Chapter 107 (1/2)
”Okay,” I whisper. And I want to say that it's okay, he can stay in Seattle and sort out his business . . . but the truth is I want him with me.
”Oh, baby,” he whispers.
”I'll be okay, Christian. Take your time. Don't rush. I don't want to worry about you, too. Fly safely.”
”I will.”
”Love you.”
”I love you, too, baby. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Keep Luke close.”
”Yes, I will.”
”I'll see you later.”
”Bye.”
After hanging up, I hug my knees once more. I know nothing about Christian's business. What the hell is he doing with the Taiwanese? I gaze out of the window as we pass Boeing Field-King County airport. He must fly safely . . . my stomach knots anew and nausea threatens. Ray and Christian. I don't think my heart could take that. Leaning back, I start my mantra again: Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
”Mrs. Grey.” Sawyer's voice rouses me. ”We're on the hospital grounds. I just have to find the ER.”
”I know where it is.” My mind flits back to my last visit to OHSU
when, on my second day, I fell off a stepladder at Claytons, twisting my ankle. I recall Paul Clayton hovering over me and shudder at the memory.
Sawyer pulls up to the drop-off point and leaps out to open my door.
”I'll go park, ma'am, and come find you. Leave your briefcase, I'll bring it.”
”Thank you, Luke.”
He nods, and I walk briskly into the buzzing ER reception area. The receptionist at the desk gives me a polite smile, and within a few moments, she's located Ray and is sending me to the OR on the third floor.
OR? Fuck! ”Thank you,” I mutter, trying to focus on her directions to the elevators. My stomach lurches as I almost run toward them.
Let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
The elevator is agonizingly slow, stopping on each floor. Come on . . . Come on! I will it to move faster, scowling at the people strolling in and out and preventing me from getting to my dad. Finally, the doors open on the third floor and I rush to another reception desk, this one staffed by nurses in navy uniforms.
”Can I help you?” asks one officious nurse with a myopic stare.
”My father, Raymond Steele. He's just been admitted. He's in OR4, I think.” Even as I say the words I am willing them not to be true.
”Let me check, Miss Steele.”
I nod, not bothering to correct her as she gazes intently at her computer screen.
”Yes. He's been in for a couple of hours. If you'd like to wait, I'll let them know that you're here. The waiting room's there.” She points toward a large white door, helpfully labeled WAITING ROOM in bold blue lettering.