Almost Okay

In Grove Harbor Medical Hospital, just off the highway, a woman with thin, mousy brown hair sat in one of the uncomfortable gray cane chairs lining the hallway. Her daughter, a tiny specimen with small glasses and painful-looking tight pigtails, sat on the floor at her mother’s feet, playing with an old wire-and-bead toy she’d found on a side table. A harried-looking nurse walked over tiredly, her eyes kind and earnest.

“Are you alright, hon?” Maybe an odd thing to ask in a hospital waiting room. Maybe a necessity of politeness. Maybe much-needed.

“What?” the woman looked up quickly, as if brought suddenly out of a trance. Her eyes were shining wetly, her lips pressed together tightly. “Um, Adelaide. Adelaide Waters. Room 238. I’m his daughter.” She bit her bottom lip, which had not-so-long ago been coated in lipstick in the shade of ‘Pristine Scarlet.’ The evidence remained unfortunately on her tooth, on the bloody patch of chewed skin.

“Okay, hon.” The nurse walked away, nodding knowingly, and offering a weak, forced smile to the little girl.

Adelaide Waters, fully out of her reverie, carefully grabbed the handbag stowed under the chair in one shaking hand. 

“Reinleigh, get off the floor now! It’s filthy in here,” she snapped at the little girl as she strode past the janitor and into the women’s room. She approached the mirror, Reinleigh at her heels, and began removing objects from the handbag. She dabbed carefully under her eyes with part of a little Kleenex pouch, and, in shock and horror, discovered the lipstick on her teeth. She reapplied it carefully, rolling the tube of Pristine Scarlet back and forth several times between her fingers. She spritzed perfume at her collarbone, checked her nails, clasped the handbag with a snap, and strode out again, Reinleigh running after her.

Back in the cane chair with a fresh cup of coffee, she waited. The clock ticked on the wall softly, and she stared at it. Reinleigh, banned from the “germy baby toy” dozed off in a chair a little past nine pm. Adelaide sat, her back straight, her eyes narrowed.

“Addy!” 

At first glance, this man could not have been more different from Adelaide Waters if he was from Venus. Her pencil skirt, carefully smoothed, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her hose and heels and blouse, were all carefully arranged, ironed, thought out and organized, just like their owner.

Timothy Waters was a very tall, thin man, in a backwards Mariners cap, soaked from the rain outside. His jeans were stained and baggy, his hair grown in tangled curls, the start of a 5 o’clock shadow ran along his sharp jawline. But his eyes were like hers—that soft, soft gray. 

“Where’s he at, then?” he grinned at her, but with something tired and defeated in his eyes, something only she saw. 

“Uncle Timothy!” Reinleigh, who had woken up at his first shout, ran and wrapped her arms around his leg. The nurse at the desk shot them a nasty look at the noise.

“Lee-lee!” He picked her up and swung her around, laughing. “What did I tell you about calling me that?” his voice went mock-stern.

“Sorry, T-Dawg.” She went into a fit of giggles, and Adelaide shook her head firmly, but there was something like relief in her eyes that only he saw. He nodded and looked back at Reinleigh.

“How many cups of coffee has your mom had?” he asked.

“Reinleigh! Put her down, Timo”— she glanced at him— “Tim.”

He set the little girl down, and she sat back in the chair next to her mother with a huge smile. 

“Where is he?”

“Room 238.”

He started to walk away. “He isn’t allowed visitors,” she called after him. He stopped and spun around, marching to the chair beside her. 

“Adelaide.”

“Yes?”

“Adelaide.”

“I said yes?”

“Oh—you’re not telling me you really called me all the way here because the old man was sick, and we’re not allowed to see him?”

“You’ve seen him before.” 

“Adelaide!”

“It’s the right thing to do! When a—a family member is sick, you help. It’s the right thing to do.” Her voice caught on the word sick.

Seven more people came in at the same time, from doors on opposite ends of the hall. 

“Oh, there you are—”

“Adelaide, why—” they both stopped dead in their tracks.

“You told me she wouldn’t be here! Honestly, I—” The first, a man no more than an inch shorter than Tim, with dark eyebrows, thick straight hair around his face, and a bomber jacket, was accompanied by his young, pretty, hispanic wife, and four small children, the youngest of whom he carried, bundled in one arm.

The other was alone, a tall young woman with extraordinarily vivid blue streaks in her hair, in a t-shirt emblazoned with some faded rock band and an apron stained with what looked like coffee. 

“Good to see you too, Chuck!” she smiled sarcastically, turning her head with a little shake to get her bangs out of her eyes and looking boredly at the ground. There was grief in her eyes that only Adelaide and Tim seemed to notice, glancing at each other. 

“Charlie, Beatrice, I—”

“Oh, shut up, Addy,” they both said at the both time, and glared at each other. 

“We all know you lied to get us here, Chuck should have expected it. As if that suck up wouldn’t come to the aid of his dying father. He’s probably hoping, one last time, to kiss his—”

“He’s not dying!” said Adelaide, Timothy and Charlie simultaneously.

“Fine, think that,” she said, striding over to the chairs and dumping her bag and apron in one. She sat down in another, slumped, her arms folded over one of the band member’s heads. “And no one calls me that. It’s Bea.”

It was silent for a moment. 

“You don’t have to get along. You don’t have to talk to each other. But keep it together for him,” Adelaide finally whispered. The nurse at reception had wide eyes, not-quite-staring at them. “Keep. It. Together.”

“Lilly, take the kids to get something to eat, would you, peach? Cafeteria should be open. Here,” Charlie handed his wife a card, strangled out of his stuffed wallet. She nodded curtly, lips pressed together as she surveyed the rest of them, and shuffled their small sons and daughter away. Charlie had apparently forgotten he was still holding a baby. He sighed, shook his head, reached into his pocket again, and began talking quietly on the phone, walking away with a baby on his shoulder.

“What a nice reunion this is. When was the last time we were all together, in all our togetherness? Oh yeah, when…” Bea fell silent suddenly, glanced at Tim, and swallowed. He stared at the wall.

“Food sounds great,” Adelaide said suddenly, “I’ll get us some.”

“I’m not—”

“Great,” she smiled, her lips thin, and she walked away, Reinleigh running behind her to keep up.

The smell of hospital air giving her a headache, she took the elevator to the Cafeteria, where she almost ran into Lilly and the kids.

“Mom, I want pizzaaaa,” the oldest boy whined, tugging on her sleeve, his eyes teary.

“Benjamin, I need you to—” the boy, probably nine or ten, began to cry loudly. Several passersby glanced at them awkwardly, and Lilly nodded quickly. 

“Ok, ok, yeah, we’ll try to find pizza. But this isn’t just an ordinary day, Benjamin, we’re—I mean—ok, yes, you can have pizza, if we can—”

“I hate pizza, said the girl vehemently. Lilly looked panic-stricken.

“Why?” Reinleigh’s small voice poked out from behind her mother’s skirt. The girl looked around, surprised.

“It’s gross.”

“What? How can pizza be gross? It’s delicious!”

“Not the way she makes it,” said the girl. Lilly, eyes watering, placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Reinleigh—that’s your cousin Skylar,” Adelaide said swiftly, stepping in between Lilly and Skylar in one move. “You talk to her while I get in line for some food, okay?” Reinleigh made to follow her mother, eyes wide, but Adelaide shook her head primly and moved away. The line for food was short because it was so late. Lilly moved up behind her, her face a mess of anxiety.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Adelaide just nodded, but Lilly continued. “I don’t know what to do with them. Their mom—Sheila keeps canceling visits, and so they’re around the house all the time, and they don’t listen to me. They say I’m not their real mom, and I can’t tell them what to do,” she whispered, as though afraid they would hear from across the large Cafeteria. 

“I’m—” Adelaide, looking extremely uncomfortable, nodded comfortingly. Lost for words, she patted Lilly’s shoulder softly.

“Jeez, aren’t there any decent tacos in this place? I guess that’s hospital food. I hate cliches.” Bea was behind them, as though she’d materialized silently.

“Yes, yes, um, hospital food,” Adelaide said quickly, “where’s Charlie?”

“I’m not his keeper. Except that one time he got stuck naked at—”

“Aunt Beatrice!” Reinleigh wrapped her arms around Bea’s leg tightly. Skylar grabbed her other leg, smiling, following Reinleigh. Lilly looked shocked.

“Your—how did—?”

“Reinleigh? She plays well with others, I suppose,” Adelaide shrugged and turned away.

“Trabajador milagroso,” Lilly whispered. 

The kids had wound their way into a sleepy pile in the corner of the waiting room. Bea was sitting cross-legged in a chair, headphones in, nodding her head along slowly. Lilly and Adelaide sat a chair apart, Lilly holding the baby anxiously. Charlie had walked away on the phone again. Tim was sitting in the corner, looking anxious and awful.

“Work keeps him a lot,” Lilly whispered, cooing at the baby gently.

“Yes,” Adelaide said quietly, “I know.” She stood up at once, and marched to reception. The clock on the wall read 11 o’clock.

The nurse at reception was scrolling on her phone, and didn’t look up.

“Excuse me,” Adelaide said, but she didn’t seem to hear. “Ma’am. Hello. I have been waiting with my daughter and family for almost four hours in this room. I need to see my father now. Room 238.” 

The nurse stared at her tiredly.

“Please,” she added, nodding. “You look him up. I’ll wait.” She chewed on her lip while the nurse typed slowly. 

“Room 238. You can see him now, go ahead. That way.” With that, she was back on her phone.

Her heart sank. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. You can see him now, go ahead. She marched back to the seats.

“What—” Charlie began to ask, shoving his phone back in his pocket, but just then Tim stood up and bolted.

“Timothy!” Adelaide called, and Bea sat up straight. Lilly, who had just fallen asleep, jumped suddenly.

“Go after him, Charlie!”

“What? Me?”

“Oh, gosh, Chuck, stop acting like you’re two. Go after him!” Bea yelled as the baby started to fuss. 

“It’s not like I can help him. It’s not like any of us can help him. After Emily, he has good reason to hate hospitals!” He tugged at the front of his shirt. “Jeez, I’m sweating.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and took one out, resting it in his mouth as he clicked a lighter. 

“Sir. Sir, you can’t smoke that in here,” said the nurse at reception angrily. He grimaced and stalked off without another word. Lilly watched him go, rocking the baby anxiously.

“Watch the kids, Bea.”

“Red bull and puppies? Yippee!” she said sardonically as Adelaide walked away huffily. She reached the door of the men’s bathroom, took a deep breath, clutched her handbag tightly, and walked in. It was, thankfully, mostly empty.

Tim stood over the sink, hands bracing himself, face wet as though he’d just splashed water all over it. He wasn’t looking in the mirror, just standing, breathing as though he’d just run a marathon.

He looked up when he heard her, his face red, his eyes swollen, his mouth agape.

“Timothy. Tim. Are you—”

“He-he-he’s not going to die. Not like she did. Not like Mom. Not like Emily.”

Adalaide reached out for him, patting his arm as he shook.

“It’s not the same, Tim, it’s not the same. It’s okay. It’s going to be o—”

The bathroom door opened again, and a male nurse came in, looking uncomfortable at the sight of them.

“Room 238? They said you’d be in here. I’m sorry, he’s crashing. You should come—”

“Tell m-me,” whispered Tim, “tell me it’ll be okay. If you say it, it’s true. You’re my big sister.”

You’re my big sister.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said, because she couldn’t lie. And they ran.

It was dark in the room, just a lamp lit by the bed. It washed the man in it in a shade of faint blue. Even the children were silent in the corner, Skylar and Reinleigh sitting side-by-side, the others piled up anxiously.

“There you are!” Chuck said as they ran into the room, his voice shaky. He looked like a teenager again, clean-shaven, thin, anxiously pacing. Bea was standing by the bed, just standing over it, her eyes closed as if in prayer. Maybe she was, Adelaide thought. They all looked far too young in the half-light, far too young for all of this.

“Dad,” she whispered, frozen. Tim moved towards the bed, all of them staring at the old man. She wondered if they were all thinking the same thing… he didn’t look much like a dad. He looked… 

“So small,” Bea whispered, “he looks so small.” Adelaide tried to move toward her, to comfort them all, to help, but she was frozen.

The sound of a flatline is possibly the worst sound in the world, other than the sound of silent tears.

They moved into the hallway as though they were falling, as if they were in slow-motion, moving through snapshots, gasps for breath. 

Bea leaned her forehead against the wall, cursing in mutters. It was silent, ragged.

“They said—they said,” Charlie said loudly, “he’d been cleared for visitors an hour ago. An hour. You—” he started towards Adelaide, his finger towards her chest, his voice slurred.

“You’re drunk! You—how dare—”

“You knew?” Tim turned toward her, his eyes wet again, his voice remarkably calm. “You told me everything would be alright. And you knew we could go see him, knew they probably only cleared him for visitors because it was about to happen. And you…” he turned away, his face shining in the dim fluorescent lights. Charlie gave a gasp and wretched into the nearest garbage can. Bea was crying, tears streaking her makeup down her face, her lip wobbling, her foot tapping, her arms crossed, forehead creased. She glanced up at Adelaide and shook her head. 

“We’re leavinnng,” Charlie slurred as Lilly came around the corner, children leaning against her, pale-faced and baggy-eyed.

“No. Please,” Adelaide grabbed his arm and he ripped it away. 

“Don’t push me, Addy.”

“You can’t drive like this, Char—”

“Don’t tell me what I can do!” he snapped at Lilly, who cowered backwards. His face broke, his eyes wet, “I am m-my father’s son. I can do anything the hell I want to.”

“Sure are your father’s son,” Bea said quietly. 

“Stay for the funeral, Charlie. It can’t be like last time. It can’t.”

“Like last time? And the time before? We’re going to ignore the obvious?” Charlie spoke with the altogether drunk and angry voice of a man who knew what he was saying was awful, but couldn’t help it. “Everytime there’s a death in the family, we get farther and farther apart, and you lie and patch it up and pretend like you’re mom to get everyone back t-together, and then someone goes and gets cancer or their husband drives them into oncoming traffic, and s-suddenly…”

Bang! Charlie’s head hit the floor with a crash. Lilly and Bea screamed and Adelaide gasped as Tim landed another blow across Charlie’s face, on top of him on the floor. 

“You—you—you—” Tim couldn’t seem to form the words, just tears and hit after hit. Charlie was up, fast and staggering and unsteady, and knocked Tim over in turn. They were back on the floor then, rolling and yelling and kicking and punching, and then up, and then there was blood on Charlie’s face and he hit the wall hard, and Lilly was screaming and the kids had started crying. And Reinleigh.

She ran forward, her arms outstretched like an angel between the men, her mother behind her to stop her, to fix it all herself, but she didn’t… she had slumped to the floor, utterly torn apart, watching her family burn down.

You lie and patch it up and pretend like you’re mom to get everyone back together… 

No one quite saw how it happened. Reinleigh hit the floor with a cry, and suddenly Tim and Charlie were both staggering backwards, shocked and bloodied.

“Reinleigh!” Skylar ran forward towards her new friend, at the same time as Tim started to scoop her up and Adelaide ran forward.

“Tim—I’m—” Charlie reached down, his eyes red, his face pale.

“Apologize when you’re sober,” Tim said curtly. He wiped a tear off Reinleigh’s face.

“Don’t fight anymore, please,” she said, burying her face in his shirt. 

“We won’t, we won’t, Reinleigh,” Charlie said quickly, running a hand down his face.

“I should’ve—” Adelaide started, reaching for Reinleigh tenderly, “my Reinleigh. I should’ve told you all, I should’ve—” 

"I didn't want it to be just like Mom and Emily, where we never see each other again, I-I wanted it to be... "

"It'll be okay, Addy," Tim said quietly.

Bea hugged her from behind. And it was almost okay.