I felt my face get hot.
“Excuse me,” I said. I stood up. “She’s seventy-nine years old. There’s nowhere to sit out there. It’s half empty in here. What harm is it going to do if she sits in a chair for twenty minutes?”
“Sir, I understand. But I don’t make the policies.”
“Then who does? Can I talk to them?”
“Sir…”
Grandma reached up and gently squeezed my wrist.
“It’s okay, Daniel.”
“It’s not okay, Grandma.”
“It’s okay,” she said again, quietly. And something in her voice made me stop.
She stood up. Slowly. One hand on the arm of the chair. She picked up her handbag. She tucked the yellow envelope under her arm. She straightened the front of her cardigan, which she always does when she’s about to do something important. She did it at my dad’s funeral. She did it at my wedding.
Then she looked down the hallway on the other side of the waiting room. A long hallway with a shiny floor and a row of numbered doors.
“Does Room 214 still have that little window overlooking the courtyard?” she asked.
Kayla blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Room 214. There used to be a small window. In the back wall. It looks out at the courtyard. At the cherry tree.” Grandma nodded toward the window behind us. “That cherry tree. Is it still there? The window?”
Kayla looked confused. “Yes. I believe so. It’s one of the only rooms on that floor with a courtyard view. Patients ask for it all the time.”
Grandma smiled faintly.
“Good,” she said. “I always hoped they’d keep it.”
Kayla gave her a strange look.
“Do you work here, ma’am?”
“Not anymore.”
“Then how do you know about that window?”
Grandma hesitated.
She looked out at the rainy courtyard. At the bare cherry tree with its shiny, wet branches. She looked at it for so long that I thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“Because I paid to put it there,” she said.
Kayla stared at her.
So did I.
“You what?” I said.
Grandma didn’t answer me. She opened her old brown handbag. She reached inside and moved a few things around. A tissue. Her reading glasses. A roll of peppermints.
Then she pulled out a small photograph.
It was old. Really old. The colors had faded to that soft orange and yellow that old pictures from the seventies always turn. The white border was creased in one corner.
In the picture, a young woman was standing beside a hospital bed. She was wearing a thin hospital gown. Her long brown hair was hanging down over one shoulder. She was very young. She looked like a teenager. Her face was pale and tired, and her eyes were red, like she’d been crying for a long time.
But she was smiling.
Because in her arms, wrapped in a white hospital blanket, there was a newborn baby. Sleeping.
And behind them, in the wall, there was a small square window. Through it, you could see the top of a young tree with pink blossoms on it.
Grandma held out the picture.
“I was hoping to see the person in this photograph,” she said.
Kayla looked down at it.
She looked at it for a long time.
And her expression changed.
I watched it happen. The polite, firm, professional look slid right off her face. Her eyes went wide. She looked from the photograph up to Grandma, then back down at the photograph again.
“Wait here, please,” she said. Her voice was different now. “Please. Don’t go anywhere.”
Then she turned and hurried down the hall and disappeared through a door marked STAFF ONLY.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.