Chapter 7
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I nodded once.
Then I walked out.
The chapel was on the first floor, near the older part of the hospital. Its door stood open. Sunlight filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, casting pale blue and amber shapes across the wooden floor.
Marcus sat in the front row.
He was still wearing his hospital clothes, but his white coat lay folded beside him. His head was bowed. His right hand rested palm-up on his knee.
For several seconds, I just stood there and watched him.
He looked smaller than he had that morning.
Not physically.
Something about the way he sat, shoulders rounded, made him seem like the young man I had met before medical school—earnest, awkward, determined to become someone worthy of the future he had imagined.
I stepped inside.
The door clicked softly behind me.
Marcus lifted his head.
The color drained from his face.
“Claire.”
He stood too quickly, caught himself against the pew, and then looked at the lunch bag in my hand.
“You came here.”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped.
“Did David tell you?”
“Not everything.”
He closed his eyes.
I took a few steps toward him.
“He told me about your hand.”
Marcus remained still.
“He told me about the diagnosis.”
His jaw tightened.
“Claire—”
“He told me you’re having surgery tomorrow.”
Marcus looked toward the stained-glass window.
For a moment, I thought he might deny it.
Instead, he nodded.
“Yes.”
The simplicity of it hurt more than a complicated explanation would have.
I set the lunch bag on the end of the pew.
“Turkey on rye.”
His mouth trembled.
“Your note is under the fork,” I said.
“I saw it.”
“You saw it?”
“David brought the bag to me.”
“He brought you my lunch?”
“I asked him to.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t face you yet.”
There it was.
The truth.
Not polished. Not protected.
I sat down.
Marcus stayed standing.
“Sit,” I said.
He hesitated.
“Please.”
He sat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us.
I looked at his hands.
He noticed.
“They’re better today,” he said quietly.
“That’s what they told me.”
“They?”
“David. Dr. Patel.”
His eyes closed.
“They shouldn’t have had to.”
“No,” I said. “They shouldn’t.”
We sat in silence.
A chapel bell chimed somewhere outside. The sound was soft and distant.
Finally, Marcus said, “I was going to tell you tonight.”
“After Emily went to sleep.”