Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
With that, he left, leaving me wondering just how I was going to get home.
Being in a city that I didn’t know, I didn’t really have anyone to call—unless I called Sean.
Sean, who I hadn’t informed I was having surgery, let alone spoken to since I’d had the surgery done, in well over a week.
He was probably not very happy with me.
But I’d made the decision, not because I thought Sean couldn’t handle me having surgery, but because I didn’t think he should have to.
We weren’t anything. We’d had sex once, and I’d convinced myself that he really wouldn’t care.
Yes, I was that insecure.
Yet, deep down inside, I knew that wasn’t true. He would’ve cared, but I’d taken the decision to have him at my side away from him, and I expected him to be a little upset by that.
“All right, Ms. Naomi. Your turn!” the nurse announced.
I clapped my hands excitedly, causing her to laugh.
I’d spent a week with these ladies on the floor, and every single one of them had clapped with me when they’d gotten the news that I was finally able to do number two…out of the right hole.
Now I knew that I would have a friend for life.
She’d even offered to let me borrow her cell phone charger when I’d realized I’d forgotten mine.
Though, that was rejected by me.
It was easier not knowing if Sean tried to call, instead of knowing that he hadn’t.
“Ohhh,” Abigail stopped me right outside the doorway of my room, and turned back. “I forgot these came for you while you were getting dressed.”
She walked to the nurses’ station and came back with a vase of flowers.
A really big vase with so many flowers in it that it was obvious that it’d cost a fortune.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Did they say who it was from?”
The meddling woman, the same one that’d been trying to get me to call Sean all week, grinned.
“The delivery guy said ‘from your biker’ to me. The card reads the same.” She pointed at the card.
My belly warmed, and I closed my eyes, finally realizing just how stupid I’d been.
Maybe I should have called him. But then I realized that he had to know where I was to be able to send these. At least hours ago.
Why hadn’t he come up here?
Sure, I was likely overreacting. In fact, I knew I was overreacting. Yet I didn’t care. I wanted someone who freakin’ cared. Who would show up, pissed as hell, that I had been missing a week without an explanation.
“Thanks,” I said to her.
Abigail’s face fell, and she pursed her lips. “I don’t agree.”
I knew she didn’t.
I didn’t know Abagail all that well, but in the short time I had her as my nurse, I knew she spoke her mind. Countless times she’d told me rather bluntly that this was real life. Shit happened, literally. So I needed to stop being embarrassed and live my life.
Something in which I’d promised her I’d do from now on. Something I felt that I could accomplish without that stupid colostomy bag weighing me down and preventing me from wearing the clothes that I wanted to wear.
“Damn, I forgot your prescriptions. Be right back.”
She stopped me beside the elevator, next to an older man that I’d seen walking the floor right along with me over the last day that I’d been able to cajole my body up.
The man looked lost.
“Hello,” I said, touching the old man on the shoulder. “Can I help you with something?”
He looked over at me in my own wheelchair, and shook his head.
He looked sad.
Really sad.
And I wanted to give the old man a hug.
I didn’t usually do that. Not with strangers.
In my line of work, I saw a lot of men and women, especially older folks, who looked sad.
It seemed, the older you became, the lonelier you got. And this man, with his bushy white eyebrows, and his jowly face, looked lonelier than any I’d seen in a long time.
I didn’t know what possessed me to talk to him, but I did.
“They’re springing me. Are they springing you?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“I wasn’t here because I was admitted. Just visiting the ladies who took care of my wife.”
I blinked.
“Oh,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “That’s good, then. How’s your wife doing?”
If I’d read his body language, I would’ve known that this was a sore subject, but I was trying to distract myself from the bouquet of flowers in my lap, instead focusing on this man who looked so sad.
“My wife died a little over six months ago,” he rasped, his voice full of shakes. “She died, and these ladies on the floor did CPR on her for over an hour before the doctor called time of death. They make me feel closer to her, so I come up here and visit.”