Chapter 20: The Bedside

Donovan's POV

St. Anselm's private wing was the same hall where I had spent a week on a sedative drip.

I knew the carpet and the nurses' station and the smell of lemon cleaner.

Kathleen walked in through the doors at a quarter to five with her coat open, and every night nurse on the floor stood up.

She had not been on staff there a day in her life, and they stood up anyway.

"Emmett Slade," she said. "Where is he?"

"Room nine, Mrs. Marrin."

She walked down the hall in her work shoes, and I started to follow, and she stopped.

"Not yet," she said. "The family goes in first."

I understood that she meant herself and was glad she'd said it.

I sat down in a chair outside room nine.

At the end of the hall, on a bench under a window, Summer sat with her knees pulled up and her white dress stained gray down the front.

She did not look at me, and I did not look at her.

I had told her in front of two hundred people that she was done, and I meant it.

Still, I saw her hands.

They were shaking so hard she had to hold them under her arms.

At half past five a doctor in green scrubs came out and spoke to me because Kathleen was inside.

"The tumor has spread to the chest wall," he said. "He's stable for now. It could be a few weeks, or it could be days. It's very difficult to say."

"Does he know?"

"He's known since August."

I thanked him.

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