said.
“I was caught in traffic on I-95,” Blossom said. “There was a terrible accident. What’s going on?”
“I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” Helen said, trying to prepare her.
Nurse Abbott came out of the room, looking shell-shocked. She took Blossom’s arm and started to lead her to the family lounge. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Zerling. Your husband—”
Blossom screamed before the nurse finished her sentence.
CHAPTER 8
B lossom’s scream stopped abruptly, as if someone had hit a switch. Helen found the sudden silence shocking. Blossom swayed slightly, then suddenly pitched forward.
Nurse Abbott caught the new widow before she hit the floor and held her in a strong grip. Blossom’s head drooped and her face was lily-white.
“Nice catch,” Helen said.
“Years of practice,” the nurse said. “I’m good at spotting when they’re going to drop.”
Helen realized her comment wasn’t very clerical and tried to make amends for her insensitivity with a concerned question. “Is Blossom okay?”
“I think so. Low blood sugar and stress, most likely,” the nurse said. “I’ll check her vitals. Grab that wheelchair there and we’ll take her to the family lounge. If something’s really wrong, we can wheel her straight to the ER.”
Nurse Abbott gently lowered Blossom into the chair and rolled her toward the lounge.
Helen thought its mournful shades of mauve and gray were theperfect place to take a new widow. The blaring TV added to the depressing atmosphere. Helen found the remote and turned down the volume.
Blossom started to come around as they entered the lounge. She shook her head, then ran her fingers through her long brown hair and sighed.
“Welcome back,” Nurse Abbott said, helping her onto a mauve couch.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Blossom said. “I know you’re busy.”
“Your husband just passed away,” Nurse Abbott said. “You don’t have to apologize for being human.” She pulled a flat hospital pillow and a thin blanket from a cabinet and settled the woman comfortably on the couch. Then she checked Blossom’s pulse and blood pressure.
“Both normal,” she reported. “How do you feel now?”
“Fine,” Blossom said. “No, I’m not fine. I feel terrible. Arthur’s dead. I should have been with him when it happened.” A single tear slid down her cheek. Her face looked like it had been dusted with flour. “Because of me, my poor husband died alone.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Helen said. “I was with him. Arthur had a peaceful passing.”
She remembered Nurse Abbott pushing her out of the way and the staff running into Arthur’s room and wondered if that was true.
“He didn’t feel any pain,” Nurse Abbott said. “He wouldn’t have known if you were there.”
“But I know,” Blossom said. “I failed my husband in his final moments.”
“Nonsense,” Nurse Abbott said. “You need some food.”
Blossom wept quietly. Helen handed her a fistful of tissues from a box on the side table, then patted Blossom’s cold hand. The silence stretched between them. Helen wished she could say something comforting but couldn’t find the right words.
She was relieved when Nurse Abbott rushed in with two packs of graham crackers and a cold container of orange juice. “Drink the orange juice,” she commanded. “It will help your blood sugar. Would you like a sandwich?”
“No, thanks,” Blossom said, and started weeping again. “I ate dinner. How could I eat when Arthur was dying?”
“You have to keep up your strength,” Nurse Abbott said. “Life goes on.”
“Can I say good-bye to Arthur now?” Blossom asked.
“We’re getting him tidied up,” Nurse Abbott said.
“Was he”—Blossom hesitated—“hurt?”
“Not at all,” Nurse Abbott said. “But we want to disconnect the IV lines and monitors and clean him up a little. As soon as he’s ready, you can be with him.”
“Thank you,” Blossom said. “You’ve been so
“I was caught in traffic on I-95,” Blossom said. “There was a terrible accident. What’s going on?”
“I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” Helen said, trying to prepare her.
Nurse Abbott came out of the room, looking shell-shocked. She took Blossom’s arm and started to lead her to the family lounge. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Zerling. Your husband—”
Blossom screamed before the nurse finished her sentence.
CHAPTER 8
B lossom’s scream stopped abruptly, as if someone had hit a switch. Helen found the sudden silence shocking. Blossom swayed slightly, then suddenly pitched forward.
Nurse Abbott caught the new widow before she hit the floor and held her in a strong grip. Blossom’s head drooped and her face was lily-white.
“Nice catch,” Helen said.
“Years of practice,” the nurse said. “I’m good at spotting when they’re going to drop.”
Helen realized her comment wasn’t very clerical and tried to make amends for her insensitivity with a concerned question. “Is Blossom okay?”
“I think so. Low blood sugar and stress, most likely,” the nurse said. “I’ll check her vitals. Grab that wheelchair there and we’ll take her to the family lounge. If something’s really wrong, we can wheel her straight to the ER.”
Nurse Abbott gently lowered Blossom into the chair and rolled her toward the lounge.
Helen thought its mournful shades of mauve and gray were theperfect place to take a new widow. The blaring TV added to the depressing atmosphere. Helen found the remote and turned down the volume.
Blossom started to come around as they entered the lounge. She shook her head, then ran her fingers through her long brown hair and sighed.
“Welcome back,” Nurse Abbott said, helping her onto a mauve couch.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Blossom said. “I know you’re busy.”
“Your husband just passed away,” Nurse Abbott said. “You don’t have to apologize for being human.” She pulled a flat hospital pillow and a thin blanket from a cabinet and settled the woman comfortably on the couch. Then she checked Blossom’s pulse and blood pressure.
“Both normal,” she reported. “How do you feel now?”
“Fine,” Blossom said. “No, I’m not fine. I feel terrible. Arthur’s dead. I should have been with him when it happened.” A single tear slid down her cheek. Her face looked like it had been dusted with flour. “Because of me, my poor husband died alone.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Helen said. “I was with him. Arthur had a peaceful passing.”
She remembered Nurse Abbott pushing her out of the way and the staff running into Arthur’s room and wondered if that was true.
“He didn’t feel any pain,” Nurse Abbott said. “He wouldn’t have known if you were there.”
“But I know,” Blossom said. “I failed my husband in his final moments.”
“Nonsense,” Nurse Abbott said. “You need some food.”
Blossom wept quietly. Helen handed her a fistful of tissues from a box on the side table, then patted Blossom’s cold hand. The silence stretched between them. Helen wished she could say something comforting but couldn’t find the right words.
She was relieved when Nurse Abbott rushed in with two packs of graham crackers and a cold container of orange juice. “Drink the orange juice,” she commanded. “It will help your blood sugar. Would you like a sandwich?”
“No, thanks,” Blossom said, and started weeping again. “I ate dinner. How could I eat when Arthur was dying?”
“You have to keep up your strength,” Nurse Abbott said. “Life goes on.”
“Can I say good-bye to Arthur now?” Blossom asked.
“We’re getting him tidied up,” Nurse Abbott said.
“Was he”—Blossom hesitated—“hurt?”
“Not at all,” Nurse Abbott said. “But we want to disconnect the IV lines and monitors and clean him up a little. As soon as he’s ready, you can be with him.”
“Thank you,” Blossom said. “You’ve been so
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