Chapter 20: Cal's POV: Six Hours

Cal's POV

The surgical waiting room on the third floor has twenty-two chairs and a clock that runs two minutes slow.

I know, because I've sat in it as a nurse for friends, and once for a stranger who had no one else.

I'd never sat in it for somebody I loved.

I took the chair nearest the double doors and kept my eyes on them.

Shanna had gone through at six-fifteen in a paper cap, with her chin up, and she had looked back at me once.

Then the doors had closed, and the clock had begun to lie.

At eight, Clifton Hallam walked in with his wife.

They hadn't been told they could come up.

I watched him look at the chairs and choose the one next to mine.

I did not turn my head.

"I won't talk," he said.

"Good."

We sat.

A volunteer came by with a cart, and Joyce took a cup of tea and held it without drinking.

At nine-thirty, Clifton's knee started bouncing.

At ten, he cleared his throat, and I could feel him turning the sentence over before he said it.

"How long does it usually take?"

"Six to eight hours for the donor. Longer for the recipient."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes."

He took that in.

"She'd have..." He stopped. "I didn't think. When we said no. I didn't think about it being dangerous for her."

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