Chapter 24: The Ward

The private ward smelled of floor polish and flowers nobody had chosen.

Ethan lay in the bed by the window, flat on his back, with a drip in his arm.

His face was white against the pillow.

A doctor with tired eyes stopped Evan in the corridor.

"An ulcer," she said. "He's been drinking on an empty stomach for days.

"It bled badly. We've given him blood, and it's stopped, and he'll recover."

"Will he?"

"If he eats and sleeps and stays away from whisky. Five minutes, please. He's very weak."

Evan stood in the doorway.

He had run through two red lights and across the lobby, and now that he was here his feet would not move.

Ethan turned his head on the pillow.

His eyes were enormous.

"You came," he said, in a dry whisper.

"Your assistant called."

"I told her not to."

"She didn't listen."

"She never does." The corner of his mouth moved. "It's why I pay her so much."

Evan crossed the floor.

He sat in the plastic chair beside the bed.

On the table there was a bowl of oranges, a gift from the board, with a card nobody had opened.

He took one.

"Your grandmother did this," Ethan said. "At my kitchen island. One piece. She never broke the peel."

"She taught me when I was six."

Evan put his thumbnail into the skin at the top.

He turned the orange in his palm, and the peel came away in a single curling ribbon, bright against the white sheet.

The smell filled the room, sharp and sweet.

He pulled a segment free and held it out.

Ethan looked at it.

"I'm not supposed to," he said.

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