Chapter 53
I GUESS I’M NOT SO FINE
I reel a moment from the rush of relief I feel when I walk into the hospital. The bright lights, the warm air. I trip toward the desk and say Brainzilla’s name. “Katie,” I pant, “Katherine Sloane. We’re looking for her.”
The nurse shakes her head. “I’m sorry—visiting hours are from eight AM to ten PM,” she says.
“We can’t see her?” Zitsy wails. He looks devastated by this news.
“Can you at least tell us if she’s okay?” I ask.
The nurse’s warm brown eyes are sympathetic. “Are you a member of the immediate family?”
“Yes.” This doesn’t even feel like a lie.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to see some identification.”
I hesitate. “I’m not immediate family.”
The nurse sighs. “Look, I know it’s really hard to have to wait. But it’s important for our patients to get their rest. And I’m afraid the law forbids me from giving out any information about our patients.”
“We’re really worried,” I say, pressing my palms against the counter. “Please?” God, is she okay? What did she do? What did she do to herself? Will she live?
Will she be—the same?
All I want is for one answer—one answer to one question. Anything.
“We’re desperate,” Zitsy says. “We’re begging.”
“I really wish I could,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. But she doesn’t give us any information. I realize that she must see people like us all the time. Wow. I would break down in five seconds. I would tell all.
“Shit!” Flatso hisses at her phone. She’s texting with the speed of a concert pianist. “Aunt Joan can’t even tell us how Katie is because of HIPAA regs.”
“Can’t she give us a hint?” I ask. “What did she do? God—what if Katie’s dying?” I sound hysterical, and I know it, but I can’t stop the thoughts: What if she blew off part of her face with a gun? What if she took a bottle of pills and gave herself brain damage? What if she jumped—
“She could lose her job,” Flatso says apologetically.
Screw her job! I want to scream, to grab Aunt Joan and force the information out of her. Screw her job! Screw this hospital! Instead, I slide down the nurses’ station and lie on the green-and-navy patterned carpet. It’s got an intricate, mazelike design, and makes me dizzy when I look at it too closely. I shut my eyes.
I’m not doing too well.
Zitsy sits beside me and picks up my hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “She’ll be okay.”
I take a breath. Then another. It’s all I can manage. I try to pretend that I’m Eggy—someone who never cries. It would be great to have her here right now, but Zitsy and Flatso couldn’t get hold of her.
Without her, I’m just too exhausted to fight the tears anymore.
