”Hurry up,” Uncle John snaps.

  Dana lugs the tote bag pressing down upon his left shoulder. His ten year old sister, Claire, rushes ahead of them, the lights on her sneakers glowing with each step. He remembers her begging their mother to get them at the thrift store. Her unicorn backpack flies up and down in the air, and she clutches her coloring book underneath one arm.

  They had been in the waiting room for an eternity. Dana took slow, deliberate steps down the plain white hallway tiles, mixed with specs of red and green. He can’t help but glance at the many rooms—some covered with gray curtains; others exposed wide open. A person lying in each of the beds. A shiver runs down his spine. Which one were they going to? What if they never find—

  “Hey.” Uncle John’s sudden grip on Dana’s wrist causes him to flinch. “We don’t have all day. I need you to move it and stop gaping.”

  “Mommy!” Claire’s voice fills the cool air.

  Uncle John gives Dana one more hard look before releasing him and entering the room on the right. As Dana approaches the threshold, he stays still. The TV is mounted against the corner of the room. On the mobile table next to the bed is a tray with green beans, chicken, and a plastic container of Jello. Claire sets down her backpack and approaches the bed. Her dark eyes, which are usually full of spark and excitement, are now clouded with worry. Her face falls.

  Their mother is hooked up to a ventilator machine plugged against the wall. A large bandage is wrapped around her forehead, where a dark red stain is present. Her eyes are closed, and very slowly, her chest rises up and down. Dana swallows hard as Uncle John pulls up a chair by the bed and gently takes her hand. His chin slightly trembles.

  “Sarah,” he says in a low voice. “Sarah?”

  Claire looks up. “When will she wake up?”

  There is a knock, causing them to all look towards their direction. A short man with round spectacles and a white lab coat is standing at the other side of the doorway. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. For a moment, a heavy silence fills the room.

  “Are you John Ferinscoe?”

  Uncle John grunts.

  “May I come in, please?” The doctor is holding a few papers in his hands. “I need to have a word with you, if that is okay.”

  ”Dana,” Uncle John says, “take Claire to the cafeteria.” His face is red. “Leave the bag here. I’ll come by and join you guys later.”

  A dense dryness settles on Dana’s throat.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Uncle John snaps. His voice is shaky, and avoids eye contact. “Now.”

  Claire looks at her uncle, then Dana. Her pink glasses rest lopsided upon her round nose. Dana sets the tote bag down upon a chair and holds out his right hand. The little girl releases a heavy sigh. After giving her mother a small peck on the cheek, she walks over and takes Dana’s palm. The glittering lights from her sneakers turn on, and off, and on. Dana tries very hard not to look back as the doctor slowly closes the door behind him.

  * * * * * * * *

  Claire’s bright pink shoelaces dangle from her seat as she plays with her Barbies at the empty table. Her iPad is dead and she forgot to bring her charger. Dana cannot stop tapping his shoe against the floor, which has a lemon scent due to being recently mopped. His nails are worn down to stumps, but he keeps chewing on the dead skin around them until a bit of blood appears. It is getting a bit too loud for comfort, so he puts his headphones over his ears and exhales.

  ”I’m hungry,” Claire whines, setting her dolls down with a thump. “I’m gonna starve to death.” Her eyes wander to the desert display. “Oooh. Can I have something over there?”

  Dana glances down and feels around in his lumpy sweatshirt pocket. A few gum wrappers, wrinkled receipts, and several crumpled dollar bills. He empties the contents on the table as he silently counts the bills and coins. Five dollars and sixty-three cents. As they both approach the register, Claire presses her face against the glass and grins. Her nose is smudged right up on the surface.

  “That one!” She tugs at Dana’s arm.

  The cashier loudly chews on her gum, blowing an enormous bubble and popping it with her teeth. “That’ll be $5.75.”

  Dana hesitates, before digging some more into the pockets of his jeans. He kneels down in front of Claire, who is tapping against her sparkling shoes. Disappointment crosses her small face, but he gives her a wink as he gestures to her left ear. His sister frowns and folds her arms. Her brown eyes narrow when she shakes her head, her pigtails flying.

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  Once more, Dana points to her ear.

  ”Is this a trick?” Claire asks. “You’re lying.”

  The cashier sighs. “Sir, I don’t have all day.”

  Dana holds out an arm briefly towards the woman. He gestures once more to Claire. She rolls her eyes and reluctantly reaches behind her ear, only for shock to cross her face. Her dark eyes widen as she holds out a quarter in the middle of the palm. Then, for the first time throughout the day, she smiles.

  * * * * * * * * *

  They explore the lobby.

  Claire sits upon Dana’s shoulders, chocolate stained around her mouth as she chows down on the giant M&M coated brownie from the paper bag, still warm and gooey from the oven. On the walls hung great paintings, some made with so much intricate detail that Dana could almost get lost in them. How an artist could just have such a vivid idea in their mind and remember it so well was fascinating. After two drinks to the water fountain and a long bathroom break, they go up to the upper balcony of the cafeteria to gaze at the tiny people and cars below.

  Rain patters against the glass. The sky is gray and mushy. It’s pretty dreary, even for a Saturday morning. Dana hopes their beagle, Charlie is holding up quite well back home. Uncle John doesn’t like to have him in the trailer when it rains, but Dana couldn’t bear to tie the dog and leave him out in the backyard.

  Claire falls asleep in Dana’s arms, so he takes off his sweatshirt and tucks it tighter around her small form. She leaves a bit of drool on his T-shirt sleeve, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. He sets her unicorn backpack down on the seat. He prefers it up here much better, where the tables are empty and there are less sounds and people.

  The sound of the rain must’ve made him doze off as well, because when he opens his eyes, he can see Uncle John sitting down across from him at the table. Dana blinks real fast.

  “Alright, boy. I’m not going to beat around the bush.” Uncle John sighs and takes off his hat, running his hands through his hair. ”Your mother has a cerebral hemorrhage. She fell at work and hit her head real hard. They don’t know how bad the extend of her brain damage is, cuz they running more tests.”

  Dana tenses up. His face turns red.

  “The…the doctor also mentioned that she has a severe spinal fracture. She may never be able to walk again, once she wakes up.” He aggressively rubs his eyes. “They may have to operate, you know? So we gotta scrape together.” Uncle John leans forward. “My work at the construction zone ain’t gonna cut it, so I’m gonna have to buckle down. You’ll need to find a second job as well, just for Sarah’s medical bills. I don’t care where it is, when it is, what it is, as long as you don’t lollygag. We don’t have time for that foolishness.”

  The rain patters harder outside.

  ”You understand me? Do you even hear me?”

  Claire slightly stirs.

  ”Damn it, Dana.” Uncle John abruptly stands. “You could at least be helpful and open your mouth. Just open your damn mouth and talk.” He raises his arms over his head. “I…I can’t always read your mind, y’know? Just talk. This is my sister we’re talking about here. You’re going to need to contribute more to the household, now that Sarah won’t be able to work no more. You need to step up and be able to put food on the table. Help with Claire’s tuition. Are you even listening to me?!”

  Dana stares at him for a while, before focusing on the blurry window.

  “You are making things a million times harder, acting this way. Nothing? You have nothing to say? Maybe you don’t understand a thing. You’re leaving me to tell this to Claire alone, and she will wonder why you don’t like to speak with her. That’s why everyone around you thinks you’re so stupid. Because of the way you act.” Uncle John curses under his breath and turns away. “I need a coffee.”

  Dana watches his form disappear. He wants to yell, scream at the top of his lungs, beg his uncle to come back. But the words are not there. Not even a whisper, only a faint breath.

  * * * * * * * *

  I’m a terrible brother.

  John Ferinscoe takes a long sip of coffee and a generous puff of smoke from his lopsided cigarette. What peace and quiet he could get, he savored it like fine wine. But he would much rather do with a nice, cold beer. Although the rain pours harder outside, the air is surprisingly warm near the outdoor lobby. The parking lot—recently renovated, is probably about to floor and spill over the grass and two way street and stoplight.

  He ought to know better. Why didn’t he try to talk Sarah out of it, from working as a housekeeper? Her health wouldn’t have allowed it. He is not the only adult in the household, exactly. That damn nephew of his is too slow. Slower than molasses. Delayed. He couldn’t retain information if he tried. If he actually tried to get his high school diploma, maybe he’d make himself useful. He won’t survive out in the real world like this. The boy just turned twenty-one, for goodness’ sakes.

  But Sarah had always said that Dana was just Dana, and that was good enough for them. John grits his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t believe it. He was gonna straighten that boy out. Make a man out of him. And then he has the nerve to act like he doesn’t know what’s going on? He ought to be taking care of his mother and sister. Not the other way around.

  Smoke rises from his nostrils.

  He squints his eyes.

  There are two figures, completely drenched, but wearing rain gear. It took John a moment to realize that they’ve been observing him this whole time. He takes another sip of coffee and attempts to move to let them past through towards the double doors leading to hospital, but pauses once they realize that they are not heading inside.

  One of the figures steps forward.

  John sighs and tosses his cigarette to the ground, stepping over it with his shoe. Today, out of all days. Well, at least he came prepared. He only had twelve dollars on him, but he was going to defend it. He keeps his eyes focused ahead.

  “Can I help you?” he mutters, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and feeling for the comforting blade of his six inch pocket knife. His dark eyes flash. Mist settles on his face, and strands of his gray hair catch in the air.

  “No,” the figure calmly replies, pulling down the hood of their raincoat. In the shadows, John can make out that it is a tall man, with a drenched chef’s uniform beneath. Two initials are threaded into the fabric. “But maybe we can help you.”