He finally looks at me—and in that moment, everything shifts.
The hospital waiting room reminds me of the packed area in an airport before a flight begins boarding, only instead of anxious fliers, the people here are anxiously awaiting news of a loved one. The seats are equally uncomfortable, and some have opted to sit on the floor, leaning against a wall to stretch their legs or watch a show on a phone in privacy. The scent blends human stress with cleaning products, and the air is cold.
Noah’s father is out of surgery, and Linda has been allowed to join him. The initial news is good—he had emergency bypass surgery and the doctor predicts a full recovery. Ever since receiving the news, Noah’s been quiet and withdrawn.
He argued at first—told me to stay, that I had other issues to attend to. That I needed to be here for the dinner with my daughter, that I needed to be here to deal with the case. He even debated whether or not he and I should both stay back given everything going on—but I insisted, quietly and firmly, that his father needed him, and that’s where we’d be.
I called Stella—catching her during her lunch period—and explained. Being my little empath, she immediately assured me she’d be okay at her dad’s and that of course I should go with Noah. After handling travel plans, I called Richard. He was far less amenable—but I cut the conversation short as we were entering the airport and I had Noah at my side.
The doors open and Linda exits. Her color has drained, likely from a mixture of exhaustion and harsh fluorescent overhead lighting, but her eyes sparkle with renewed life. Noah and I both stand as she approaches.
“Noah, he wants to see you. They’ve got him in a room. He’s awake now but I don’t know for how long.”
“How is he?” Noah asks.
We received the doctor’s update earlier, but he’s looking for more.
“He’s tired. He’s not in any pain—they’ve taken care of that. Get on back there and see him for yourself before he falls asleep again.”
Noah hesitates, looking at me.
“Don’t worry about Alicia,” Linda says. “I’ll bring her down to the cafeteria for coffee—I’ll take good care of her. We’ll be up soon.”
“Do you want anything?” I ask Noah, but he shakes his head, takes a step, then returns. His lips brush my cheek—soft, fleeting, but full of everything he’s not saying. Warmth blooms deep in my chest, steadying me in a way nothing else has all day.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” I assure him.
We both watch him leave, then exit the waiting room, and head to the elevator bank. The cafeteria is on the first floor.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“Better now.” There’s a slight tremble in her fingers as she reaches to push the elevator button. “That was scary,” she says, almost to herself.
There’s something fragile in her tone, something that tugs at a deep place inside me. She loves him. They all do. And for the first time in a long time, I feel the edges of what it means to step into someone else’s family—into their fears, their history, their hopes.
“But he’s going to be okay.”
“Yes. The doctor says yes. If they’d been slower getting to the house…” she presses her lips together and her eyes grow glassy. “Could have been a very different day.”
I squeeze her arm in support as the doors slide open and we step in.
We’re quiet moving through the elevator and the cafeteria line. After I’ve purchased hot tea and she’s ordered decaf coffee and a muffin, she gestures to an open table. “Let’s sit. Give them some time.”
I slide into the booth opposite her, and she cups her coffee with both hands.
“You remind me of her, you know?” she says with a soft smile.
“Who?”
“Sarah. His mom.”
“Oh,” I say, twirling my tea bag in the hot water. “How so?”
“Well, your dark hair, your poise.” Her gaze falls to her mug. Linda has golden brown eyes and gray hair, and she’s petite with rounded curves. If she colored her hair, she’d look younger than her sixty-something years. “There’s a resemblance, but I think it’s more how you handle yourself. Calm, focused. An inner strength. Oh… You know? I have pictures.” She fumbles through her handbag and pulls out her phone. She presses against the screen, then hands it to me.
On the screen there’s a photo of Linda years ago, with brown hair with blonde highlights, and a woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Their arms are around each other and smiling into the screen.
“Sarah and I were childhood best friends. I was the maid of honor in their wedding.”