Page 82 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

It’s all so… empty.

I stand in the hallway leading to the girls’ bedroom, but it’s still silent. I hesitate to poke my head in, but I know they’re not here, so I turn the knob and do it anyway, and my stomach drops at the stark cleanliness of the room. A week ago, there was a travel crib right beside her bed, and an assortment of pink blankets lying around. There was a diaper bag overflowing with wipes and diapers and creams, and a suitcase filed to the brim with Sammy and Lily clothes mixed haphazardly.

Today, there’s an unmade bed with a pile of crisp clean and folded sheets. There are pillows without slips piled at the head of the bed, then clean towels folded and stacked beside the pillow. The overflowing suitcase is gone. The crib is gone. Every single tiny piece of baby paraphernalia is gone, and just like she promised, it’s like they were never here.

I move out to my living room and note the missing rug Sammy laid out last week so Lily could spend time on the floor.

I move to the kitchen and open cupboards. The tins of formula are gone. The scoop is gone. The bottles are gone. The iron supplements and syringes are all fucking gone.

I spin and stop hard when my eyes finally latch onto the thing that’s been niggling at my brain. An envelope I haven’t looked at in forever. An envelope that I sat and stared at every Friday night for years after she left. An envelope that’s worn on the corners and holds papers that have the power to change my life, but at the same time, not a whole lot changes.

I snatch it up and pull the papers out, and I choke when my eyes latch onto the flourishing signatures. She dated it a week ago.

I grab my keys and wallet, then pulling the list from my pocket, I start googling the pediatrician’s office she listed when we first started this thing. I run out my door and skip steps on the way down. Jumping into my car, I set my phone and GPS on the dash and start driving into the city.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there, but I’ve spent the last week thinking the girls were safe and warm in my apartment, and now I just need to see them for myself.

I listen to the oldies station on the radio and tap my hands on the steering wheel in an attempt to release some nervous energy while I drive, and though it feels like six hours instead of one, eventually my GPS tells me to turn off. It leads me through downtown streets until I pull up at a fancy office right beside the hospital. Convenient location, I guess.

I jump out and pocket my keys, and stride along the sidewalk, my long legs eating up the space quickly. I look around in search of Sammy’s car as I open the heavy front door leading into the office. Warmth smacks me in the face as soon as the door closes behind me. Babies giggle or cry in the waiting room. Children run around smacking each other with plastic hammers, and harried mothers sit in the plastic chairs shushing their offspring.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

My eyes lift to the young receptionist’s as she looks me up and down. Stepping away from the waiting room, I move toward her. “Hi. My name is Sam Turner and I’m meeting my wife and daughter here.” I look back to the waiting room. “But, I guess they’re not here yet.”

She starts typing at her computer, then frowning, she types some more. “Mr. Turner…? Does your wife and daughter carry another name? I can’t seem to find them--”

“Oh, yep. Ricardo. Try Samantha Ricardo. And Lily.”

“Oh Sam and Samantha, isn’t that just the cutest?”

I chuckle lightly. “Yeah, we caught some teasing about that in high school.”

“High school sweethearts?” She looks back up at me with hearts in her eyes and a broad smile, but when I only smile at her computer, she looks back down and continues to work. She frowns after a full minute, then picking up her phone, she calls someone and speaks in hushed tones.

Sweat breaks out and trickles along my spine as she turns her head just the slightest bit to stop me from listening in, but then she replies positively and hangs up. “Okay, Mr. Turner. Lily has been moved up to the pediatric unit upstairs.”

I look to the ceiling, then back to her. “Upstairs?”

“Next door.” She smiles and points to her left. “Walk that way; there’s a hall at the end, then if you follow that without turning off, you’ll find yourself in the hospital administration area. Tell them you’re looking for your wife and someone will buzz you up.”

“Her appointment isn’t in here today?”

“No sir. She’s been transferred up, so luckily you won’t have to wait around anymore.”

She continues to point to her left, so I move quickly and follow her directions through a hospital a billion times bigger than the one we have at home. I walk for several minutes before I finally reach the end of a bland white hall, then I emerge into a fancy reception area with a water fountain and lounges, instead of shitty plastic chairs and crying people.

I walk up to the long desk with several perky receptionists, and wait until one makes eye contact with me. “Hello sir.”

“Hey. I’m looking for my wife, Samantha Ricardo. She’s in the pediatric ward with my daughter, Lily.”

She smiles and taps at her computer. “Okay, they’re on the seventh floor, room seven-four-four.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Elevators are just over that way. Can I help you with anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

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