38

THE DIALYSIS CLINIC STILL SEEMS STRANGE WITHOUT MR. Walters. New people come in all the time, unfortunately for them, but Mr. Walters was always the constant. The big guy in white. Now that we’re friends, I see why all the nurses liked him.

“Heard from Mark lately?” I ask Nurse Sonya, who sits nearly hidden behind the wall partition.

She shakes her head.

I feel guilty. I haven’t seen him since we played cards almost two months ago. School has started, and I’ve gotten busy again. I make a note to call him.

Dr. Blankenship walks by the nurses’ station. She stops when she sees me. She’s on her way home, already changed out of her lab coat.

“Hey, Doc.” I lean through the window and call.

“Gal.” Her face falls. “I was about to call you.”

I observe her pale face. “It’s not good news, I presume?”

We go to her office. She shuts the door and sits not behind her desk, but in the chair next to mine.

“Gal,” she says, “I have some bad news.”

My body tenses. Something else happened. Kidney guidelines have changed; I am never going to get a transplant.

Her hair falls over her face as she leans her head to the side. “Gal. Mark Walters passed away yesterday.”

I do not comprehend what she is telling me. I blink dumbly.

“He got another infection last week, and didn’t recover. I’m sorry.” She blinks rapidly. “His funeral will be on Saturday.”

“But I just saw him,” I blurted, though really it was six weeks ago. “We played cards.”

“I’m sorry, Gal.” She reaches for pen and paper, scribbling down the name of a church. Her hand shakes, so her handwriting’s worse than usual. “We did everything we could.” Her nose runs.

I pluck out a tissue from the generic box on her desk.

She blows. “I really ought to buy the nicer stuff. This is rough.”

We both laugh in spite of ourselves.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Gal. I try not to get personally involved, but that is impossible sometimes.”

“I know.” Cold floods my fingers. My heart pounds quickly in my ears. I hold onto the chair arms so I don’t fall out.

Walters can’t be dead.

I take the piece of paper with the church address and put it in my purse.

“Don’t worry, Gal. I won’t let that happen to you.” She looks up at me, newly intense, and she sounds like she is speaking the truth. But all she speaks is her own promise. There’s a difference.

I push my chair back. I’m sick to my stomach. “I’ve got to start dialysis.”

“I’ll walk out with you.” She gets up. She turns off the lights and locks her door, checking the knob twice. I wait, realizing my hands are shaking.

I follow her slowly out. She pauses at the nurses’ station, and I know she is going to break the news to them. I return to the waiting room and go into the bathroom, lock the door, so I don’t have to watch.