He caught my eye and stopped talking, his face instantly smoothing into a practiced, gentle expression that I had seen on a dozen doctors over the past year. He slid the blue folder behind his back, resting it against the high counter of the nurses’ station to keep it out of my sight.
“Claire,” he said, stepping toward me with a slow, deliberate pace. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Is the paperwork ready for the airline clearance?” I asked, my fingers tightening around the paper water cup until the rim buckled and water spilled onto my hand.
“We have the medical clearance signed and printed,” Dr. Patel said, though he did not hand me the envelope in his hand. “But we need to talk about her physical endurance.”
“She is doing well,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “She colored for two hours yesterday without needing her oxygen tank.”
“Her oxygen saturation is dropping faster than we expected during light activity,” Dr. Patel said.
He placed a dry hand on my arm, his tone gentle but firm. “How soon can you get her to Florida?”
“Tuesday,” I said. “We have the tickets for Tuesday morning.”
“Try to make it sooner if you can,” he said.
By four in the afternoon, the grey Toledo light had faded into a dull charcoal sky outside Lily’s bedroom window.
Lily sat in the center of her twin bed, her small knees tucked under her pink flannel nightgown that had cartoon rabbits printed on the sleeves. She was coloring a line drawing of a tall castle with a bright yellow crayon, her strokes heavy and determined as she tried to stay within the black lines of the page.
“Look, Mommy,” Lily said, pointing her yellow crayon at the page. “I made the towers gold so they look like real gold in the sun.”
“They look beautiful, sweetie,” I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and trying to keep my smile steady as I rubbed her knee through the soft flannel.
