Page 90 of It's Always Been You
There’s a weird vibe when I walk into the ER. Not that I spend much time in hospitals. Or, like, any time at all. But it’s oddly quiet, and all the seasons of all the medical shows I’ve ever watched depict ERs as loud and chaotic and definitely not…whatever this is. Whatever this is has a chill running up my spine and my head swiveling, looking around for Allie so we can get the fuck out of here.
I don’t see Allie, but I do see a doctor who looks familiar. My photographic memory immediately delivers me the necessary information. Hudson Collins. Pediatric cardiothoracic surgery resident. Works with Allie. Met at Allie and Jordan’s engagement party.
He’s walking out of one of the patient rooms, tearing off the yellow disposable gown he’s wearing and shoving it into a trash can outside the room. I get a flash of blood on the gown before he slams down the trash can lid like it’s wronged him in some way and then leans against the wall outside the room, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. I wonder if he just lost a patient, and how hard it must be to get up every morning, knowing that you might see a kid die today. I rarely think about the details of what Allie and Jordan do every day, but seeing it firsthand has me suddenly in awe of both of my friends. I’m definitely buying the drinks tonight.
I approach him with what I hope is a warm smile and notweird stranger coming to interrupt your private momentvibes.
“Hudson, right?”
He scrubs his hands over his face and opens his eyes, studying me. “Yeah, do I know you? And how did you get in here? The ER entrance is closed.”
I shrug. “Slipped in through a side door. I’m stealthy like that. Sorry, I sometimes forget not everyone has a photographic memory. I’m Molly, a friend of Allie and Jordan. We met at their engagement party a while back. I’m supposed to be picking up Allie for dinner, but I can’t find her anywhere, and she hasn’t responded to my texts. Any idea where she is? I’m unconscionably late, so I thought she might have come back in here to hang while she waited.”
Hudson stares at me for a second before he presses his hands into his eyes, muttering “Fuck.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see another doctor freeze in their tracks and stare at me. Dread pools in my stomach.
Something is very, very wrong here.
“Molly…I’m not sure how to…I mean, I can’t…shit,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to shake his thoughts into some kind of order. Then I can practically see him morph into doctor mode. His back snaps straight and he squares his shoulders. His eyes adopt a dispassionate expression. The kind of professional distance I imagine doctors who deliver bad news to family members every day need to have to stay sane.
I would be impressed if I wasn’t suddenly acutely aware that I am the family member he needs professional distance from, and the news he is about to deliver is very, very bad. Now it’s my back that straightens, my shoulders that square. Some deeply rooted instinct telling me I need all the surface area my body can provide to carry whatever it is I’m about to learn.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, not at all sure it actually is. “Just say it fast.”
He takes a deep breath before he speaks, his hands curling into tight fists. The only betrayal of his professional exterior.
“I’m probably violating like a thousand HIPAA regulations, but fuck it. Molly, Allie was shot in the chest about fifteen minutes ago by the father of a patient she lost during surgery earlier this week. He approached her when she was standing outside the ER doors. That’s why the police are outside. They caught the guy right away, so that’s probably why you were able to slip in. The bullet lacerated her pulmonary artery, and she bled out almost immediately. The ER staff brought her inside and called us down right away, but the damage was too extensive, and we weren’t able to save her. She was gone before she even made it inside. I am so sorry for your loss.”
I stare at Hudson for a few beats while my brain tries to engage. Emotions try to form. Anxiety attempts to surface. Shock tries to settle in. I feel the beginning of tears behind my eyes. The wordsyour faultattempt to take root.
But then, in a split second, that’s all gone.
My crisis brain kicks in and shoves everything away. Everything except for what needs to happen right now. A perfectly clear to-do list forms in my mind with boxes to check off, and I know myself well enough to know that trying to process anything is futile. One foot in front of the other. What comes next. That’s my mission. Molly Jenkins never fails a mission.
“Who else knows?”
Hudon blinks at me, taken aback by my matter-of-fact question. “Uh, what do you mean?”
“I mean, who else have you told?” I snap. “Have you contacted Allie’s parents? Does J—” I break off as my voice catches, but I recover and plow right on ahead.
“Does Jordan know?”
All the color drains from Hudson’s face. “I called time of death like two minutes ago. They never officially locked down the hospital since they caught the guy right away. There’s no wayhe knows yet. It happened too fast. I saw him earlier, up on the surgical floor, so I know he’s here. His shift doesn’t start until nine, so he’s probably in the doctor’s lounge up there. Let me just call him to come down here.”
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your fault.
“No,” I say, voice firm. “I’ll tell him. It should come from me. And not here. I’ll go to him. What floor is the surgical floor?”
“You won’t be able to get onto the floor. You’ll need someone to badge you in.” Hudson reaches for the phone in his pocket.
“Hudson, don’t you dare dial that fucking phone. I’ll kick in the goddamn doors to the surgical floor if I have to, but no one except me is telling Jordan Wyles that the love of his life is dead.”
He freezes, staring at me.
