His room was empty.
“You’re not supposed to be down here, Ms. Hale.”
I jumped—Ms. Barn’s baritone voice still able to startle me.
“It’s Story, Ms. Barn. Where is Uncle?” When I turned to face her, her eyes were downcast. I knew the other servants weren’t looking me in the eye, but Ms. Barn?
“Woodson Hale is in the hospital.”
“Back in the hospital?” I looked at his empty room, like it would give me answers. “How long?”
“He wasn’t feeling well this morning and fainted. He was rushed over. That’s all I know.”
“And no one thought to fucking tell me?” Anger rushed out of me, untamed. I rarely yelled, much less at superiors. But what the fuck? Seriously?
“It’s proper protocol to alert a Crowne before the mistress. If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Hale, I have much to attend to.”
“I’m not—”
I broke off, finding the doorway empty.
Hospital. Have to get to the hospital.
Those were the only words in my mind when I left Crowne Hall, and they propelled me to the only hospital within miles of Crowne Point, the one Uncle had been seen at previously. They kept me from collapsing, and they carried my feet through the doors, up to the information desk, until I was face-to-face with a cheerful looking woman.
“I’m looking for Uncle, um”—I shook my head, trying to speak clearly—“I’m looking for my uncle, Woodson Hale. I think he was brought in?”
She smiled and said something I didn’t catch, returning to her computer. It felt slow and languorous. I realized only a minute had passed, but it was too much time.
Finally she told me where to find him, and I dashed off in that direction.
He was asleep in the hospital bed when I found him, so I took a seat opposite it. His round face was sunken, his bright hazelnut skin sallow, his lips chapped. When we had first faced cancer, he’d had to go in for treatment, but they let him come home afterward. He never collapsed. He never had to stay.
I was told a doctor would be in to talk with me shortly, but it was maybe thirty minutes after I arrived when a tall, older man in a white coat came in.
“He needs ChapStick,” I said.
The doctor blinked, then said, “Are you his next of kin?”
“Yes,” I said, still watching Uncle in bed.
“Good. We’ve been needing to talk to someone. Your…” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my connection to Uncle.
“Uncle.”
“Your uncle hasn’t given us anyone to contact. We’ve done all we can do here. Now he’ll need round-the-clock care. We can suggest some good hospices, or if you have the means, in-home providers.”
Rushing. Like the waves outside Grayson’s window. Or the blood in my ears when he touches me.
“Miss?”
“What are you saying?”
“Your uncle is dying.”
I read somewhere that doctors have to say it that way, have to be horribly blunt, so we accept it. So it feels real.
I still didn’t believe it.