“I don’t need a car,” I’d told her. “I like the bus. You see more.” Of course, that was before I understood some of what I was seeing. I’d noticed that lately I’d been more inclined to read or pick my fingernails or study the floor as I rode. Just in case.
I got off the B3 before Court Street, avoiding Robert McKenzie’s corner. It was three short blocks to the hospital if I cut across the main square, one of my favorite places to hang out in town: great people-watching, brick sidewalks, cool shops. It’d be corny to say I could hear birds in the air and smell spring as I crossed through, but I did. That’s what I loved about the smallness of Ashville, even the most down parts of downtown were clean and friendly, safe for me to wander on my own, day or night.
A block off the square, I passed through the doors of Ashville General, trading the smells of outside for antiseptic and air-conditioning. Tina wasn’t at the nurses’ station on Nan’s floor, though I knew she was still on. I headed for room 316, the last on the right with a nice view of downtown through the window.
I walked into Nan’s room, ready to tell her about the beautiful day and my lousy math test, but all of this—everything—evaporated into empty nothingness when I looked at her.
“Hi Cassie,” Nan said, the words fading when she saw my face. If she could, she’d have rushed to my side, given me a hug, and held me up as she had the day I came home dripping wet after watching Robert McKenzie get run over. But she couldn’t because she was attached to cords and wires and tubes that I suddenly knew were useless. “Cassie, what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. There was no voice, no words to tell her.
“Cassie?” There was a change, the start of understanding. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and closed my eyes, rubbing them with my fore-finger and thumb, not surprised to find them come away covered with tears.
“You see it, don’t you?” It was barely a question.
I wanted to go to her, but I was afraid to get closer, to touch the luminous haze. I stared at my hands gripping each other tightly, but I couldn’t feel the pressure that caused blood to pool at each fingertip.
Then she spoke, her voice steady and comforting. Soft. That made it worse, the knowledge that even now Nan was my rock and that tomorrow, I’d be all alone. “It’s okay, Cassie. It was only a matter of time, sweetheart.”
I nodded, still unable to look at her. It wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit. “I should go … find Tina … or the doctor. Tell them …” My brain struggled for the right action. “Tell them something’s wrong.”
In the two months since Robert McKenzie’s accident, I’d been able to grasp the reality of that day, but not tackle the question that had begun to form as I watched him step off the curb. There would never be a better chance than now. We were in a hospital, for God’s sake. And there was no one more important to me than Nan. I said it again, more decisively: “I’m going to get help.”
“Do you think there’s anything they can do?” Nan was so matter-of-fact. As if we were talking about something as trivial as improving my archery shot or making tea.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, but it was the small glimpse of hope that kept me sane. “Maybe.”
“Go see them, then. But, Cassie,” she cautioned, “think about what you want to say.”
I left the room, more determined with each step. There might not be much time. I had to find someone fast. Thankfully, I saw Tina leaving a patient’s room. I ran to her.
“Tina, I’m worried about Nan,” I blurted, grabbing her arm to pull her back toward Nan’s room.
She sped up. I could feel her muscles tense. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just …” I remembered Nan’s warning, but I had to make Tina understand. “I have a really bad feeling. Something’s going to happen.” She slowed, just a fraction of a step, but hesitation, any hesitation, could be devastating. I stopped and grabbed her arms above the elbows, firmly enough that she winced. “Tina, trust me. You know I’m not the hysterical type.” My voice was steady and deadly serious. “I sometimes have a sixth sense about this kind of thing. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what, but can we please check Nan, go over her charts, get Dr. Wentworth. Something bad is going to happen.” I couldn’t stop my voice from breaking on the last sentence, and I think Tina, who had never seen me cry, was scared enough that even if she didn’t believe me, believed it was worth humoring me.
“Okay, Cassie,” she said, gently shaking free of my grip. “Let’s go see her.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Nan was unchanged when we got to her room. Still propped in bed, staring out the window. Quiet. Still glowing.
“Miss Nan? How are you feeling? Cassie said something’s wrong.”
Nan looked at me before answering. “I feel fine, really. Not much different than yesterday.”
“I told Tina that I had a bad feeling and that I sometimes have a sense about these things,” I added quickly.
“That she does,” Nan agreed.
Tina looked at the two of us, trying to reconcile it all: my panic, Nan’s calm, the apparent lack of a problem. “Well,” she said slowly, “we could rerun your blood work, just to see if anything looks amiss. But I’ll have to get Dr. Wentworth’s approval, and your insurance might not cover it.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it. How long will it take?”
“I’ll try to get him on the phone now.” Tina glanced at the clock on her way out. “He’s probably still in the hospital.”
Alone, Nan and I stared out the window. I felt better for doing something, but then I looked at her, saw the hazy glow, and tensed up all over again.
“How do you feel, Nan? Really?”
She shrugged. “Not like I’m at death’s door.”
“But something doesn’t feel right, does it?”
She shrugged again.
“Nan.” I tried to get through to her. “You have to tell me. You have to tell the doctor. You know what it means, what I’m seeing. How can you hold back?”
“There’s not much to tell, Cassie. I’ve got a little indigestion. Otherwise I feel perfectly fine. I’m in the hospital, they’ve run a thousand and one tests on me, they’re about to run even more. If they can’t find anything, what can we do?”