I lean my head into the wall and suck in a deep breath. “Where are you?”
“At St. Al’s Hospital.”
I don’t know where it is, but I know how to find it on my phone. “Wait there.”
“I’m about to perform a last rites in twenty minutes.”
I shove off the wall, clutching the paper in my other hand as I hurry for the door. “I’ll wait. Just stay there, okay?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Okay.”
I hit End and shove through the doors, trying to pull up the location of St. Al’s Hospital on my phone. I’m catching up on technology—slowly. It shows St. Al’s is a mile away. Driving distance is ten minutes thanks to traffic. Walking distance is fifteen.
I take the walking option since I set out to walk anyway and there isn’t a taxi or bus stop in sight. Following the directions, I clip off turn after turn, cruising along at almost but not quite a jog. My body still gets tired from exertion, but it’s adapting to everyday life again. It’s getting stronger.
When an ambulance flies by me, I know I’m getting close, and I follow its sirens to the top of the hill. The climb feels like it’s going to make my heart explode even though I’m barely walking. By the time I make it to the top and am in front of the hospital, I’ve almost been reduced to a crawl.
Taking a second to let my lungs relax, I follow the signs to the main entrance and brake to a stop when I realize I have no idea where in this megaplex of a hospital Torrin is.
“Can I help you, miss?” a woman at the reception desk asks when I stay frozen just inside the doors.
“Torrin Costigan?” I say, guessing it’s a long shot she’d know where one person is in this place.
“Patient?” she replies, typing something into her computer. Her eyes squint at the screen, and she shakes her head.
“No, he’s a visitor . . .” Then I realize I’m probably one of the few people who still calls him Torrin. “Father Costigan?” I tuck the paper tighter into my armpit.
“Oh, sure.” She pushes back from her computer and slides off her reader glasses. “He’s up on the fifth floor with Mrs. Delaney.”
When she waves toward the elevators, I start moving. “Thank you.”
I’m antsy waiting for one of them to open, and when one finally does, I jump inside before anyone has a chance to climb off. I punch the five button a dozen times, but it doesn’t make the doors close any faster.
What am I in such a hurry to find out? Why do I need to see him so badly?
Is it to let him know about the article . . . the picture? Or is to confront him about the kiss that could have been?
I’m not sure, and I guess I won’t be until I’m standing in front of him. It makes me want to get there even sooner. I run—run—off of the elevator before the doors finish opening. A nurse at a pill cart twists around when she hears my sneakers squeak across the tile.
“Mrs. Delaney’s room?” I ask.
She lifts her tablet to check.
“Father Costigan?”
Her eyes lift away from the tablet. “Room 542.”
I hurry down the hall, feeling like it’s the last room in this never-ending tunnel. Actually, it is. I skid to a stop when I come to the end of the hall. The door to 542 is partly closed, but I hear him inside. I can see him too.
I can’t see Mrs. Delaney because he’s blocking her, but I can see her weathered hand swimming in his. The skin looks thin, frail . . . cold. I’m not Catholic, but I know enough from the times I went with Torrin to his church. I know what the last rites are. I know the woman whose hand he’s holding is dying. Soon.
He finishes his recitation, crosses himself, and then he’s quiet. He doesn’t say good-bye and turn to leave now that it’s done. He doesn’t pat her hand before setting it on the bed. He stays. He keeps holding her hand.
I know the woman’s crying. I can hear her, and I can tell by the way Torrin’s jaw grinds together. He’s never been able to handle a woman crying well. But he lets her cry, staying still beside her the entire time. Her hand stays solidly in his the whole time.
Mrs. Delaney sniffs, and her thin fingers curl around Torrin’s hand. “You’re a bright light in this dark world, Father.” Her voice carries out of the room, then she slips her hand from his. “Thank you.”
He moves for the door, but before he goes, he rests his hand on the foot of her bed. “Be at peace.”
“Now”—she exhales like all of the pain and fear has been emptied from her—“I am.”
He smiles, but his jaw’s still straining, then he heads for the door. I creep back a ways because I don’t want him to know I was listening in. I don’t want him to know that what I just witnessed might have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me when he steps into the hall, but he doesn’t say anything until he closes the door.
“What’s the matter?” he asks in a hushed voice. I can tell sound carries up and down these halls like the scent of disinfectant.
For a minute, I’d forgotten. I’d been too hypnotized by what just happened in that room. “Have you seen the paper today?”
I begin to pull it out from under my arm when he stops me. His fingers curl into my arm, and I think about the kiss that could have been.
He takes in a breath through his nose. “I’ve seen it.”