Lily arrived at her desk to find a
single red lily in a vase placed strategically between the adding
machine and computer monitor. She bent to sniff it and looked around
the office. Aaron came up from behind, surprising her.
“I had to think, with a name
like yours, that it must be your favourite flower.”
“What's this for?”
“I heard your dad took ill.
Thought you could use some cheering up.”
Lily threw him a sharp,
questioning look. Aaron shuffled uncomfortably in his leather
loafers.
“Len asked Chleo to cover for
you yesterday when you called in. He told her that you were at the
hospital with your dad. Is he going to be alright?”
“Yeah...no. I don't know,
actually. He's had a stroke.”
“Oh. Care to go for a drink
after work? Sounds like you could use someone to talk to.”
“No, sorry. I'm going down to
St. Michael's as soon as I get out of here. Thanks, though.”
“If you need me to go with you,
I would. I lost my dad a couple of years ago. It's not easy.”
Lily smiled weakly. “Uh...no.
I think I should be o.k.” She wasn't convincing anyone, least of
all herself.
The hospital corridors were buzzing
with intensity. Lily focused on the floor tiles as she walked, the
fluorescent lights were blinding. If only Monday could be here, but
this was the kind of place Monday shrunk from; too many germs and
sick bodies. Lily followed the signs to Intensive Care and asked a
nurse for her father's room.
His door stood open, his body
lying like a corpse under the white sheet. He had a greyish
countenance making it difficult to differentiate his skin from his
hair. The nurse at his bedside was pulling the privacy curtain when
she saw her.
“Are you here to see Mr. Jules?”
Lily nodded. The nurse pointed to
a chair near the bed, smiled and left. Lily kept her position near
the door, inanimate. Her mother wasn't there. She glanced up at the
only clock in the dimly lit space – 6 p.m. She'd probably gone
for supper.
Lily watched him from where she
stood. There was no recognizable indication that he was the man that
had stolen her childhood. His cheeks weren't piqued from anger or
desire. His eyes were not watching her every move. His hands were
empty of threat. But she knew it was him. He lay there the victor.
He had won what she had lost, and he'd refuse to die until she showed
up here, rubbing it in her face one last time.
Lily recoiled suddenly, imagining
him rising from the bed and reaching for her body. This was one
terrible game he was playing, pretending he needed to see her again.
Tears welled in her eye sockets and she jammed her lids shut to stop
them, leaving the room and the sickening stench of his ruse.
To be continued...
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