In a private room, they could disappear. “Disappear,” Tom always told him. “Out of sight, out of Mother’s mind. Don’t bother her unless it’s to say good night.” Mother had no interest in the emotional life of her family, only in maintaining appearances. Her life was perfect; her children were perfect. Her husband was not an abusive bully. Her elder son did not appear to be a homosexual. God, he missed Tom—every single day. He couldn’t miss Ella, too.
The future flashed before him. A kaleidoscope of unlived memories without Ella. A future in which he had sole responsibility for Harry. A future in which he had to prove that, unlike the two role models he’d grown up with, he could be a decent parent.
Felix glanced over his shoulder. Harry was rocking back and forth, one hand digging into his hair, the other clutching his iPod. Of course—music.
“Harry,” Felix said loudly. “Plug in.”
When Harry stared, uncomprehending, Felix mimed putting in earbuds.
He turned back. A second woman had appeared behind the glass, and she was watching Harry as if he were a curiosity in a zoo.
Felix had to be clear; he had to take charge. “My son has several neurological disorders and a phobia about hospitals. I need to get him somewhere secluded right now. If I don’t, he’ll create a distressing scene, and you will wish you had listened to me.” Too much information?
The woman continued to stare at him. Did she need sign language?
“It will create a huge disruption in your waiting room,” Felix said slowly.
The woman nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. A smile laced with pity, a smile he’d seen when Tom was in hospital.
Felix signaled Harry over. He shot out of his chair, grimaced and blinked, grimaced and blinked, and hurtled toward Felix like a heat-seeking missile. Harry grabbed the edge of Felix’s jacket and tugged. Felix tried to wrap an arm around Harry’s shoulder, but Harry was taller than he was, and Felix couldn’t reach. He had missed the huggable years. He settled for Harry’s waist, and they both went rigid. A pair of robots with shared DNA.
The two receptionists slid back into their stations, and a nurse appeared through a door. “Fitzwilliam family?” Her voice boomed, a surprisingly powerful voice for a petite woman with a bouncy ponytail and a bright smile. “We’re preparing a room in the CCU for your wife. It’s not quite ready, but I can take you up there.”
“Thank you,” Felix said.
They followed her through endless corridors rank with the stench of disinfectant, and up three floors in an elevator. How would they ever find their way out?
Finally, they stood in a vast, macabre version of an anonymous hotel room. One wall had a built-in media center with cabinets, shelves, and a large television. The recliner in the corner was covered in Tar Heels–blue vinyl. Harry glanced at it and moved to the opposite side of the room. The nurse fiddled with the venetian blinds. Not yet four o’clock and the day was fading.
“When can I see my wife?”
“It’s going to be a while,” the nurse said. “But once she’s done in the cath lab, they’ll bring her up here.”
“What in God’s name is a cath lab?”
“It’s where they take pictures of a patient’s coronary arteries and open up any blockages they find. It’s not nearly as scary as it sounds.” The nurse smiled at Harry. “And by the time patients arrive here, in the CCU, they’re pretty stable.”
“What’s her prognosis?”
“You’ll have to ask the cardiologist, sir. But I can tell you that people who get to the cath lab quickly enough often have nearly full recovery of their heart function.”
Often, nearly. Those were empty words. “When can I meet with the cardiologist?”
“He’ll be by after the procedure.”
“What procedure?”
“Angioplasty. That’s how they open up the blockage. I’ll find you a pamphlet that explains everything.”
No, he didn’t want a pamphlet, and he didn’t want reassurance from Florence Nightingale. Felix needed information and statistics; he needed facts and figures; he needed a plan of action. Maybe he should start making a list while they were waiting: questions to ask the doctor, people to call, things to be arranged. First and foremost: see the doctor.
“I really need to see the doctor.”