A Heart of Time by Shari J. Ryan Page A

“Olive,” I call softly. “Can you hear me?”
    The EMT I’m sitting beside looks over at me and shakes his head slightly as if to tell me not to bother. Why wouldn’t I bother? “She’s alive, isn’t she?” I spew angrily.
    “Yes, she is,” he says. “I’m just afraid she can’t hear you.”
    “You don’t know that,” I grit. “You’re not a doctor, remember?”
    “Take it easy, sir,” he says, remaining calm. Unlike me.
    “Take it easy? Take it easy?” I shout. “My wife died giving birth to this little girl. She is my entire fucking world. I wanted to homeschool her just so I knew she’d be safe. So don’t you tell me to take it easy—you understand?”
    “That’s irrational,” he says, looking away from me. Cocky, arrogant, doctor wannabe.
    I want to hit him. I want to punch him square in the goddamn jaw right now, but I know they’d kick me out of this claustrophobic vehicle, so I shut my mouth and clench my jaw.
    We arrive at the hospital. This hospital—this horrible place of death that I promised myself I would never to walk into again, and yet here I am. It already stole Ellie and now it’s threatening to take my sweet, little Olive.
    As I walk down the endless hall of white, an image flashes through my blurry mind—Olive at two days old in the car seat I spent hours learning how to take apart and put back together, just to make sure I knew exactly how to operate it when it came time. She was buckled in snuggly, looking up at me as I held the seat firmly within my embrace. I remember thinking it’s just you and me now as I wondered how I was going to do this—be this little girl’s sole provider for every single thing she needs. Then I wondered how I got to that point, and why? How could I ever imagine leaving this hospital without Ellie? That wasn’t the plan.
    The sight of the EMTs rushing Olive into one of the triage areas pulls me from my thoughts. A nurse greets us just as Olive is transferred from the gurney to a bed. “Sir, you’re quite pale,” she says as she pulls up a chair and taps the armrest. “Have a seat.” I do as she asks because I don’t think my legs are strong enough to support the weight of my heart any longer. “A doctor will be here momentarily.” She places her hand on my shoulder and I look up at her.
    A familiar face stares back at me, but I don’t say much to confirm the similar question swimming through her eyes. Yes, I do look familiar. Yes, you were the one who handed Olive to me just as she was born and just as my wife died. I’m guessing I only look familiar to her. This hospital sees hundreds of people a day, I’m sure. “Thank you,” I say.
    “Mr. Cole,” she sighs. “It has been a while.” Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears. “We’ll give your little girl the best care possible. I promise.”
    “You remember me?” I ask, shock lacing my hoarse voice.
    “I have never forgotten you. I could never forget you. You and Olive have weighed heavily on my mind for years. I think of you often, wondering how you are doing.” She breaks her stare from my eyes and focuses on Olive. “She looks just like her. She’s beautiful.” The nurse squeezes her hand around my shoulder and croaks, “I’ll be right back.”
    As promised, a doctor comes jogging around the corner and up to Olive’s bedside. He introduces himself and then checks Olive over from head to toe, inspecting her pupils and neck first. He turns to me, saying, “We need to send her for a CT scan right away.” He lifts the phone and puts in the order to whoever is on the other end of the line. In less than two minutes Olive’s bed is being rolled out of the room and down the hall. When we enter the new area, I’m asked to remain in the waiting room because I can’t go in with her for the CT scan. Once again, I’m forced to sit in a waiting room, waiting to hear the destiny of the one living person I love.
    “Can I get you some tea or coffee?”