Chapter 5: Waiting Room

My father went into the operating room at seven o'clock, holding my hand until the last second.

"Binnie," he said, from the gurney, "who's paying for this?"

"The insurance came through."

"You're a bad liar. Your mother was a bad liar too."

"Dad. Go to sleep."

"If it's a man," Glenn said, "he better be a good one."

The doors swung shut, and I stood alone in the hallway with my knees shaking.

Then a large warm hand settled on my shoulder, and I knew it before I turned.

Jude had left the black coat at home.

He wore a plain gray jacket and a ball cap, and he still looked like a building someone had dressed.

"You shouldn't be here," I said. "Crowe's people watch this hospital."

"Then they'll see a man waiting with his woman."

"I'm not your woman."

"On paper you are."

He said the word again under his breath, as if testing it.

"I'm practicing," he said. "How am I doing?"

I laughed.

It came out wet and cracked, and I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes.

He didn't touch me again.

He just stood close enough that I could lean if I wanted to.

I leaned.

The surgical waiting room had thirty chairs, all built for ordinary people.

Jude folded himself into one.

He came back from the machine with two paper cups.

"Tea, no sugar, lemon," he said. "Your friend Bree told Ollie."

"Bree is going to be unbearable."

"She called me a menace in the elevator."

"And?"

"I said yes."

Bree herself arrived at nine with a bag of muffins and a Browns scarf, and looked from him to me.

She sat on my other side.

"He seems fine," she whispered. "Large. But fine."

At ten-fifteen, a man limped into the waiting room carrying a spray of white lilies.

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