Tribute

for me to know it. He might never wake up.” Her lips trembled before she managed to firm them. “And I keep seeing him in there, in this scene out of Grey’s Anatomy , with the interns up there in that glass-walled balcony looking down at Steve. And everybody’s thinking more about sex than they are about Steve.”
    Ford took her face in his hands. “People do their jobs while they think about sex. All the time. Otherwise nothing would ever get done.” When she let out a weak laugh, he kissed her forehead. “Let’s take a walk, get some air.”
    “I shouldn’t leave. I need to be here.”
    “It’s going to be a while. Let’s clear the head, hunt up some decent coffee.”
    “Okay. A few minutes. You don’t have to stay.” She looked down at her hand as they walked to the elevator, saw it was caught in his again. “I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to stay. You barely know Steve.”
    “Don’t be stupid. I do know him, and I like him. Anyway, I won’t leave you alone.”
    She said nothing, couldn’t, as they rode down. Her eyes stung, wanted to flood. Her body ached to turn into his, press against the solidity of him, be enfolded. Safe. She could hold on there, she thought. Be allowed to hold on.
    “You want food?” he asked as they stepped out at the lobby level.
    “No, I couldn’t.”
    “Probably still sucks anyway.”
    “Still?”
    “My dad was in for a couple days a few years ago, so I choked down the cafeteria fare a time or two. It hadn’t improved since I was a kid and did my own time.”
    “What were you in for?”
    “Overnight observation—concussion, broken arm. I, uh, got the idea to put these Velcro strips on my snow gloves and socks. Thought I’d be able to climb up and down buildings like Spider-Man. Fortunately my bedroom window wasn’t that high up.”
    “Maybe you should’ve tried climbing up before climbing down.”
    “Hindsight.”
    “You’re taking my mind off Steve, and I appreciate it. But—”
    “Five minutes,” Ford said as he drew her outside. “Fresh air.”
    “Ford?”
    Cilla looked over as he did toward the pretty woman wearing a suit of powerful red. A laugh played over lips painted the same bold color, while she drew off sunglasses to reveal eyes of deep, dark brown.
    Her arms opened wide, then closed around Ford in a hard, proprietary hug. She added sound effects, Cilla noted, a low mmmmmMM! before she broke off, shook back the short swing of glossy brown hair. “It’s been ages!”
    “A while,” Ford agreed. “You look seriously great.”
    “I do my best.” She turned those eyes, those smiling lips on Cilla. “Hi there.”
    “Cilla, this is Brian’s mom, Cathy Morrow. Bri’s doing a job for Cilla.”
    “Of course,” Cathy said. “Janet Hardy’s granddaughter. I knew her a little. You certainly have the look of her. And you’re fixing up the old farm.”
    “Yes.” It was surreal, the conversation. Cilla thought of it as lines from a play. “Brian’s a big help. He’s talented.”
    “That’s my boy. What are y’all doing here?”
    “Cilla’s friend’s in surgery. There was an accident.”
    "Oh God, I’m so sorry.” The bright, flirtatious smile transformed into a look of concern. “Is there anything I can do?” Cathy’s arm went around Cilla in a gesture so genuine, Cilla leaned into it instinctively.
    “We’re just . . . waiting.”
    “The worst. The waiting. Listen, I volunteer here a couple of days a week, and I head a couple of the fund-raising committees. I know a lot of the staff. Who’s his surgeon?”
    “I don’t know. It happened so fast.”
    “Why don’t I find out, see if I can get you some information? I don’t know why they don’t understand we do better if we know things.”
    The offer was like water on a burning throat. “Could you?”
    “I can sure try. Come on, honey. You want some coffee, some water? No, I’ll tell you what. Ford, run on down and get Cilla a ginger ale.”
    “Okay. I’ll meet you back upstairs. You’re in good hands.”
    It felt like it. For the first time in too long to remember, Cilla felt as if it was okay to just let go and allow somebody else to take charge.
    “What happened to your friend?”
    “We don’t know, exactly. That’s part of the problem.”
    “Well, we’ll find out what we can.” Cathy gave Cilla a comforting squeeze as they crowded onto an elevator with visitors and flowers and Mylar balloons. “What’s his name?”
    “Steve. Steven