Page 63 of Working for the Mob

I tore across the room and grabbed Lucy by the arm.

“You’re here,” Genevieve said, and dropped both her jaw and her grip on Lucy. Our last moment alone together probably played in the back of her head.

We’re not doing this. I can’t do this.

We’re not doing anything.

Without Genevieve, Lucy almost pulled out of my grip.

“Calm down, Lucy,” I said. “Let’s just sit over there and wait for Cissy to come out.”

Lucy stopped struggling at the sound of my voice and fixed me with a contemptuous glare. “I want to know how he’s doing,” she spat.

I took a deep breath. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with after I woke up. Genevieve crossed her arms, recognizing me losing my patience.

I swallowed. What should I say? The truth stung too much and saying it out loud only made it more real. He had to be better. He had to pull through.

“He’s stable,” I said at last. All I dared say.

“Stable? What does that mean?” Lucy asked.

“It mean s…” I took another deep breath. This time it wasn’t for patience. I had to calm myself down before I lost it. “It means they’re waiting. They said … they said the next forty-eight hours would determine whether he pulls through or not.”

Lucy put her hand to her mouth and her eyes brimmed up with tears. I thought she was about to fall, but Genevieve tugged her in for a hug. I watched, helpless, as Lucy cried into Genevieve’s shoulder.

This was my fault. I did this.

I wanted to get out of the waiting room. Out of the hospital. Away from all these people I impacted. I wanted to drive so far way I couldn’t hurt them anymore. So, I couldn’t hurt anyone. But I couldn’t. I needed to stay here and see this through the end. I needed to clean up my own mess.

I slumped back to my corner in the lobby as Genevieve consoled her sister. She walked her to a chair across from me and sat both of them down. A jarring flashback pulled me back to the morning we met, with Genevieve comforting her sister, and me, being an ass. At the time I didn’t know she had just escaped controlling parents and had a run in with an authoritative matchmaker.

“He just …” Lucy said, and tried to pull herself together. “He was the first person in Lannington to be nice to me. He made me feel like family.”

“I was nice to you. AndIam your family,” Genevieve said, but Lucy shook her head.

“You’re my sister. You have to be nice to me. But Jamie did it because he’s a great person. And now he’s in there on his deathbed, and––”

“Hey!” Genevieve cut her off and brought Lucy’s face level to her own. “Listen to me. Listen. He isnoton his deathbed. We saw Jamie last night and he was as strong as an ox. Heis goingto pull through this. Alright?”

Lucy nodded glumly.

“Alright?” Genevieve asked again, her voice stern.

“Alright,” Lucy said.

“Now does anyone in this place have a damn handkerchief?” Genevieve asked, and looked around the deserted lobby.

“I do,” I said, and procured a handkerchief from my pocket. Genevieve took it from me with a word of thanks and dabbed at her sister’s tears. It felt good to do something useful––anything useful.

What else could I do? I shot out of my chair.

“Do you two need anything?” I asked. “We might be here awhile. I could buy some food. For us. And Cissy.”

“I think we’re fine,” Genevieve said, stiffly.

“Oh, can you pick us up cornbeef sandwiches? Those were Jamie’s favorite,” Lucy said.

“Of course. Anything,” I said.

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