She bit back a sob.
'I'm okay,' she said softly. 'Really. I'm okay.'
She groaned as she entered Science. The entry vestibule and the lobby were festooned with Christmas ornaments. There wasn't going to be any getting away from The Season To Be Jolly.
Nobody was at the security desk. One of the male guards was holding a ladder while Charlene stood on the top step and taped a strand of golden garland to the wall. They recognized Quinn and waved her through.
Fifth was no better. Santa faces, Merry Christmas greetings, plastic mistletoe, fake holly, and tinsel garland hung all over the place.
Quinn kept her eyes straight ahead, glancing left only briefly when she passed the newly decorated Ward C window, trimmed with tiny Christmas bulbs, blinking chaotically.
She stopped as a thought struck her: Here I am in the dumps about my Christmas...what about
Like Tim's, Quinn thought with a pang.
He was lying on his right side, facing her. She couldn't make out his eyes between the folds of gauze wrapped around his head, but he seemed to be looking at her.
*
Jesus, it was Quinn. And she was staring directly at him. If only he could reach up and yank the gauze off his face, or screech her name, or just wave and attract her attention. Anything but to lie here like a goddam asparagus and watch her walk away again.
His hand...his left hand...if he could get it to move now...
And then Tim realized that he did know a sign language of sorts.
*
Quinn stared at the bandaged-covered face, trying to read something there. She had a feeling he was staring back at her, trying to tell her something. His body looked slack, utterly relaxed, yet she sensed a bridled intensity about him.
Movement caught her eye. His left hand was twitching where it lay on his left hip. The fingers were curling into a fist. No, not all of them. Just the middle three. The thumb and pinky finger remained extended.
And then, ever so slightly, the hand wagged back and forth.
Quinn felt a smile begin to pull on her lips. Why, it almost looked like—
As she cried out, her knees buckled and she fell against the window with a dull thunk that echoed down the hall.
Tim's Hawaiian hang-loose sign...the patient on the far side of Ward C was looking her way and doing a crude version of the shake-a-shake-a signal Tim had used in the casino.
Suddenly hands were gripping her upper arm, supporting her.
'Are you all right?'
Quinn looked up and saw a nurse holding her arm, steadying her as Quinn straightened and leaned against the window frame.
'I...' Her throat locked, refusing to let another syllable pass.
'You look terrible,' the nurse said. 'You're white as a ghost.'
I've just
She was shaking, dripping with perspiration. Bile surged against the back of her throat but she forced it back down.
'What's wrong?' the nurse was saying, looking at her closely. 'Are you a diabetic or hypoglycemic?'
I probably look like I'm having an insulin reaction, Quinn thought. I almost wish I were.
She shook her head and started to say something, to ask about that patient at the far end of Ward C, then bit back the words.
It couldn't be Tim. Not in Ward C with the burn patients. Anywhere but Ward C.
If she said anything about it, they'd think she was losing it. Hallucinating. Breaking with reality. Word had already spread around The Ingraham about Tim having a breakdown and running off—pulling a Prosser. The administration would think she was cracking too. They'd send her home. Maybe for good. One breakdown per class was more than they wanted to deal with.
'My period,' she said, improvising. 'I always get bad cramps the first day.'
The nurse's face relaxed. 'I get some whoppers myself. Come on over here. I'll give you a couple of Anaprox.'
Keeping one hand on the wall to steady herself, Quinn followed her to the nursing station where she sat, blotted the beaded perspiration from her face with a paper towel, and choked down the two blue tablets.
After a few minutes, she felt strong enough to move on. She thanked the nurse and made it down the hall to Dr. Emerson's lab where she told Alice that she didn't feel well enough to work today.
Alice took one look at her and bounded out of her seat.
'I should say you don't! You look awful! You might have the flu. Dr. Emerson won't be in until tonight, so you get right out of here and over to the infirmary right this minute. As a matter of fact, I'll take you there myself.'
'That's all right. I'll be okay. Just tell Dr. Emerson I'll be in tomorrow.'
Alice shooed her out and Quinn stood outside the lab, looking down the hallway. The elevators were on the far side of Ward C. She was going to have to pass the window to get to them.
She wasn't sure she could handle that.
But she didn't feel strong enough for the stairs right now, so what choice did she have?
None.
Taking a deep, tremulous breath, Quinn straightened her spine and marched back down the hall. The nurses station was empty as she passed it, and she intended to keep walking past Ward C, but when she reached the window she had to stop. No way she could breeze by without one more look.
Both nurses were in there now, standing around the patient who'd signaled her. Marguerite was just removing a syringe from his IV line. Was something wrong?
Quinn pressed closer to the glass. The blinking lights bordering the window made it difficult to see, but she still could make out the patient's left hand, the one that had been stretched into the hang-loose sign—it now hung limp and lifeless. As she watched, the nurses gently rolled him to his left and repositioned him on his back. Everything so normal. Just another day of routine patient care on Ward C.
The nurse who had helped Quinn a few moments ago looked up and smiled at her. Quinn gave her a friendly wave, then forced herself to walk on.
Half dazed, still weak and shaky, feeling as if she were in a dream, Quinn found the elevator control slot and slipped her card into it.
What had just happened here? What was real? What was not? The questions whirled about her in a maelstrom of confusion. Nausea rippled through her stomach and inched up toward her throat. She feared she might get sick right here in the hall.
She had to get out of here, back to the dorm. Back to her room where she could lock the door, crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and think.
Maybe Mom and Matt had been right. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stay down here the extra week.
When she got outside, the snow was falling heavily. Everything was covered with a thin coat of white. At any other time she might have stopped to appreciate the silent beauty of the scene. But now she broke into a careful run for the dorm.
*
Tim stared at the ceiling.
What was wrong with Quinn? She'd been looking right at him as he'd given her the hang-loose signal. She'd even reacted as if she'd seen it, looked like she'd been about to faint, but she'd done nothing.
Nothing!
