Robert Has a Heart Attack, part three

Leta sat in the hospital waiting room. Her husband Robert had been injured at work and was with the doctors. A friend of his telephoned her at home while she was preparing supper. She had dropped everything and taken a taxi to the destination. So far there was no word. She did not know the extent of her husband’s injuries and now, after being at the hospital for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, she did not know how long she had been there. She remained in the seat where the nurse guided her upon her arrival. She looked around the room from time to time. She heard bits and pieces of conversations that occurred around her. She heard doors open and close and stretchers and wheelchairs being maneuvered around. The telephone rang, and someone answered it.

“Ma?” Vivian said, and Leta jumped in her seat, startled out of the trance she had fallen into as she waited.

“Vivian?” Leta questioned and for the first time in her life she felt old. She was only 52, and while she had been tired many times, she had never felt old.

Vivian sat down beside her before she could rise.

“Thank you for coming,” Leta murmured. “Where is Don?”

“With the neighbors,” Vivian answered. “What happened? On the telephone the nurse said that there was some kind of accident?”

Leta told her daughter all that she knew, which in Vivian’s mind was far from acceptable.

“How long have you been here?” Vivian asked.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter after four,” Vivian answered.

‘How did you get here?” Leta asked.

“I took a taxi.”

“That’s so far.”

“Ed is still at work. I had to.”

“Where is Don?”

“With the neighbors.”

This felt safe. She was talking about something else. Talking about transit and her grandson. Leta felt as though a breeze of simplicity was lifting her off of her chair and away from all of the uncertainty and fear that had been holding her in her place. She wanted to float away from all of this, wake from it in her own life of husband, laughter, housekeeping, and grandchildren. That was where she belonged.

“Ma, what time did you get here?” Vivian inquired, yanking her back to the emergency room, where she was anxiously waiting for information about her husband.

“Since quarter after three,” Leta answered.

“That’s two hours!” Vivian exclaimed. “And you haven’t heard anything?’

“No.”

“Are you all right for a minute?” Vivian said. “I’ll be right back.”

She patted Leta’s hand and stood. Leta considered watching her, but could not bring herself to doing anything other than what she was already doing—sitting and waiting.

To be continued.