23
DECLAN
Since Iris is unable to hold a phone herself, I’m tasked with typing everything she dictates. I knew Iris handled a lot, but I didn’t fully realize the depth of her job until she had me working through each task with her.
No wonder she isn’t happy. The number of emails she has to sift through in a given hour would drive anyone insane. Or maybe I’m just going crazy by sitting this close to her. The smell of her coconut soap is permanently ingrained into my memory as she sits flush against me, pointing at different emails with her uninjured hand.
I can tell her nerves grow stronger as we near the hospital. Her knees bounce up and down as she dictates message after message I need to send, altering my entire schedule for the day.
The work doesn’t stop there. After we check in, a nurse hands us a clipboard filled with pages of information that need to be filled out. Iris stares at it like it might catch on fire at any moment.
“Here.” I pass it to her.
Her eyes shift toward the exit. “Will you help me please? I can’t write like this.” Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper.
“Okay. Tell me your answers and I’ll write them down.”
Her throat bobs as she scans the first line. It takes her far longer than necessary to read the first question, so I busy myself with my phone.
“Do you mind reading the questions aloud for me? I’m too stressed to concentrate right now.” Her overcompensating smile irritates me.
“Are you sure? Some of the questions are probably personal.”
Don’t be a dick. Just do what she says.
“I don’t care.” The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.
She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn’t take us as long as I anticipated, so Iris and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly. The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.
“If it’s any consolation, I hate hospitals too.”
Her head swings toward the direction of my voice. “You do?”
I nod. “Haven’t been to one since I was younger.”
“Why?”
My chest heaves as I consider the potential consequence of admitting my reason. I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner. “We spent a lot of time in hospitals while my mom was sick. I grew to resent everything about them, even long after she passed.”
Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I’m grateful she understands me enough not to ask any follow-up questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal to the years I’ve spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.
“I hate them too.” Her voice cracks.
“Why?”
She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. “Let’s just say my mom ended up in the ER a couple times for being clumsy.”
I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “And did you have issues with being clumsy?” If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.
She shakes her head rather aggressively. “No. No.”
My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. “If you were, you can tell me.” While I can’t promise I won’t do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot.
The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don’t shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.
“It never got to that point. Nana made sure of it.”
“How?”
“She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa’s life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life.” A tear slips down her face, and I can’t stand the sight of it.
I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. “Did Nana’s plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?”
She forces out a laugh. “I think concrete shoes were more in style back then.”
I fake shudder. “Remind me to never make Nana angry.”
“Forget Nana. You’d have to deal with me.” She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.
“I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Mrs. Kane?” a nurse calls out.
Iris doesn’t move at the sound of her name.
“That’s you.” I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.
She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand. Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. “I’m here!”
The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay. Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.
The empty bed meant for Iris is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.
“I’d like my wife to be taken care of in a private suite,” I speak up.
The nurse grimaces as her gaze flicks across my body. “This is a hospital. Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doc like everyone else.”
Iris hops on the bed without any complaint, and I’m tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Iris’s vitals and asks some routine questions.
Iris answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn’t put anyone at ease, least of all her.
The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.
“I’ll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object.”
The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.
Iris laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.
“You find this funny?”
She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all day. “Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn’t put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it.”
“It’s not my fault she isn’t accustomed to how things are done in the real world.”
“Wake up, dear. You’re living in the real world.” She waves around our room.
“It’s terrifying.”
“Come here. I’ll make it better.” Iris pats the bed.
Doubtful, but I’m a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn’t enough space.
“Isn’t this cozy?” she quips.
She eyes the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.
“What’s wrong?”