Open Arms

Chapter Twenty Four

Another storm had begun outside. Angus took shelter in the waiting room, sick and tired of watching the damn clock. There were more people here than at the clinic, and a busy chatter kept Angus' thoughts from wandering too much. 

After getting her to wake up she couldn't respond, or could barely perceive his inquiries. Deciding walking would be too much for her, he had an ambulance bring them to the hospital, trying his damnedest to keep calm. Strands of hair stuck to his cheeks, almost all the curls gone. Puddles painted the floor and the receptionist placed a wet floor sign by the desk. 

Hannah had to be taken in with a wheel chair and his heart nearly shattered in two seeing how pale she was. Almost physically forced to wait outside in the chair, Angus kept his arms crossed over his chest and his head down, hoping anyone questioning his arrival knew to leave him be. 

Working too hard, not eating enough, losing blood...which was it? Any number of factors could come into play in this horrid game. Perhaps she hadn't drank anything in hours...besides tea which had quickly turned cold. And cold tea never did anyone good. Was she sleep deprived? Waking up scared or sick seemed to be routine now. 

And Angus felt completely helpless. 

Once in a while a nurse would come out and walk to the front desk or to the elevator, ignoring him. A few people left the hospital, holding the door open for a couple and their son, his arm in a cast. Neon scribbled notes of well wishes covered the side, hardly any blank spaces left. They checked in at the front desk and the young boy looked around the room. His eyes met Angus, and Angus shifted in his spot. He offered a smile, but nothing more. 

The couple lead their son to a group of chairs against a wall and they each sat down, the mother picking up a magazine. The boy kicked his feet back and forth, still too short to reach the ground. Angus looked at his own feet, barely scraping the floor. With his head of short hair, striped shirt, and poorly tied shoelaces, the boy reminded Angus much of himself. The parents sitting next to him lacked the glasses of his own, as well as the kind faces. The little boy caught his eye again and waved, seeming to recognize him. It didn't surprise him. Plenty of fathers took their sons to their shows before leaving due to gigs strictly eighteen and older starting in a few minutes. 

Angus returned the wave, feebly wagging his fingers and sighed. Bullets of hail collided with the windows while thunder continued to growl above them. The lights flickered. The elevator opened and another young man was being escorted out in a wheelchair with his leg elevated. One wheel squeaked. "I'll be outta this by cricket season, right?"

"You should be. If not," the nurse said in a light airy voice. "then you can always come back here and watch it on the telly."

"The one in my room was broken," the teenager complained as he was wheeled down the hallway. Angus couldn't hear all that the nurse replied with. Someone tapped on his shoulder and he turned his head.

"...Hello?" Angus said, seeing the boy with the cast on his arm. 

"Are you here for a check up?" the little boy asked. Angus tapped his foot to the floor, his shoes still coated with mud. 

"No, I'm not here for me," he answered. With a closer look Angus could see a few pictures drawn on the cast as well. "My wife ain't feelin' too well."

"Oh. I've heard you on the radio before," the boy said waving his cast arm back and forth. 

"Have you now?" Angus asked.

"My daddy listens to you all the time, my mummy says you're too loud." Angus cracked a smile. 

"Me mum says the same thing sometimes," he said. "But she could never turn down my volume when I played as a kid."

"I wish I could play guitar," the boy said. He had taken a seat next to Angus. "But my arm is broken." He held up his cast.