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“So, this woman who’s sick, you’re saying you just met her last week?”
I don’t have words for this. I can’t explain how I’m feeling, but I’m going to die trying because Eliot’s here. He stopped by Natalie’s room on his lunch break to find me having a verifiable mental breakdown by her crib.
“She prayed for her,” I sob.
He doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about, poor guy, but he makes all the right soothing noises and tries to get some more information.
“So, she was special to you because she prayed with you for your daughter?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Eliot walks out of this room and never thinks about me again unless it’s to wonder whatever happened to that insane woman from his past and her sick little girl.
“Grandma Lucy believed in healing.” I bury my face in my hands. It’s so clichéd, but I can’t stand to have him look at me right now. This pain is so open, so raw. Not even my husband could handle this. “And now she’s dying.”
“So ...” I can hear all the questions in Eliot’s voice. I know I’m not making any sense. “So, you’re sad because you’d like her to stay alive and keep praying for your daughter?”
I shake my head. He doesn’t understand. I knew he wouldn’t. “Grandma Lucy told me Natalie would be healed.” I try to describe the conviction, the certainty that was in her voice when she made me that promise. The hope that swelled up in me, hard as I fought it at first. “But if she really could heal, if she could really pray and have someone be cured, her heart wouldn’t be failing.” I need to blow my nose, but there’s no Kleenex anywhere within reach.
“So, you’re saying if she’s really a healer or whatever, she’ll just go on living forever?” It’s a valid question, but it makes my skin crawl. It’s like Eliot’s mocking me for believing Grandma Lucy’s stupid prayers and prophecies in the first place.
“I don’t know,” I snap. I want him to leave, but I’m terrified of being alone. How’s that for mixed signals?
He reaches his arm out. Touches me on the shoulder. “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. I’m sure the news about your friend’s medical condition is adding to all the fear and confusion you’re experiencing from your daughter’s hospital stay. It’s ok. You can cry as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
I wrap both arms around him. It’s the only way I can keep from collapsing in my chair. Why can’t Jake be this supportive? Why do I feel more comfort, more freedom to express my emotions with this man I scarcely know than with my own husband?
Eliot’s stroking my hair. It’s perfectly platonic, perfectly friend-zone boundaries, but that doesn’t stop me from yanking myself away when Jake materializes in the doorway of Natalie’s hospital room.
His face is set, his jaw clenched. “Who do you think you are?” he asks Eliot then glares at me accusatorily. “What the heck’s going on?”