Chapter 2: The Hallway Outside Her Room
I drove to the hospital with Dana Ruiz’s message glowing on my phone and the recorder heavy in my inside pocket.
At the first red light, I called Marcy.
“Where are you?”
“Outside her room.”
“Has Wade arrived?”
A pause. Then, “He’s here.”
The light changed. A driver behind me honked.
“Don’t let him in,” I said.
“I don’t need you to tell me that, Robert.”
She hung up. I deserved that.
By the time I reached the hospital, my hands had tightened around the steering wheel hard enough to ache. I left the truck crooked in a visitor space and hurried inside.
The hallway outside my daughter’s room smelled of disinfectant and burnt coffee. Marcy stood with her back to the closed door, one hand wrapped around the strap of her purse. Across from her, a silver-haired man in a charcoal coat held a paper cup he hadn’t touched.
Wade Cole looked like somebody’s gracious uncle. His hair was neat. His shoes were polished. His face wore the sort of concern that invited strangers to trust him.
Marcy’s expression invited nobody.
“Robert,” she said.
Wade turned toward me. “You must be the father.”
“I am.”
“I’m Wade Cole. Dustin’s uncle.” He offered his hand.
I didn’t take it.
The smile stayed in place, though something behind it shifted. “I came to see how she’s doing.”
“She’s resting,” Marcy said. “You’re not going in.”
“Of course. I understand this is upsetting.” Wade’s gaze moved past her to the door. “I only want the family to know Dustin feels terrible about what happened.”
“Then he can tell her himself when she asks to hear it,” Marcy said.
Wade lowered his voice, as if he were offering her comfort. “You don’t want to make things harder for her.”
“I’m a nurse,” she said. “I know what makes things harder for her.”
For a moment, the hallway seemed to narrow around the three of us. A cart rattled somewhere near the nurses’ station. A monitor beeped behind a closed door.
Wade glanced toward the passing staff, then stepped a little closer to Marcy. Not close enough to touch her. Close enough to make the choice deliberate.
“Your husband has made some careless choices tonight,” he murmured. “He should think about what those choices could bring to this family.”
Marcy didn’t move from the doorway.
“Step back,” she said.
Wade’s smile returned for the benefit of anyone watching. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re standing between me and my daughter’s room,” Marcy said. “Move.”
I took one step forward, then stopped. My body knew how to close distance. The rest of me knew that was exactly what Wade wanted to see.
“Back away from her,” I said.
Wade lifted both hands, harmless as a man surrendering an argument. “Nobody’s threatening anyone.”
“You just told my wife my choices could bring trouble to our family.”
“I said to be careful. There’s a difference.”
“There isn’t much difference when you’re using it to frighten her.”
His eyes held mine. His voice remained mild. “You’re already frightening people. Showing up at a gym. Accusing a young man in front of a roomful of witnesses. You need to consider what happens next.”
“I have considered it.”
“Have you?”
A voice behind me said, “Keep your hands where I can see them, Mr. Cole.”
Dana Ruiz stood near the nurses’ station, her phone raised at chest height. She wore a dark jacket and no expression I could read.
Wade looked at the phone, then at her. “And you are?”
“Dana Ruiz.”
That name did something to him. Not much. A tightening at the corner of his mouth, a brief pause before his answer.
“Are you recording me?”
“I’m documenting what you say in a public hallway,” Dana replied. “You’re welcome to leave.”
Wade’s eyes came back to me. “You brought an investigator to a hospital?”
“I didn’t bring her,” I said. “But I’m glad she’s here.”
“I’m sure you are.”
He set the untouched coffee on a side table. For a second I thought he might come closer. Instead, he smoothed one cuff and gave Marcy a little nod, the sort a man might give a hostess after an awkward visit.
“I hope your daughter recovers quickly.”
Marcy didn’t answer.
Wade started down the corridor. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t look back. His polished shoes made almost no sound on the hospital floor.
Only when he disappeared around the corner did Marcy let out a breath.
“You all right?” I asked.
“I’m angry,” she said. “That’s not the same as not being all right.”
Dana lowered her phone. “I got the exchange.”
“Does he know you’re investigating him?” I asked.
“He knows I’m interested in his business.” She looked toward the corner Wade had turned. “I can’t tell you what he knows beyond that.”
The uncertainty sat with us. Then a nurse opened our daughter’s door and told us she was awake.
Marcy went in first. I followed, leaving Dana in the hall.
My daughter looked small against the white pillow, her face tired and watchful. She looked at her mother, then at me.
“What was all that?”
“Wade came by,” Marcy said. “He didn’t get in.”
My daughter’s fingers pinched the edge of the blanket. “What did he say?”
“He tried to make us afraid,” I said.
Her eyes moved to my jacket pocket. The recorder was there, though she couldn’t see it.
“Did you get what Dustin said?”
“Yes.”
“Is it really on there?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. Her gaze flicked toward the doorway, where Dana’s shadow crossed the wall, then returned to me.
“Can I hear it?”
For a breath, I couldn’t make myself answer. I wanted to decide what she could bear. I wanted to protect her from one more sound that might hurt.
But she had asked. The choice was hers.
“Yes,” I said. “You can.”
She watched my face, waiting—not for an order, but for permission.
May you like
I brought the recorder out and held it where she could see it.
“When you’re ready,” I said.
