"This is a bad idea, Susan."
Susan Wrigley ignored her sister's warning, hastening her tottery gait down the bright hospital corridor. She caught a brief glimpse of an emaciated man, unnervingly close to her age, in one semi-private room. She winced from the stench of antiseptics and excreta stabbing into her nose.
"Julia won't want to see you, Susan. Shouldn't that be obvious?"
"No, Mag, it shouldn't." She scanned the nearest door. Four numbers away. "Maybe this illness has shifted her obstinacy. Maybe she'll want to reconcile." Two numbers. "God knows there may not be much more time."
"Don't be saying things like that to her."
Susan turned, mere feet from the door. "Don't tell me what I can or can't say. Now come inside and be quiet--or stay here and be quiet."
Susan marched through the door, head high in certainty of her belonging. A nurse was tending to the equipment around the nearer bed. She turned, and sucked in her breath. Her patient lifted her head, and her eyes narrowed to slits.
The faces were the same. The chins jutted the same way; the noses were identically long and thin; the ears had the same large, loose folds; the sad wrinkles cut as deeply. Their once-brown hair had faded to brittle white. Their eyes were the same muted blue, with the same two brown specks above one pupil--but the expressions behind those eyes were not the same.
Susan momentarily recoiled, unprepared for the absolute likeness. Julia wasn't surprised, and didn't lose a second.
"I don't want that woman here!" Julia rasped. "Nurse, get her out!"
Recovering, Susan advanced. "I have a right to be here, Julia."
"No you don't. What are you waiting for?" Julia's eyes left the nurse, settling past Susan. "Aunt Margaret! Why did you bring her here? Why?"
Margaret pulled gently at Susan's shoulder. "You really should leave."
"No." Susan wrenched her shoulder free, but the nurse came, sternly determined. "No."
"I won't have my patient disturbed. You two will have to step outside."
"No," said Julia. "Let Margaret stay."
The nurse let Margaret slip past, but firmly herded Susan into the hallway. She looked hard at the woman, the image of her patient, and a frown set upon her mouth.
"I have a right, Nurse--" She squinted at the plate above her breast. "Nurse Delgado. I have a right." Her insistence was weak, defeated. "At least tell me what her condition is."
Delgado relented slightly, shepherding Susan to a bench, mechanically helping her sit. "Ms. Wrigley came in with mild pneumonia a week ago. The infection left her susceptible to septicemia, which we caught and treated early. She's recovering, and should be ready for discharge in--actually, you should speak with Doctor Qiu about details."
"Has she--has she been in much pain?"
Delgado hesitated. "She's as comfortable as we can make her. If you'll excuse me."
Susan hooked her wrist with knotted fingers. "Could she still die?"
The nurse held her expression steady. "From the septicemia? Unlikely." She separated herself, but paused. "I want to check my assumption. You are Ms. Wrigley's mother, correct?"
Susan laboriously raised herself to full height, still rather small. "That's right."
A detached mask fell over Delgado's face. "I thought so. Good-bye."
She walked back toward Julia's room, leaving Susan Wrigley fuming behind her. She had seen that look before Delgado cut it off, the disapproval, the instant judgment and condemnation. It was so common of people, so narrow.
It was just like her daughter.
)
