Maybe in Another Life (27 page)

And in that one motion, he is no longer the sad one. I am the sad one.

“Who knows?” he says. “Maybe I’ll end up a single dad in a
couple of years, and we’ll find each other again. Maybe it’s just the timing. Maybe now is not our time.”

“Maybe,” I say. My heart is breaking. I can feel it breaking.

I swallow hard and get hold of myself. “Let’s leave it at this,” I say. “Just like in high school, this isn’t our time. Maybe one day, we’ll get the timing right. Maybe this is the middle of a longer love story.”

“I like that idea.”

“Or maybe we just weren’t meant to be,” I say. “And maybe that’s OK.”

He nods, ever so slightly, and looks down at his shoes. “Maybe,” he says. “Yeah. Maybe.”

H
enry’s not on my floor or any of the floors above mine. I checked in with nurses, administrators, three doctors, and two visitors of patients whom I mistook for staff. I rolled over three different feet on two different people, and I knocked over a trash can. I’m not sure that pushing yourself around in a wheelchair is that difficult. I think I might just be that uncoordinated.

When I give up on the sixth floor, I get back into the elevator and head down to the fourth, the floor below mine. It’s my last shot. According to the elevator buttons, the first three floors hold the lobby, the cafeteria, and administrative offices. So he’s got to be on the fourth. It’s the only one left.

The elevator opens, and there’s a man waiting for it. I start to roll myself out, and he holds the elevator open for me as I pass by. He smiles and then slips into the elevator. He’s handsome in an unconventional way, maybe in his late forties. For a moment, I wonder if he smiled at me because he thinks I’m cute, but then I remember that I’m an invalid. He just felt bad for me, wanted to help me out. The realization stings. It is not unlike the time I thought people were checking me out at the grocery store because I was having a great hair day, only to realize later that I’d had a booger. Except this is worse, to be honest. The booger incident was less condescending.

I shake it off the way I shake off everything else that plagues
me, and I breathe in deeply, ready to roll my way to Henry. I’m stopped in my place by a nurse.

“Can I help you?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I’m looking for Henry. He’s a nurse here.”

“What’s the last name?” she asks. She is tall and broad-shouldered, with short, coarse hair. She looks as if she’s been doing this job for a long time and might be sick of it.

I don’t actually know Henry’s last name. None of the other nurses brought it up, but that’s probably because there were no Henrys on that floor anyway. The fact that she’s asking is a pretty good indication that he’s here.

“Tall, dark hair, brown eyes,” I tell her. “He has a tattoo. On his forearm. You know who I’m talking about.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I can’t help you. What floor are you a patient on?” She hits the up button on the elevator. I think it’s for me.

“What? The fifth floor,” I say. “No, listen to me. Henry with the tattoo. I need to speak to him.”

“I can’t help you,” she says.

The elevator in front of us dings and opens. She looks at me expectantly. I don’t move. She raises her eyebrows, and I raise mine back. The elevator closes. She rolls her eyes at me.

“Henry isn’t here today,” she says. “He starts on my service tomorrow. I’ve never met him, so I’m not sure that it’s the Henry you’re talking about, but the Henry I know was transferred to me because his boss felt he was getting too close to a patient.” She can see my face change, and it emboldens her. “You can see my hesitance,” she says. She hits the button again.

“Did he get in trouble?” I ask her, and the minute it comes out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.

She frowns at me, as if I have confirmed her worst fears about myself and that I also just don’t seem to get it.

“I retract my question,” I tell her. “You’re probably not open to helping me find him outside of the hospital, right? No last name, no phone number?”

“That’s correct,” she says.

I nod. “I hear you,” I say. “Could I leave a message? With my phone number?”

She’s stoic and stone-faced.

“I’m gonna guess that even if I did, you’d probably just throw it away.”

“I wouldn’t waste much thought about it,” she says.

“OK,” I say. I can finally see now that it’s not going to happen today. Even if I could get past this woman, he’s still not here. Unless . . . maybe she’s lying? Maybe he is here after all?

I hit the up button on the elevator. “OK,” I say. “I read you loud and clear. I’ll get out of your hair.”

She looks at me sideways. The elevator dings and appears again. I start rolling myself into it and wave good-bye. She walks away. I let the elevator doors close, and then I hit the button for the same floor I’m on.

The doors open, and I take off. I wheel myself in the opposite direction from where she’s looking, past the nurses’ station. I’m at the corner before she sees me.

“Hey!” she says. I take the corner and push with all of my might toward the end of the hall. My arms feel weak, and my heart is pumping faster than it has in days, but I keep going. I turn back to see her briskly walking toward me. Her face looks pissed, but I get the impression she’s trying not to cause a scene.

In front of me are two double glass doors. They don’t open from my side, so I’m stuck. I’m dead-ended. The evil nurse is
coming for me. On the opposite side of the doors, I see a doctor coming through. Any second now, he’s going to open the doors, and I can roll in. Maybe.

I’m not sure what’s possessed me to do this. Maybe it’s my desire to find Henry. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been cooped up in a room for so long with everyone on the planet telling me what to do. Maybe it’s the fact that I almost died, and on some level, that has to make you fearless. Maybe it’s all three.

The door opens, and the doctor walks by me. I roll myself through, praying the doors close before Nurse Ratched gets to me. But I don’t have time to stop and look. I keep rolling, looking in each room for Henry. I get right to the end of the hall. I turn left around the corner, and then I feel the grip of two hands on the back of my chair. Abruptly, I come to a complete stop.

Caught.

I turn and look at her. “What can I say so that you don’t arrest me?”

She pushes me forward, but she doesn’t answer my question. Suddenly, with my adrenaline now fading, I’m realizing that my stunt was stupid and fruitless. He’s really not here. And unless I come back to this hospital tomorrow and try this again, I’m probably never going to find him.

“I can push myself,” I tell her.

“Nope,” she says.

I laugh nervously. “This sort of thing probably happens all the time, I bet,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nope.”

We get to the elevator. She hits the button. I can’t look at her. The elevator opens.

“Well,” I say, “I guess this is good-bye.”

She stares at me and then puts her hands back on my chair. “Nope.”

She pushes the two of us into the elevator and hits the button for the fifth floor.

I sit in silence, staring forward. She stands next to me. When the elevator opens, she pushes me toward the nurses’ station.

“Hi, Deanna,” she says. “Can you tell me what room this patient belongs in?”

“I can tell you,” I say to her. “I’m right over here.”

“If it’s all right with you, Wheels, I’d like to hear it from Deanna,” she says to me.

Deanna laughs. “Hannah’s right. She’s just right there.” Deanna points to my door, and Nurse Ratched pushes me all the way to my room, where Gabby is waiting.

Gabby sees the two of us and isn’t quite sure what to make of it. “What happened?”

Nurse Ratched pipes up before I can. “Look,” she says directly to me, “everyone makes bad decisions sometimes, and this is probably a crazy time in your life, so I’m going to let this go. But you will not come down to my floor again. Are we clear?”

I nod, and she starts to leave.

“Nurse,” I say, and then I realize I shouldn’t call her Nurse Ratched to her face. “Sorry,” I say. “What was your name?”

“Hannah,” she says.

“For heaven’s sake! I’m trying to apologize. I’m just asking your name.”

“I know,” she says. “My name is Hannah.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.”

Hannah looks at Gabby. “Is she always this charming?”

“This appears not to be her best day,” Gabby says. I think that’s as
close as she can come to defending me. So I appreciate it.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for giving you trouble. I was wrong to do it.”

“Well, thank you,” she says. She turns to leave.

“Hannah,” I say.

She turns back to me.

“I’m a stalker.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not Henry’s fault,” I tell her. “That we got too close, I mean. He was nothing but professional, and I basically stalked him. He kept making it clear that we had a professional relationship and nothing more. And I kept pressing the issue, trying to get him to change his mind. It’s me. He’s not . . . I’d hate for him to be considered unprofessional because of the way I behaved. It was me.”

She nods and leaves. I’m not entirely sure if she believes me, but my actions today sort of support the claim that I’m at least a little delusional. So I have that going for me.

I turn to Gabby. “He wasn’t there, and I caused a scene.”

“No big speech?”

I shake my head. “There was a chase, though.”

“Well, I guess that’s enough drama for one day. Dr. Winters came while you were gone. She says we’re good to go.”

“So we’re leaving?” I ask her.

“Yep.”

“What do I do about Henry?” I ask her. “I can’t leave knowing I’ll never see him again.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe you’ll run into him sometime? Here at the hospital, during a physical therapy appointment?”

“Maybe,” I say.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other,” she says. “Right?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Instinctually, from muscle memory, I put my hands on the armrests of the wheelchair, as if I think I’m going to stand up. And then I remember who I am. And what is going on.

Deanna comes in. “You ready to go?” she says.

“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her.

Gabby has my things. Deanna pushes me to the elevator. She stays with us as we start to move down. I wonder if Deanna is doing this because it’s protocol or because I’m a flight risk. The elevator opens for a minute on four, as an older woman gets in. I can see Nurse Hannah standing at the nurses’ station talking to a patient. She looks at me and then looks away. I swear I see a smile crack on her face, but I see what I want to see sometimes.

When we get to the lobby, Deanna tells me that the wheelchair is mine to keep. For a moment, I think,
Cool, free wheelchair
, and then I remember that I am a person other people give wheelchairs to.
Shake it off.

“Thanks, Deanna,” I say as we exit onto the street. She waves and heads back in.

Mark pulls up with the car. He gets out and runs toward me. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen him since the accident. And that’s sort of weird, isn’t it? Shouldn’t he have visited me? I would have visited him.

Gabby and Mark put my stuff into the car, and I wheel myself to the door. I try to open it myself, but it’s harder than I think. I wait patiently for one of them to come around to the side, and as I do, I look up at the building.

I may never see Henry again.

Gabby opens my door and helps me into the backseat. Mark puts my wheelchair into the trunk. We drive away.

If I’m meant to find him, I’ll find him. I guess I do believe that.

But sometimes I wish
I
got to decide what I was meant to do.

G
abby left early this morning to go spend the day with her parents. Mark is coming later to pick up the rest of his things, and she doesn’t want to be here.

Mark has only come by one other time since he left, to grab a few suits and some odds and ends. Neither Gabby nor I was here, and it was a bit creepy, to be honest, coming home to see the house picked through. Gabby changed the locks after that. So now Mark needs one of us to be here while he moves his stuff out. It seems quite obvious that I am the woman for the job.

In his e-mail, he said he’d be here by noon, but it’s early enough that I figure I’ve got some time to kill. I decide now is the time to call my parents and tell them the news. At this hour, I can probably grab them before they head out for dinner in London.

I dial their landline, prepared to tell them I’m pregnant the moment one of them picks up. I’m just going to blurt it out before I start to worry what they will say.

But the voice I hear on the other end of the line, the voice that says “Hello?” isn’t my mother or my father. It’s my sister.

“Sarah?” I ask. “What are you doing at Mom and Dad’s?”

“Hannah!” she says. “Hi! George and I are here for the weekend.” She pronounces it “wee-KEND.” I find myself rolling my
eyes. I can hear my dad in the background, asking who is on the phone. I hear my sister’s voice turn away from the handset. “It’s Hannah, Dad. Chill out . . . Dad wants to talk to you,” she says.

“Oh, OK,” I say back, but she doesn’t give up the phone.

“I want to know when you’re coming to visit,” she says. “You didn’t come last Christmas like you normally do, so I think we’re owed.”

I know she’s joking. But it irritates me that she assumes I should always go there. Just once, I’d like to be important enough to be the visited instead of the visitor. Just once.

“Well, I’m in L.A. now,” I tell her. “So the flight is a bit longer. But I’ll get there. Eventually.”

“OK, OK,” she says to my dad. “Hannah, I have to go.” She’s gone before I can even say good-bye.

“Hannah Savannah,” my dad says. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Dad. I’m good. How are you?”

“How am I? How am I? That is the question.”

I laugh.

“No, I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m fine. Your mother and I are just sitting here discussing whether we want to order Italian or Thai takeaway for dinner. Your sister and George are trying to get us to go out someplace, but it’s pouring out, and I’m just not in the mood.”