Elmore dragged his feet across the linoleum floor. He felt like a man walking to his own execution. He reached Cubicle Three, grabbed the edge of the curtain, and stepped back into the small, chemical-smelling space.
Buddy was sitting up slightly against the elevated pillows. A strip of white medical tape secured an IV needle to the back of his small, pale hand. Clear fluid dripped slowly through the plastic tubing.
When Buddy saw his father enter, a desperate spark of hope lit up his fever-glazed eyes. He pushed himself up a fraction of an inch.
Elmore pulled the cheap plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down heavily. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his large hands. The pulse in his temples hammered a sickening rhythm against his palms.
Buddy noticed the rigid tension in his father's shoulders. The boy reached out with his free hand and weakly tugged at the cuff of Elmore's cashmere coat.
Elmore dropped his hands and lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at his son's face-the shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw-it was a ghost of Kendal staring back at him. His chest tightened painfully.
Buddy bit his dry lower lip. His voice was a raspy, quiet whisper as he asked, "Father, is that her? The woman from the picture... is that my mother?"
The question exploded in Elmore's ears like a gunshot. His pupils blew wide open.
He instantly twisted his head, his eyes darting toward the gap in the curtain to make sure no one was standing outside. His body coiled tight, every muscle locking into a state of extreme defensive panic.
Buddy reached under his thin hospital pillow. His small fingers pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch. He popped the lid open. Inside sat a faded, grainy photograph of Kendal's side profile.
The boy pointed a trembling finger at the picture, then pointed toward the hallway. His eyes begged for the truth.
Elmore stared at the watch. It was his watch. He used to hold it until the metal dug into his skin during his worst panic attacks. Buddy must have stolen it from his nightstand.
The image of Kendal's face contorting in absolute disgust in the hallway flashed behind Elmore's eyes. If she knew this boy was hers, would she look at the child with that same revulsion?
A darker, more terrifying thought gripped his throat. If she knew the child survived, she would take him. She would take Buddy and vanish, leaving Elmore with nothing but empty rooms and his own madness.
Driven by a sickening surge of selfish terror, Elmore lunged forward. He snatched the pocket watch out of Buddy's hand with brutal force.
Buddy flinched hard. His small shoulders shrank back against the mattress, and his eyes instantly filled with hot tears. He pulled his empty hand to his chest.
Elmore forced his jaw to lock. He stared at his crying son and stated in a cold, hard voice that the doctor was just a stranger who happened to look similar.
Buddy shook his head stubbornly. A tear spilled over his hot cheek. He argued in a broken voice that the doctor smelled exactly like the old scarf locked in his father's closet.
The boy's sharp senses felt like needles driving under Elmore's fingernails. He leaned in close and ordered Buddy to never bring it up again. His voice left no room for argument.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the bed. Buddy turned his face toward the wall, his small chest hitching with silent sobs.
The curtain suddenly swept back. Kendal walked in carrying a small glass vial of antibiotics.
Elmore shot up from the chair like a spring. His massive frame immediately moved to block the space between Kendal and the bed, trying to physically sever their line of sight.
Kendal stopped. Her brow furrowed in irritation at his erratic movement. She let out a short breath through her nose, her thumb pressing hard into her index knuckle.
Behind Elmore's back, Buddy leaned his head around his father's waist. He stared at Kendal with wide, tear-soaked eyes. The look on the boy's face was pure, unadulterated longing.
Kendal's eyes met the child's. A strange, heavy sensation dropped into the bottom of her stomach. A sharp ache flared in her chest, completely unprompted.
She assumed the aggressive man standing in front of her had just yelled at the sick child. Her jaw tightened with fresh anger toward Elmore.
She stepped entirely around Elmore, ignoring his presence, and moved to the far side of the bed. She reached deep into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a sugar-free cherry lollipop.
She leaned down until her face was level with Buddy's. Her voice dropped an octave, turning incredibly soft and warm. She pressed the plastic stick into Buddy's hand and told him he was doing a very brave job.
Buddy's fingers closed tightly around the lollipop. He felt the lingering warmth from her pocket on the plastic wrapper. Fresh tears spilled rapidly down his cheeks, dropping onto the white blanket.
Elmore stood frozen on the other side of the bed. He watched his wife comfort their son, a son who thought he was motherless, a wife who thought her baby was dead. The lie he had built was burning him alive from the inside out, the flames of his own deceit scorching his throat so badly he couldn't breathe as he witnessed the natural, undeniable bond he was actively destroying.
