“The chaplain is downstairs,” I said, looking at the blank signature line on the power of attorney form peeking out from under his hand. “But Gary said we should wait until the estate papers are finalized next month.”
Ben rubbed his left temple harder, his eyes closing for a brief
second. “The doctors say the treatment is going to be incredibly expensive, and I cannot manage the billing from this bed.”
I reached out and touched his hand, feeling the dry heat of his skin. “I promise I will sign it, Ben. Let’s just get through the vows first.”
He let out a long, slow breath, his fingers relaxing their grip on the yellow pad just enough for me to see the blank line waiting for my pen.
By seven o’clock, the autumn shadows had stretched across the linoleum floor of Room 312.
The hospital chaplain, a small man with a worn black binder, stood near the window while Nurse Evelyn remained near the door, her hand still resting on her ID badge.
“We are gathered here in the presence of God,” the chaplain began, his voice soft against the steady beep of the monitor.
I stood close to the bed, holding Ben’s hand. I slipped my father’s brass signet ring onto my own thumb to keep it safe during the ceremony, its weight pulling on my hand.
Ben looked up at me, his eyes bright as he spoke his vows in a clear, steady tone that did not sound like a dying man.
“To love and to cherish,” he whispered, his grip tightening.
I looked over at Evelyn, who was staring at the floor, her face tight with a look that was not joy.
“I do,” I said, my voice barely audible over the hum of the room.
The chaplain placed his hands over our joined fingers, offering a quiet blessing that seemed to drift toward the open window.
Ben did not let go of my hand, his fingers squeezing mine with an unexpected, crushing strength.
The chaplain’s hand was warm as he slipped out the heavy wooden door, leaving the room very still.
Ben let go of my fingers and leaned back against the stiff hospital pillows, his eyes already half-closed. The thin gold band on his finger caught the harsh fluorescent light from the hallway, looking too bright against his skin.
The wall clock above the sink read ten past nine.
The door clicked open again, and Nurse Evelyn stepped into the room, her rubber-soled shoes silent on the floor. The sharp smell of institutional floor wax hung in the air, thick and clean, mixing with the scent of rubbing alcohol.
She carried a small tray with a plastic cup of water and a fresh roll of medical tape, though her hands were empty of any actual medicine.
She did not look at me at first, keeping her eyes fixed on the plastic tubing of Ben’s IV line. Her fingers went to her blue plastic ID badge, adjusting it twice against her scrubs with a sharp, nervous snap.
The silver-plated water pitcher on the bedside table caught the green glare of the heart monitor, sweating small beads of condensation onto the tray.
I stood up from my vinyl chair, my fingers instantly finding the silver band on my left hand and twisting it around my knuckle. My knuckles felt swollen, the metal tight against my skin.
“Is his saline running low?” I asked.
“The bag is full,” Evelyn said, her voice clipped and flat. She did not look at me when she spoke, her gaze locked on the clear plastic drip chamber.
She leaned over the bed rails, pretending to check the taped needle in Ben’s forearm, but her shoulders were rigid. I could see a tiny bead of sweat near her temple, despite the draft coming from the window unit.
Ben let out a soft, rattling snore, his head tilting toward the window where the dark Ohio autumn pressed against the glass.
Evelyn’s head snapped toward him, then she turned her face slightly toward me, her eyes darting to the empty hallway. She reached out and adjusted her ID badge once more, the plastic clicking against her stethoscope.
“Look where they do not expect you to look, before they discharge him,” she whispered.
The words were so quiet I barely caught them over the hum of the wall heater. I stared at her, waiting for her to explain, but her face had already closed up.
“Excuse me?” I said, stepping closer to the bed.
She stepped back from the bed immediately, her hands dropping to her sides, her face blank and professional. She picked up her small plastic tray from the bedside table, her fingers white around the edges.
“I will check his vitals again at midnight,” she said, her voice returning to its normal, brisk tone.
She left the room before I could ask her what she meant. I stood there for a long moment, listening to the quiet hum of the building.
I sat back down, my hand still gripping my wedding ring, twisting the cold silver until it pinched. The girl seemed stretched to her limit, her eyes shadowed with dark circles, and I wondered if the stress of the oncology ward was finally getting to her.
There was no reason for riddles in a hospital room, not when we were dealing with something as heavy as Ben’s final weeks. I looked at Ben, his chest rising and falling beneath the white hospital blanket, and wondered if she was simply confused.
An hour passed, marked only by the periodic hiss of the blood pressure cuff inflating on Ben’s arm. The sound was like a heavy sigh, repeating every thirty minutes to break the silence.
At a quarter to eleven, Ben stirred, grunting as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Dearest,” he mumbled, rubbing his left temple with his thumb. “I need the restroom.”
“Do you want me to call the orderly?” I asked, rising to help him.
“No, I can manage the walk,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He did not look at me, his eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.
He shuffled into the small bathroom and clicked the lock, the fan starting up with a dull, rattling vibration.
The whisper from the nurse kept echoing in my mind, sounding more like a warning than a piece of advice. I looked at the bed, then at the locked bathroom door where the yellow light showed beneath the crack.
I stepped closer, my heart giving a strange, heavy thud against my ribs. I had never been a suspicious woman, but the silence of the hospital at night made everything feel magnified.
I slipped my fingers under the edge of the mattress, right where his shoulders usually rested. The fabric of the mattress was rough and cold against my fingertips.
My hand brushed against something smooth and stiff, hidden deep between the metal frame and the blue vinyl mattress cover.
I tugged at it, my breath shallow, until a corner of green vinyl slid into the dim light of the bedside lamp. It was a heavy medical folder, completely unmarked on the outside, its surface slightly dusty.
The bathroom door handle clicked, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
I shoved the folder into my canvas tote bag, dropping my grey knitting project over the top of it just as Ben stepped back into the room.
“Are you staying the night, Clara?” he asked, his hand still lingering on his temple as he reached for the bed rail.
“I should go home and feed the cat, Ben,” I said, my voice shaking slightly as I cleared my throat. “I will be back first thing in the morning.”
He nodded, climbing back into bed with a heavy sigh that filled the small space, his eyes closing before his head hit the pillow.
The hallway was bright and smelled strongly of pine cleaner when I stepped out, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
I carried my tote bag close to my side, the weight of the green folder pressing against my hip like a solid block of wood.
Near the nurse’s station, Dr. Paulson was standing with a metal clipboard, talking to a resident in blue scrubs.
