Now a handsome middle-aged, black-haired man
with a commanding air strode brusquely past her little warren. His
double-breasted charcoal suit was impeccably tailored, his black oxfords shined
to a high gloss. A large gold watch glinted on his left wrist. Even if Emily
hadn’t recognized him, she would have known him. Taller than Henrietta, his jaw
heavier, his eyes far harder than Henrietta’s, he still bore an unmistakable
resemblance to her.
Emily jumped up. “Excuse me.” When he didn’t
respond, she rushed into the hall after him. “Excuse me! Mr. Winfield?”
The man halted, spun around, and glanced at
her without the slightest expression in his icy blue eyes. “Yes?”
Throat dry, she stepped forward and held out
her hand. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, I’m—”
“I’m sorry. I have nothing to say at this
time—”
“I work for Henrietta,” Emily hurried on,
wondering who he thought she might be. “I’m a senior agent at the agency. I was
with her when—”
“I’m afraid my sister’s condition is private.
I’m sure whatever needs to be done at the…business…can wait.”
With that, he spun around and left her
standing in the middle of the hallway with her hand outstretched. In another
few seconds he’d rounded the corner and she heard the ding of an elevator. What
a cold, unfeeling man. How could he be Henrietta’s brother? As soon as she
thought it, she reminded herself he was probably just stressed and preoccupied.
She knew all too well hospitals were horrible
places. Impersonal, usually ugly, and filled with too many people who were too
busy to stop and recognize the despair and anguish in the faces of so many.
Lonely places where those left behind drowned in sorrow while others looked
away. She shuddered and returned to the waiting area. She’d had years of
practice waiting in places like this—waiting for word of her parents, waiting
to hear from Pam’s doctors. Martin Winfield, she knew his name as she’d been
introduced to him on several occasions when she’d accompanied Henrietta to the
corporate board meetings, reminded her of some of those bureaucrats who ran the
very places where empathy and support should come first, but had been forgotten
in the race to survive in an ever more competitive world. Even some of the
health-care staff had forgotten their mission—to heal and comfort. Henrietta’s
brother reminded her of why it was so important that she keep Pam where she was
now, in a warm, personal environment where she felt safe and everyone knew her
name.
Emily sighed. She was tired and being
unfair—she didn’t know Martin Winfield, and he had no reason to acknowledge
her. How could he remember her as he’d barely glanced in her direction the few
times they’d been in the same space. She certainly wasn’t being fair to the
many dedicated doctors and nurses and other caring professionals who worked so
hard to help.