The Waking Moon

Chapter Twenty Eight

I had done a lot of growing up in the halls of Monument Hospital. We’d taken Judy there since her first flares at age 11, because they were supposed to have the best rheumatologist in town. There were very few good memories associated with the place, yet when Rhodes and I walked through the automatic front doors, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.

Nothing had changed. The green patterned carpet at the entrance. The rows of green and mauve cushioned chairs attached at the arms. The cheerfully lit gift shop bursting with flowers, stuffed bears, and mylar balloons. The hushed atmosphere. The stomach-roiling smell of ammonia. It was almost as it I’d tumbled back in time. Just like on that terrible last day, everything around me seemed to slow down and disconnect. Colors looked saturated and the lights overly bright. And suddenly my body felt hollowed out all over again, as if my viscera had dissolved to make room for the boundless pain.

“Paulie, what’s up?” Rhodes asked. “Did something happen in this hospital?”

Stop, I told myself. Just stop. I forced a smile. “No. I’m fine.”

I ordered my legs to move passed the familiar lady at the information desk. I followed Rhodes down the brightly lit, white tiled halls that I knew like the back of my hand. We passed a tall, pretty nurse in green scrubs who’d once brought Judy a tupperwear full of Rice Krispie treats. A miserable-looking, chubby nurse ambled by, and I flashed to the jokes Judy and I would make up about her, because she always had a sour face, and she always smelled like blue cheese. I kept my head down, hoping no one would recognize me.

“At this hour, he’s often in the cafeteria,” Rhodes said. “If not, I’ll have him paged.”

I followed him down a wide corridor and through the double doors to the cafeteria. It was exactly the same—florescent-lit mauve and beige decor, free standing salad bar, refrigerated case stacked with fruit salad and dry, wheat-bread sandwiches wedged into plastic containers. We’d had countless family meals huddled around the oddly small tables.

“There he is,” Rhodes said quietly. “Playing Doctor McDreamy, as usual.”

I followed his gaze to where his father sat with a cup of coffee. He was wearing a long white coat with a dark blue tie, a stethoscope draped around his shoulders. He looked very handsome. At his table was a shorter man with reddish hair and a white coat, and a young woman wearing a form-fitting skirt, long boots, and an expensive-looking, blue silk blouse.

“Let’s get in and get out, okay?” Rhodes said. “Oncologists will hold you up for hours with their bad jokes. And I mean deadly bad. It’s probably what kills most of their patients.”

The woman seemed familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. She had long, dark hair that was pulled into a ponytail, and long, slender legs.

“Okay,” I said. “Is that woman also an…”

At that moment, she turned her head in our direction, pointing at the salad bar as she spoke. The instant I saw her face I knew who she was. 

“Jesus Christ!” I grabbed Rhodes’s arm and pulled him behind a mauve pillar. “Do you know that woman?”

“Not really,” he said. “She works with cancer patients, but I don’t know what she does exactly. She’s always on nights. I think her name is Julie. And I think my dad wants to shag her.” He studied me closer. “Are you okay? You look super pale.”

My heart was pounding and I found myself struggling to breathe. It was Juliana. I turned back toward the door. “I’ll meet you out front.”

I walked as calmly as I could through the double doors and back down the brightly lit corridor. When I passed a board on the wall featuring photographs of the medical staff for oncology, I paused and scanned for Juliana. She wasn’t listed. A half hour later, Rhodes found me slouched in a chair near the entrance, hidden behind a large, leafy plant. He looked amused.