distant sound of voices reached her. She crossed to a large door operated by a crash bar and pushed into what looked like a standard hospital corridor. A glance in either direction revealed no exit sign.
An older female patient with wispy gray hair, wearing a smock similar to the one Christy now wore, ambled toward her aided by a squeaky walker. Beyond her, the hall ended at a sign that read ADMINISTRATOR.
“Don’t you worry, honey,” the patient said, smiling toothless, “just stay away from the Froot Loops. They’re poison. Rot your teeth right out of your head.”
Christy gave the woman a slow nod. “Can you tell me where the exit is?”
The woman stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at her as if she hadn’t heard. “You drink coffee?” she said. “Cause it’ll rot your gut and give you gas.” She paused. “I got gas right now.” She proved it without breaking eye contact.
Clearly no help. Christy turned to her right and headed to the far end of the hall, which jogged left toward what was hopefully the exit.
Twenty feet ahead, across the hall, a door swung open and a man with brown hair and square glasses, wearing a white doctor’s coat, stepped out of a door marked ADMISSIONS. He led a young patient out by her arm. Blue smock with name tag: ALICE RINGWALD. Shoulder-length dirty blond hair hung around her apprehensive face. The girl’s eyes met Christy’s for a brief moment before Christy looked down.
She angled across the hall and walked past them, keeping her attention averted, hoping she didn’t look out of place in her jeans.
She’d never spent time in a hospital herself—only visited twice, once with Austin when he’d gone for an MRI. Her own self-consciousness seemed absurd in a place like this. Her heart went out to the young girl, who was probably contending with testing and procedures and questions of life and death.
All while Christy worried about a single pimple on her cheek.
The sound of a door opening behind made her wonder where the man in white was taking the girl. She glanced over her shoulder and saw them step through the same door she’d just exited.
“Can I help you?”
Christy jerked her head around and pulled up sharply, three feet from a nurse who stood in her path, clipboard in hand. The door beside the woman whispered shut.
“No, I’m good.” She started forward.
“You sure?” The nurse, Linda Roper by the brass badge on her red blouse, took in Christy’s jeans.
“I was just leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“I was just visiting.” Christy looked down the hall. “That way, right? I got a bit turned around.”
The nurse smiled. “Don’t we all? We don’t have visiting hours in here, dear. That’s what the lounge is for, Britney.”
Christy glanced down at the name tag on her blue smock. How was she going to explain this without looking like a fool? She was busted, pure and simple.
She smiled apologetically. “It’s not mine. I…” What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t think of anything but the truth. Kind of.
“I got lost and ended up in the basement. My shirt ripped and I found this shirt down in the laundry.”
The nurse studied her as if trying to decide if she would buy such an unlikely story.
“Crazy, I know, but I’m not stealing it. I swear, if you have anything else I could wear… I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay, dear. Crazy things happen to the best of us.” She stepped forward, gently rested her hand on Christy’s elbow, and turned her back the way she’d come. “Come with me.”
Christy turned with the woman. “Can I just bring it back? I don’t live far, I swear I’ll bring it right back.”
“Of course. But it’s property of Saint Matthew’s psychiatric ward. I wish I could let you leave with it, but I can’t. We’ll find you something more appropriate.”
“You have something?”
“I think we can find something.”
Good. It was all going to work out. She’d left
An older female patient with wispy gray hair, wearing a smock similar to the one Christy now wore, ambled toward her aided by a squeaky walker. Beyond her, the hall ended at a sign that read ADMINISTRATOR.
“Don’t you worry, honey,” the patient said, smiling toothless, “just stay away from the Froot Loops. They’re poison. Rot your teeth right out of your head.”
Christy gave the woman a slow nod. “Can you tell me where the exit is?”
The woman stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at her as if she hadn’t heard. “You drink coffee?” she said. “Cause it’ll rot your gut and give you gas.” She paused. “I got gas right now.” She proved it without breaking eye contact.
Clearly no help. Christy turned to her right and headed to the far end of the hall, which jogged left toward what was hopefully the exit.
Twenty feet ahead, across the hall, a door swung open and a man with brown hair and square glasses, wearing a white doctor’s coat, stepped out of a door marked ADMISSIONS. He led a young patient out by her arm. Blue smock with name tag: ALICE RINGWALD. Shoulder-length dirty blond hair hung around her apprehensive face. The girl’s eyes met Christy’s for a brief moment before Christy looked down.
She angled across the hall and walked past them, keeping her attention averted, hoping she didn’t look out of place in her jeans.
She’d never spent time in a hospital herself—only visited twice, once with Austin when he’d gone for an MRI. Her own self-consciousness seemed absurd in a place like this. Her heart went out to the young girl, who was probably contending with testing and procedures and questions of life and death.
All while Christy worried about a single pimple on her cheek.
The sound of a door opening behind made her wonder where the man in white was taking the girl. She glanced over her shoulder and saw them step through the same door she’d just exited.
“Can I help you?”
Christy jerked her head around and pulled up sharply, three feet from a nurse who stood in her path, clipboard in hand. The door beside the woman whispered shut.
“No, I’m good.” She started forward.
“You sure?” The nurse, Linda Roper by the brass badge on her red blouse, took in Christy’s jeans.
“I was just leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“I was just visiting.” Christy looked down the hall. “That way, right? I got a bit turned around.”
The nurse smiled. “Don’t we all? We don’t have visiting hours in here, dear. That’s what the lounge is for, Britney.”
Christy glanced down at the name tag on her blue smock. How was she going to explain this without looking like a fool? She was busted, pure and simple.
She smiled apologetically. “It’s not mine. I…” What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t think of anything but the truth. Kind of.
“I got lost and ended up in the basement. My shirt ripped and I found this shirt down in the laundry.”
The nurse studied her as if trying to decide if she would buy such an unlikely story.
“Crazy, I know, but I’m not stealing it. I swear, if you have anything else I could wear… I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay, dear. Crazy things happen to the best of us.” She stepped forward, gently rested her hand on Christy’s elbow, and turned her back the way she’d come. “Come with me.”
Christy turned with the woman. “Can I just bring it back? I don’t live far, I swear I’ll bring it right back.”
“Of course. But it’s property of Saint Matthew’s psychiatric ward. I wish I could let you leave with it, but I can’t. We’ll find you something more appropriate.”
“You have something?”
“I think we can find something.”
Good. It was all going to work out. She’d left
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