Room to Wait

Sitting in the hospital waiting room, Ella was doing her best to keep herself together, but she was struggling. The ambulance had arrived quickly to the scene at Capressies, where Rome lay in her arms, bleeding from the wound in his back near his lung. Henry had buried a six inch steak knife to the hilt. Whether or not it had collapsed Rome’s lung, she didn’t know. No one would tell her anything.
The police had arrived a few minutes after the ambulance. While the EMTs worked to stabilize Rome, the officers had asked her a slew of questions about what had happened. They had assumed she was Juliet Montague and hadn’t asked her her name. She was glad for that. So far, at least, she’d managed to keep from out-right lying to the authorities about who she was, but if she had to tell the truth to get them to let her in to see Rome, she’d do it. The only problem was, even when she’d tried to convince the nurses and doctors that she was his wife so that they’d update what was happening, they’d rolled their eyes and reminded her that Rome Verona wasn’t married at the moment. Everyone knew that.
She’d made several phone calls since she’d arrived, almost two hours ago. After the police had finished asking her questions, Charles had rushed her to the hospital, about fifteen minutes behind the ambulance. She’d had plenty of time to call the people who needed to know what was happening since no one would update her on anything. The fact that she had blood caked on her dress and underneath her fingernails, despite an intense scrub, served as a constant reminder of how dire the situation was. Charles had offered to go get her a change of clothes, but she wanted him to stay with her.
The Tank was there, too, but she didn’t know him well. He sat in the corner of the waiting room, a stoic look on his face. He was either worried about Rome or lost in another world. Maybe both.
Ella had not called Rome’s parents. Instead, she’d called Bart, who was on his way there. He’d been working on a photoshoot a few hours away when she reached him. He’d promised to call the Veronas and be there as soon as possible. It seemed like she’d already been sitting there long enough to fly in from Italy.
Lenore had been devastated and said she’d let all of her friends from her church group know so that they could all pray for his speedy recovery. Ella had thanked her but quietly thought she’d already used up all of her prayers.
A call to Fae was in order, but Ella couldn’t bring herself to make it. She knew what her friend would think, even if she didn’t say it. They’d brought this upon themselves. They should’ve never put themselves in a position where Henry Caron was involved in their lives.
She’d been right, of course, wise Fae with so many years’ of life experience to draw upon. Ella glanced down at her green dress. The red stain was almost dry now, the outer edges more of a brown than the crimson it had originally been. This was her fault--she just couldn’t leave well-enough alone.
This had happened because she’d insisted on pushing too hard, insisted that they get their vengeance on Henry while freeing Rome from the contract. She could’ve let it be. He could’ve just made the movies. She could’ve broken things off with Henry over the phone. Sitting there with nothing to do but think, her mind wouldn’t stay away from the darkness, the disconcerting thoughts that maybe there was nothing anyone could do to save Rome; maybe he was meant to die. Maybe he’d been living on borrowed time since she’d caught him at the last second right before he almost ended it all at the point of another knife. It was a macabre idea, but one she couldn’t help but think about. If he died, she wouldn’t be faking her death this time. It would be real, too.
Bart came flying down the hallway about the time she started letting her mind consider how she might do it. He ran to her, and the tears started falling again as he wrapped his arms around her. Whether he didn’t see the blood or didn’t care, he held her close, smoothing her hair. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her.
“How do you know?” she pushed. “He could hardly breathe when they put him in the ambulance. They won’t tell me anything.” She spoke into his chest, not able to lift her face off of his white, button-down shirt.
“I spoke to a nurse on my way up here. He’s still in surgery, but they’re getting him stabilized. She said it looks promising.”
Ella pulled her head back and raised an eyebrow, wondering how he’d managed that. He always was good at getting information from people.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Charles said, patting Bart on the shoulder as he walked by. Ella let him go. Now that Bart was there, she would be all right without Charles, at least for a little while.
Bart gestured for her to sit back down, so she sank into the chair she’d occupied before, wishing this nightmare would just end. “There’s no way Henry is going to be able to get out of this one,” he said, shaking his head. “Too many witnesses.”
That was true, though she had no idea what would happen if she had to testify under oath. The fake documentation Bart had gotten her to prove she was Juliet Montague looked convincing, but maybe not to a court. Maybe not to the police. She didn’t want to find out.
“The bouncers were on him immediately,” she said, “as well as several other patrons. It all happened so fast…. I didn’t even know Rome was there.”
“I know,” Bart said, his arm around her. “I called his parents, and they’re on their way here.”
She nodded, knowing that would be the case. She couldn’t worry about whether or not they might recognize her, not if she wanted to see Rome when he woke up. If he woke up. What if he didn’t? None of it would matter, then. The police could try to arrest her for faking her own death and a million other counts having to do with counterfeit identification, but she wouldn’t give them the opportunity. Pills would probably work best. Or maybe she’d go back to the beach and end it there. She could see herself walking into the water, letting the waves overcome her, the same way that little boy had drowned at their home back when it was first built. At least her ghost would have company.
Ella didn’t want to spend eternity with the ghost of the child who’d drowned, though. She wanted to be with Rome. If she killed herself, would she be able to find him in the afterlife? What would’ve normally seemed like ridiculous concerns were all now legitimate questions.
They sat in near silence for a long time, Bart’s arm around her, Ella lost in her thoughts. When Charles finally returned, he was carrying a plastic bag. He handed it to her, and Ella took it, her eyebrows raised.
He said nothing, only reclaimed his seat near the window, across from The Tank. Ella opened the bag and found a new outfit for herself, including sneakers and socks. Tears came to her eyes for a completely different reason now. Without a word, she got up, went over to him, kissed his cheek, and then went to the bathroom to change. There were people in this life she’d miss if she had to kill herself, but being with Rome was more important than anything else.
She changed into the jeans and blue top, replacing her heels with the comfy sneakers, and put her clothes in the plastic bag. She wanted to throw them away, but for some reason, she thought they might be worth hanging on to, in case the police wanted them or something. She had no idea why they would, but dropping them into the trash can seemed like the wrong thing to do. She tied the bag so she wouldn’t have to look at them and went back out to the waiting room.
A doctor was speaking to Bart, who was standing with his arms folded, a look of concern on his face. The Tank and Charles were giving them space but obviously listening. Ella ran over, dropping the bag in a chair. The doctor looked at her for a moment, as if he were trying to determine whether or not to tell the information he was disclosing to Bart to both of them.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. McPherson. I was just telling Rome’s cousin about how his surgery went.”
Cousin? Ella smirked. They’d believe Bart was his cousin but didn’t care that she claimed to be his wife.
“It’s fine,” Bart assured the doctor. “This is his girlfriend. He’ll want her to know.”
The doctor still wasn’t sure but went ahead with what he was saying. “The wound was deep, and he lost a lot of blood. His right lung also collapsed, but we were able to get him stabilized and moved to the ICU. The next eight or ten hours will be critical. If he makes it through that, we expect a full recovery.”
“Thank God,” Bart said, but Ella wasn’t ready to thank anyone yet. They still had ten hours to get through.
“Thank you, Dr. McPherson,” she said, respectfully. She did appreciate his hard work and wanted him to like her so he’d continue to keep her updated.
“When will his parents be arriving?” the doctor asked Bart.
“They’re on a flight from Italy now. His manager is also on her way. We’ll let her decide what to tell the media.”
The doctor nodded and ran a hand over the slight mustache that adorned his upper lip. “There’s a large group of reporters and photographers amassed outside now.”
“I know. I saw them when I came in,” Bart said with a sigh. “I’m sure they’ve been speculating enough to come up with their own story.” He shook his head, and Ella wondered if any of them would start to wonder what would make Henry and Rome fight over her--unless she wasn’t Juliet Montague….
The doctor left, and Ella and Bart reclaimed their seats. She’d ask him in a bit if he wanted to go home. She’d let The Tank and Charles get to their families, too, but for now, she was too worried to speak. She needed to let the update sink in. Another thought entered her head. She’d seen Henry cuffed and led out to the police car, screaming that Rome was trying to ruin him. Where was he now? In jail or in some other facility, awaiting a mental health evaluation? Could he make bond, and if he did, would he come after her? She didn’t think he’d be getting out any time soon, but if he did, it might be a better idea to keep The Tank and Charles close by, just in case.
Ella rested her head on Bart’s shoulder, thankful that she had a friend to help her through this. She felt stronger with him there, better able to handle most anything that might happen.
But if Rome lost his battle… all bets were off the table.