Miranda Read Free Page A

Martinez will come to speak with you soon.”
    I approached Norman. With every step I took, I seemed to feel the pain of his wounds in my own flesh. My legs couldn’t stand it anymore and there, next to the bed, I fell to my knees. I took his pinky between my hands. I began talking to him the way he always spoke to me.
    “I don’t have time for this, Norman. You better get out of here quickly. This is no time to be taking a vacation. Leave that to others.” I could barely hold back my tears. I couldn’t help but think of our last conversation, less than twenty-four hours ago.
    Norman had been leading a campaign against me. He was determined that I devote myself to living. He would say that I spent too much time studying and working–that at thirty-two it was time for me to do something more with my life.
    Did he sense that something would happen to him?
    I felt a stare at my back. I couldn’t lift my head. The weight of profound sadness from seeing him this way was too much. A woman spoke from the doorway. It seemed to me like she didn’t want to see my reaction to the bad news. She must have learned that was the best way to deliver it: without looking people in the eye.
    “I’m not going to lie to you. Mr. Clausell’s condition is very serious. The next forty-eight hours are going to be very important to making a prognosis.”
    Dr. Martinez approached me. She helped me up off the floor. I dried my tears and turned towards her. I could only speak in a low whisper. “What’s supposed to happen during these forty-eight hours?”
    “His body needs to start the healing process: the intracranial bleeding must stop, and the pressure against the walls of the brain must diminish. If that happens, it would be a good sign.”
    I paused the conversation briefly.
    “What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked, without really wanting to know.
    “That the bleeding doesn’t stop or increases, and that it causes permanent brain damage, or even worse, that Mr. Clausell’s body goes into shock and cardiac arrest.”
    The summary I imagined seemed more appropriate:
stated simply, he could die any moment.
    “Is there something I can do besides praying?”
    It goes without saying how helpless I felt just waiting and doing nothing, at the mercy of whatever his body decided to do.
    “Yes, you can do something more.” A feeling of hope came over me. “You can help us contact a relative, wife, perhaps children–someone to consent to the surgeries to repair his broken bones.”
    The sense of hope dissipated.
    “And if no one shows up?” I asked without analyzing what she might think.
    She looked at me a little confused.
    “In case no close next of kin can be reached, we can proceed with the necessary treatment to ensure Mr. Clausell’s health, but we’re required to document that an effort was made to contact them. I’m certain that Detective Hernandez will take care of that.” She approached Norman and began to inspect the intravenous medications that were being administered. “What is your relationship to the patient?” she asked as she moved slowly towards the monitors that displayed every sign of life still left in him.
    “Mr. Clausell is a good friend…” my words were interrupted by a sigh.
Why do I give these people details?
I asked myself. “And my boss,” I added anyway.
    As she listened to the explanation, the doctor flashed me half a smile. With my last three words, she had come to her own conclusion. I imagine that with so many years of practicing medicine, she’s heard so many stories that one more didn’t surprise her.
    I couldn’t stay with Norman much longer. On my way out, I ran into Ethan. Protocol wasn’t necessary.
    “He’s fucked up. Right?”
    I nodded while looking to support myself against the wall. I needed something to share the weight I felt inside. He spoke again.
    “A little fucked up, very fucked up, or too fucked up?”
    Ethan’s personality forced people to believe that