Page 8 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
“Kenzie!” she says like she just recognized me. “I didn’t realize it was you. Do you know him?”
“He’s…uh… He’s my boyfriend…”
* * *
Every time that door swings open, I pivot to attention. My nerves are ready to ignite. Is he all right? How bad is it? I need to know!
My watch—the cool old type with the hands on a blue background—says it’s been four minutes since Regina made me wait out here and said she’dsee what she could do. It feels like hours. It has to have been hours. Come on, Regina! Work your magic. If Marcia were here, I’d already be back there. She would have found a way.
I grip my necklace. It’s a half-moon affixed to a small jar filled with the tiniest little amethyst stone, a sliver of cedarwood, horsetail, and lavender. My anxiety jar. It stays around my neck twenty-four seven.
Everything is going to be okay.
I have no reason to worry.
I am at peace.
Be calm. It’s all going to be fine…but isn’t the best intention the one followed up by action? I bite my lip and eye the door leading farther into the hospital. I know the hospital, sort of. Benefits of interning here. I could go back. Say hey to a few nurses if they’re here. Who knows, maybe I’ll happen across a certain guy’s room. I shrug and before I know it, I’m on my feet.
The problem is getting through the first set of double doors and into Triage without being noticed. I could ask if Lenore is working, see if they’ll let me go back to talk to her. She usually worked the evening shift. It could work. Maybe.
I get up and start toward the greeter’s desk at the front of the ED entrance check-in. The nurse is younger, probably in her early twenties, straight black hair well past her shoulders, deep brown cheeks under green eyes. There is a security guard next to the desk, bent over with his elbows propped on its surface,back facing me. I can’t make out more than his midnight-blue uniform with SECURITY in large bold letters across the back.
“Is Lenore here tonight?” I whisper, practicing as I cross the waiting room. I’m close. All that separates me from the desk is a row of chairs with a few ill-appearing people waiting to be seen. I practice again, “Is Lenore here? Can I go—”
A man’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Help! I think she’s having a heart attack!” he yells, tugging a woman through the sliding glass doors and into the entrance of the ED while holding her under his arm. His face is taut, and dark circles hang under his eyes. He’s struggling to keep the woman up, and our eyes meet. “Help!”
I’m closest, and for the second time tonight I rush forward to help a stranger. Looping my arm under her arm, I hoist up and move forward with him. I don’t know this person. But here I am. The back of her shirt is wet; she’s sweating and her breathing is shallow. She’s heavy in our grip.
“She’s barely breathing,” he pleads as the nurse jumps into action and rounds the corner of the desk. Another comes out of nowhere with a wheelchair and starts calmly giving instructions.
“Here, sit her down.” She motions to us as we keep moving. “Andrea, have Dalton turn a room, quick.”
“On it.” The nurse who was just behind the counter, Andrea, runs back to her post as we wheel who-knows-who past the ED doors and into the back of the ED.
A few steps in, Dalton—I assume—motions us into an empty room. In a whirlwind of structured chaos, the wheelchair is parked beside the stretcher and the men have hoisted the woman up and laid her onto the stretcher.
“Thank you.” The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can go back to the waiting room and they will assist you there.”
I don’t move, but she’s too worried about the patient to notice. Then as suddenly as it all happened, it hits me. I’m in the back of the ED. Did I just get back here without having to make up an excuse? I did. Oh my gods, I did! For a brief second I forget why I wanted to make it back here, but it comes rushing back in an instant. Hayden! And with it, the worry and dread. Please be okay, Hayden!
Where would he be? Trauma comes to mind, but I don’t want to think it’s that bad, so I wait long enough for the nurse with the wheelchair to disappear around the corner before I take the same route. I flatten against the wall and slide to the edge. A quick peek around the corner reveals a line of open doors along the right wall and an open desk on the other side. I think there were two nurses.
Just act natural and no one will question it. You can do it. Breathe, Kenzie.
Everyone says I’m a thrill seeker, especially Mom, and she hates it, but this isn’t it. This is like go-to-jail-level thrill. Then again, trespassing abandoned buildings I guess is too…hmm…but still, it isn’t the same. There aren’t people there who I have to avoid. It’s quiet, and empty, and eerie, not patrolled, and sterile, and in danger of violating HIPAA. Shit. This was such a bad idea.
You’re here now. Just commit.
I suck in a big gulp of air and not at all stiffly swing around the corner and start down the hall. Walking has never felt this difficult before.Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Don’t make eye contact.A set of nurses approach on my left, so I keep my eyes diverted, a little too interested in the posters about washing your hands and getting your flu vaccination. Look casu—
“Kenzie?” one of the nurses calls out just as I’m passing.
Shit. Uh…wait…is that…
“Amanda!” I yell, having to shove down the volume.Remember. Hospital.
