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𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓
So there I was, sitting on a bench outside Seattle Grace Hospital in the drizzle that hangs over Seattle like a neverending curse.
It was the perfect place to smoke a cigarette in peace - or at least try to. But my lighter acted as if it had a personal grudge against me.
Honestly, I might as well have been trying to start a bonfire in a swimming pool.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman I had seen with my father - Derek Shepherd - a few hours earlier storming out of the hospital.
He followed her, and although I couldn't hear their exchange, it was clear they weren't discussing the weather.
She was gesticulating wildly while he was trying to smooth things over, trying to bring calm to the stormy sea.
But the woman whose aura spelled "trouble" was like a storm that would not be calmed.
Finally, she turned on her heel and left him standing there.
Dad, who always seemed so calm, ran his hands through his hair, a universal sign of male confusion and frustration. As he turned to head back to the hospital, his eyes met mine.
Damn. Caught smoking unauthorized in front of the hospital.
At that moment, I was sure he would have preferred to see me somewhere else-anywhere but here, caught in the act of miserably failing to light a cigarette.
I saw him hesitate, then make up his mind and walk toward me.
I knew I was screwed.
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