Chapter 13 - County Hospital Hallway
The automatic doors breathed hot air on us when we walked in, and I didn't realize how cold I'd been until my cheeks started to sting. The lobby was bright in a way that hurt my eyes. White tile, chairs bolted together, a Christmas tree in the corner with the lights off. My blanket kept slipping off my shoulders and the sheriff had to hitch it back up for me because my gloves were too thick to grip.
Lily didn't look around. She just pressed her face into my neck and held her bunny against my coat. Her boots left wet prints on the tile. Mine did too. A lady at the front desk stared at us over her glasses.
The sheriff kept his hand light on my back and steered us to the counter. "Evening," he said. "I got two young ladies here for a check on their dad."
The nurse behind the glass was younger than Grandma, her hair pulled back, a badge that said R. Patel. She looked at me first, then at Lily. "What's your dad's name, honey?" she asked.
I swallowed. My throat felt raw. "I don't know his last — I mean, it's the same as ours. Miller. He went to the hospital today."
She typed. The keyboard clicked fast. Behind her I could hear beeping and somebody coughing down a hall. The smell was cleaner than our apartment, like soap and plastic.
"David Miller?" she said.
I nodded so hard my hood slipped. "Is he—"
"He came in through the ER this afternoon," she said, and her voice got softer. "He's stable now. He's upstairs. He's resting."
Stable. I turned the word over in my head. It didn't mean awake and it didn't mean coming home, but the sheriff let out a breath next to me like it was good. My hands were shaking under my gloves.
"Can we see him?" I asked.
"Not yet," she said. "Family only upstairs right now, and the doctor's with him. But you're safe here. You did the right thing coming in."
Lily lifted her head a little. "Mommy was here?" she whispered.
The nurse glanced at the screen again. "Your mom was here earlier. She signed in as emergency contact. She sat with him until about six, then she left. She told the desk she had to get back to pick you girls up."
Six. That was before dark. Before Grandma's door. I tried to do the math and couldn't. My stomach felt hollow.
"She went to Grandma's," I said. "But we weren't there. We walked."
The sheriff pulled the folded gas bill out of his pocket. He'd put it in a plastic bag at our apartment so it wouldn't get wetter. He smoothed it on the counter. "There's a phone number on this past-due notice. The mother's cell. Can we try it from here?"
The nurse slid a hospital phone through the little opening. It was black and heavy. I had to take one glove off with my teeth to punch the numbers. My fingers were white and didn't bend right. Lily watched me, her bunny squished under her chin.
I dialed Mom's number and held the receiver to my ear with both hands. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then her voice, recorded: "You've reached Sarah Miller. I can't pick up right now—" I hung up before the beep because I didn't know what to say that wouldn't scare her.
"Voicemail," I told the sheriff. My voice sounded small in the lobby.
He nodded like he'd expected that. "She's probably on a bus. No signal, or she can't hear it." He turned to the nurse. "Any chance security can check the bus cam? She was headed back this way last we heard."
Nurse Patel picked up a different phone and talked low. A minute later a security guard came around the corner, an older man with a radio crackling on his shoulder. He didn't look surprised to see two kids in blankets.
"You the Miller girls?" he asked, and I nodded. He smiled at Lily's bunny. "Let's take a look."
He led us to a little room behind the desk with monitors stacked up. Most of them showed empty hallways and the parking lot with snow coming down sideways. One showed the front entrance loop where buses stopped. The guard rewound with a dial.
There — a city bus pulling to the curb, doors opening. The time stamp in the corner said 21:42. People getting off with shopping bags. And then a woman in a dark coat with no hat, hair stuck to her forehead, looking up at the hospital sign. She was half-running.
"That's her," I said before I even thought about it. "That's Mommy."
Lily sat straight up in my lap. "Mommy!"
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The guard froze the picture and pointed. "That's the northbound that stops at Cedar and Fifth. She's headed for the main entrance now. Two, three minutes on foot in this snow."
The sheriff squeezed my shoulder. My heart was beating so loud I could feel it in my gloves.
