It rang precisely four times before the line was picked up. “Yes?”
In her mind’s eye, she saw him sitting at his desk in his ubiquitous gray suit and red tie.
She straightened her shoulders as if he were able to see her standing in the middle of the small laundry room, wearing second-hand clothes. “Hello, Father. It’s Laurel.”
The room was cool, dark and silent when Adam opened his eyes. He was disoriented for half a second, his tired mind tripping through states and motels and hotels and miles spent on the road.
But the weight of the baby stretched across his lap, and the prickles in his numb arm rapidly grounded him. It wasn’t entirely dark in the room. Not once his eyes adjusted.
He could see the shapes of the furniture. The darker rectangle of the opened bathroom door. And no slender shape of a woman at all.
He edged carefully off the rocking chair and gingerly moved to the crib. Moving at a sloth’s pace for fear he’d wake the baby, he leaned over and settled him in the center of the crib. And then he waited even longer before pulling his hands from beneath Linus’s warm head and diaper-padded butt.
By the time he finally straightened, his back ached from the awkward position. He arched, rotated his arms and shoulders and neck, but he still felt like a hot metal poker was jabbing him in the middle of his spine.
He carefully pulled open the room door, wincing at the loudness of the latch, and stepped into the cornea-searing brightness on the other side.
He didn’t close the door all the way. He was afraid he wouldn’t hear Linus if he woke.
The nurses’ station was unoccupied but the commercial-sized coffee urn located against the back wall was hot and full. He tugged the mask off one ear while he filled one of the disposable cups nearly to the brim. The clock on the wall told him it was still early. Not even eight o’clock.
Which meant he’d slept in that chair for close to three hours.
He flipped open the pink bakery box sitting next to the coffee machine but the two lone muffins inside looked as though they’d been there for days.
He dropped the cover back down and followed the signs to the play area, where two kids in pajamas were playing video games and a grandmotherly woman sat nearby, her knitting needles clicking softly and flashing in the light.
The kitchen area had two refrigerators and three long tables, picnic style. At the end of one, a man stared morosely into the plate of food in front of him.
Adam backed out unnoticed.
The laundry was next to the kitchen. But Laurel wasn’t there, either.
He didn’t want to feel alarmed. But that didn’t stop it. He went back to the kitchen. “Excuse me.” The guy looked up. “Have you seen a slender woman?” He held his hand up. “This tall? Long brown hair. Prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen?”
The man shook his head and turned back to surveying his plate again.
Adam repeated the question to the knitter and the two gamers with the same result.
He left his coffee sitting on the raised ledge surrounding the nurses’ station. All of the patient rooms were positioned like spokes on a wheel with the nurses in the center. He strode the entire circuit but still didn’t find Laurel.
On the white board hanging outside of Linus’s room, Angelica’s name had been replaced by the night nurse’s. Penny. He didn’t know if he needed to wash up again before re-entering the room, so he did it anyway and pulled his mask back in place. Then he went back into the room, leaving the door open so he could see without turning on the light.
The chart was still sitting on the counter beside the door, along with the envelope that Eric had left. But Adam’s phone was gone and he was sure he’d left it there.
So she had his phone.
And every room in the transplant unit had a wired landline. He snatched it up and dialed his cell phone number. It went straight to voice mail.
Either she was talking on the phone or the battery was dead.
He went back to the playroom where he’d noticed a computer and pulled out the chair. Another whiteboard on the wall beside the monitor gave the name of the Wi-Fi and the password of the day. Soon, he’d accessed his phone account and he breathed easier at the sight of the bright red pin sitting squarely at the address of the hospital.
He propped his elbow on the table and exhaled. She was still on the property, then.
Somewhere.
He exited his account and returned to Linus’s room. A dim line of light circled the ceiling and Penny the nurse was there, smoothing out a sheet on the mattress topping the bench that was now twice the size it had been earlier. She wasn’t wearing a mask. “You can lose the mask now,” she said when he asked. “Dr. Patel is satisfied they’re no longer needed. You can also bring your own bedding if you want,” she said softly. “Fits a full-size sheet. Just make sure everything is freshly laundered before you bring it into the unit.” Her shoes squeaked slightly as she crossed the room. “I’ve put in an order for housekeeping to bring another set of towels, too. Knowing them, it’ll probably be midnight before they show up, though. The door has a lock if you—Oh, hello.” She smiled when Laurel appeared in the doorway. “I was just saying the door has a lock if you want to make sure nobody interrupts your sleep at night.”
Adam peered at Laurel, but the ambient light was too dim to read her expression above the mask she was wearing.
“Medical staff can override the lock,” Penny was still talking, “but unless there’s an emergency, we generally try to give everyone some uninterrupted privacy at night.” She
