“What’s wrong?” I write back, fear behind each syllable. They don’t know she tells me. Sudden symptoms. Spiking fever. Unanswered questions. “Do you want me to come?” I ask.
I sleep with my phone by the bed that night. I wake up to pray silently as I look at the ceiling.
In the morning she writes again, “Come this morning. Bring Starbucks.”
I throw off covers and jump in the car without make-up, a tossled mess of a ponytail on top of my head. I don’t even change clothes. I meet her in the lobby and she tells me that Barry is doing better but they’re still not sure what’s happening. We exchange words that thinly veil our worry and even dare to laugh. We remind each other that God is here, in this place…