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CHAPTER 10 Then
It’s never good news when the phone rings at two in the morning.
I fumbled for my cell in the dark. “Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”
“This is Dr. Bruner at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital.”
I twisted to look at the other side of the bed. Connor’s side. It was still empty. He hadn’t come home after our fight last night. I somehow already knew that, yet I stared at the empty spot where he should be. “What’s happened?”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but there’s been an accident. Your husband, Connor, was in a car accident.”
I swallowed. “Is he okay?”
The doctor stayed quiet for a few heartbeats too long. “It’s very serious. You should come to the hospital immediately.”
I don’t remember hanging up. Or getting dressed. Or hailing a cab. Did I even say goodbye to the doctor? I must’ve lifted my arm to get the attention of the taxi driver. But I couldn’t for the life of me recall the simple motion. It’s like there was a gap in time after speaking to the doctor and now suddenly we were pulling up under an overhang at the hospital.
EMERGENCY
Big, red block letters. All caps.
An ambulance waited off to one side; two men in uniforms leaned against it drinking coffee. One laughed at something the other said. Business as usual. For them.
We pulled up at the wide sliding doors, and I rushed to get out of the cab.
“Hey, lady!” I already had the door open and one foot out on the pavement when the driver yelled. “You gotta pay for the damn ride.”
I shook my head. “Oh. Sorry. Of course.” I dug into my purse and grabbed two twenties without looking at the meter, handing them to the driver. “Thank you.”
Inside, I rushed to the reception window. A woman sat behind Plexiglas, talking on her cell phone. I was certain she saw me, yet she kept her eyes trained down as she smiled and laughed, continuing her conversation.
I bent down to the small opening made for passing papers back and forth and spoke through it. “Excuse me?”
She frowned and spoke into her cell. “I’ll call you back, Bebe.”
I couldn’t even wait for her to hang up. “Someone called me. A doctor. My husband was in an accident. He was brought here.”
“Name?”
“Connor Fitzgerald.”
She gestured to the chairs behind me. “Have a seat, and I’ll check in with the doctors.”
But I couldn’t sit. So I paced. Counting the number of times I went back and forth to keep my mind focused on something other than “It’s very serious. You should come to the hospital immediately.”
Thirty-two.
Thirty-three.
Thirty-four.
Finally, someone opened the door a few feet from the reception window. The woman looked right at me. “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
I rushed over. “Yes.”
