I had spent twelve years as a medical receptionist at the Oakridge Clinic, and I knew what real physical labor looked like in a dying man. Ben’s shoulders were broad, and his grip on the bed rail was firm and steady.
“I just want to make sure you have everything you need before I head out,” I said, rising to straighten the blue cotton blanket over his legs.
“I just need some rest,” he said, his hand dropping from his bow tie to rest on the white sheet. “But we have to get those estate affairs sorted out soon. Tomorrow, maybe.”
He did not look at me as he spoke, his gaze drifting toward the small television bracket mounted on the wall.
“We can talk about the papers when you feel stronger,” I replied, keeping my voice soft.
“The clock is ticking, kid,” he said, and his drawl had a sharp edge beneath the warmth. “We do not have the luxury of waiting around.”
“Is it the bills?” I asked, placing my hand over his. “The ones from the clinic?”
“It is everything, Sarah,” he said, turning his head to look at me, his eyes dark. “I want to know you are taken care of. That is all that matters to me now.”
He adjusted his crooked black bow tie again, his fingers lingering on the silk knot for a long moment before his hand dropped.
I nodded, pretending to agree, and stepped back into the shadow of the visitor chair. I did not want to leave, not after what Evelyn had said about his charts.
“I will just sit here until you drift off,” I whispered.
He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing almost instantly, though his jaw remained clamped tight.
At ten past seven, the hallway lights flickered once, a common occurrence in the older wing of St. Jude. The shadows in the corner of the room lengthened, swallowing the edge of my chair.
The door clicked open at a quarter past seven, the sound of rubber-soled shoes announcing Dr. Klein before he fully entered the room.
He did not look at me as he walked toward the bank of monitors beside Ben’s bed. His gold-rimmed glasses caught the harsh fluorescent light from the hallway, masking his eyes.
