Read Online Love Over Matter by Maggie Bloom - Free Book Online

wanders across
the room and studies a rack of pamphlets on healthy eating,
diabetes prevention, and organ donation.
    Ian shrugs. “He’s pretty out of it.
The doctors said it’s just a matter of time now. Like before
morning, they think.”
    How macabre. “I’m sorry.” My gaze
bumps around the waiting room, which is predictably crowded with
sorrow. “Are you alone? I mean, isn’t there someone else who should
be here? Family or something? If you want me to, I can
call—”
    “ They’re on the
way.”
    “ Oh. They who?” While George was alive,
Ian and I were more friends-in-law than actual friends; hence, I
don’t know as much about him as I should.
    “ I’ve got two aunts on my
mother’s side. They’re coming from Baltimore.”
    I cringe at asking this,
but I can’t stop myself. “What about her? Do you think
she’ll . . . ? Or your sister?” This much
I do know: when
Mr. and Mrs. Smith divorced, they divided their children like most
people divvy up china and flatware. Ten years later, Ian might as
well be an orphan.
    “ I doubt it,” he
says.
    “ That’s
so . . .”
    “ No kidding.”
    Dad loops back our way, shoots us a
cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “How about a pick-me-up? The
cafeteria has the best coconut cream pie you’ll ever
eat.”
    It’s sad that my father knows this,
but also sweet of him to offer. “Whadda ya think?” I ask Ian
hopefully. “Can you take a break?”
    “ Like I said, he’s out of
it. Doesn’t even know I’m here. And the nurses have my cell
number.”
    “ That settles it then,”
says Dad. And off we go.
     
     

chapter 7
    The doctors were wrong about the time
of Mr. Smith’s death by eleven hours, leaving Ian and me to bang
around the hospital in virtual silence all night and into the early
afternoon on Saturday. Out of necessity, Dad abandoned us at four
a.m., since, as he put it, “The eggs won’t cook themselves.” (I
wish he’d take my advice and hire a breakfast cook for The
Moondancer already.)
    I won’t detail what happened in the
last few hours of Mr. Smith’s life, because 1) mostly I tried to
pretend I was lawn furniture, and 2) it’s way too sad, and I’ve
witnessed enough dreariness for one lifetime.
    What I can say is that Ian held up well
through the ordeal, all things considered. The day after his
father’s funeral, he put his head down and plowed through the
remaining weeks of high school, graduating to a cacophony of
raucous cheers and yowling catcalls (not to mention a poorly
executed, double-fingered whistlefest by none other than my dear
ol’ dad).
    * * *
    “ Congrats,” I say when I
catch up with Ian outside the Milbridge High gymnasium. “You did
it.”
    “ Your father would be so
proud,” my mother adds from behind me, her voice wet with
emotion.
    In his crimson cap and gown, Ian looks
suddenly grown up. “Thanks,” he says, scanning the sea of faces
around us. “Have you seen Jeanette?”
    One of Ian’s aunts who made the trek
up from Baltimore stayed on to see him through to graduation. She’s
slated to ship out tomorrow. “Um, she was in the ladies’ room five
minutes ago,” I report. “Haley! Come here!”
    My sister and Opal (geez, those two
are as joined at the hip as George and I used to be) slink through
the crowd. “What?” snaps Haley.
    “ Where’d Jeanette
go?”
    Haley pops her shoulders into a shrug.
“I dunno.”
    “ You didn’t see her in the
bathroom?” I ask.
    Opal cocks her thumb as if she’s
hitching a ride to Tijuana. “Isn’t that her?”
    A floral muumuu swishes and sways in
our direction (is Jeanette part Hawaiian?). “Oh, yeah.” I nudge Ian
in the ribs. “There she is.”
    His face lights up like a
landing strip at LaGuardia. Thank
God, I think. He’s
tunneling out of the darkness. With a wave,
he beckons, “Aunt Jean!”
    A few swings of her robust
hips later, Jeanette floats up beside us wearing her own megawatt
smile. “Well, there’s the man of the hour!”