ethan studied the ceiling. “Are you sure you heard music in here? I did some volunteer work on the remodel last year, and I know we didn’t put in speakers. In fact, we put extra soundproofing around this room to make sure it was quiet. Just like it is now.”
What’s going on here?
Ann stood still, listening with every fiber in her being. She focused her attention on the gurgling water at the end of the room, waiting to hear the song. No music came, not a single piano note. “That’s really strange. I don’t know what I heard.” But that was a lie. She
did
know.
She’d heard music, the same tune her sister had hummed in the ambulance. The kind of music that becomes one with your being so that you can never, ever forget it. And she’d heard it in a room with no piano, no speakers, and soundproof walls.
Ann stood in the bathroom stall changing shirts, trying not to think about why she needed to. She rolled her white button-up into a tight ball and looked at her small purse. It would never fit. For the first time ever, she felt appreciation for Sarah’s gaudy pink tote with its brass buckles and warren of pockets. The same handbag she’d made fun of earlier. Had it really been a couple of hours ago that she’d told Sarah she could swipe a whole place setting from the restaurant, load it into that bag, and still have room to spare? She tucked the shirt inside, looking forward to the day they could joke about the irony in that.
The refrain of the water-music tune remained firmly stuck in her head, and it unnerved her. She’d heard of auditory hallucinations. Was the accident making her hear her sister’s song in places where the song wasn’t? She was finally losing her mind, which perhaps wasn’t that big of a surprise. Maybe she should walk back to the chapel to listen one more time, but just the thought made the air around her seem heavy. Time to get back downstairs.
Ann unlocked the door to the stall but hesitated when she remembered the mother of the football player. She looked at her watch: 8:15. Twenty minutes had passed; surely the woman had calmed down sufficiently that it should be safe to return now.
When Ann pushed open the stall door and looked into the mirror, she almost burst out laughing. Not only was she going crazy, but now she looked the part. The oversized green T-shirt had a sketch on the front of an antebellum home in bright yellow, and it said
The Charleston Historical Home Preservation Society
. This would get an interesting reaction from her coworkers back in Manhattan. Ann’s designs featured clean lines of glass and chrome and small proportions. She made it a rule to avoid antiques, draperies, and T-shirts with writing. Especially writing that reeked of the past.
Before she could do anything about her new look, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Without another thought to decorating, or clothes, or melodies, she flipped it open. “I’m on my way.” She slapped the phone shut, ran out the door, and started down the stairs before she realized that she’d never even looked to see who was calling. If no one was there when she got to the waiting room, then she would look at her cell’s recent missed calls. Until then, it just didn’t matter.
Ann skidded to a stop in the waiting room, now empty except for a fair-skinned, dark-haired man in a white coat. He didn’t look much older than the EMT from the ambulance, but the name on his coat said Fred Zurlinden, MD.
“I’m Ann Fletcher. Are you looking for me?” Ann thrust a hand toward him, which he didn’t seem to see.
His gaze never reached her face as he gestured toward the chairs in the corner. “Let’s take a seat, shall we?”
Ann didn’t want to sit, she wanted to stand, but she complied without hesitation. Whatever it took to get some answers quickly, that’s what she was going to do.
“Ms. Fletcher, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but at approximately 8:10, Sarah went into cardiac arrest. We were not able to bring her back.” He recited these details like he was reading from a cue card. He still hadn’t looked at her.