The Waiting Room Novel Novels & Stories

She had a contact in hospital administration, the same way she seemed to have a contact in every institution in the city, and by the time we reached the fourth floor ICU waiting area she already knew Adrian's room number and the name of the attending physician. What she had not been able to find out was whether the thumb drive existed. The waiting area was a narrow room with blue chairs along both walls and a window that looked out onto a grey morning sky. Three people were scattered across the seats, none of them together. A middle aged man asleep with his head against the wall. An elderly woman with a rosary. And one young woman sitting very upright in the corner chair, both hands wrapped

I guess that's one of those things I don't understand, and Alice is the same way . The elevator dinged open on the fourth and fifth floor and we followed the woman who guided us into a spacious, luxurious looking waiting room. The entire wall of this room is covered by thick red velvet. I sat down on one of the dark green couches while Nick wheeled the twins' stroller around the room as both looked interested in the interior of the room. Luckily there was no one else in this spacious waiting area.

The pure fresh air of the morning devoid of the poisonous gasses inhaled by the innumerable vehicles running to and fro in the city streets gives a boost to the body to battle the day's hectic schedule. My gaze swiveled over the waiting room, looking for a place for me to sit. A T played quietly in one corner, a distraction that might keep them away from their pain. The seats closest to it stood empty. A man sat at the end leaving an empty seat at the far corner of the hall. I smile the moment my eyes rested on the two empty seats sandwiched between sweating and pregnant ladies. A little boy of about six years leaned forward and filled the space with harsh, hacking coughs. I understood why n

Inside is a letter from a woman named Maya. She writes: "I was in a hospital waiting room three weeks ago. My boyfriend had put me there. I was waiting for test results on my arm, which he had broken. I had a book with me that someone had lent to me. Your book. I read the entire thing in one sitting in that hospital waiting room. I cried through chapter seven. I recognized myself in every word you wrote about being afraid and being in love and being trapped in the same person simultaneously.

And what it would mean when there were no more steps left to delay anything. We were told to wait. So we did. The waiting room was quiet and too neat. The kind of place where people didn’t come to relax—they came to find answers they weren’t ready for. I sat on one of the chairs, my hands folded tightly in my lap now instead of resting on my stomach. I didn’t know when I had moved them, but I had. Clara sat beside me. Maya stood near the wall, arms crossed. Daniel sat slightly apart, but his eyes kept coming back to me.

I stayed outside with terrible vending machine coffee and a magazine I did not read and the particular suspended quality of a waiting room at one in the morning — that specific nowhere-time where normal rules feel temporarily suspended and everything feels slightly more honest than usual. I thought about Rachel Voss in Denver, asleep in whatever life she had built. About Sandra Marsh, who had kept a photocopy in a drawer for two years because something told her she might need it. About Professor Whitfield cleaning his glasses before saying the words that had been sitting inside him for four years. About Kai in the coffee shop, placing his phone on the table like he was putting down something

Occasionally, I could even overhear influential people threatening the doctors here while I stood by the door. There were all types of different people in this facility. It was quite interesting. Before long, the nurse notified me that I could start preparing for my heart transplant. While I was being wheeled into the operating room, Bruno was desperately searching for me from across the world. Not that I had any idea, of course. When I left the country, I had already changed my number and blocked him.

HAVEN POV The waiting room at the hospital was cold. Cold, and white, and clean, and filled with the scents of disinfectant, stale coffee, and anxiety. I sat quietly in place in my chair with my book bag, scanning the room, watching the waiting family members of the other patients in this wing of the hospital. I also watched the nurses as they came and went from the unit. The amount of people in the waiting room dwindled, and the darkening sky outside signaled the approaching end of visiting hours. And, yet again, they had not allowed me to go back to see my dad.

“I don’t know, honey. Usually not more than half an hour. I’ll keep checking and will call for you when I get it.” Ashleigh gave the woman her name and stepped into the almost-empty waiting room. Picking up a recent issue of People Magazine, she settled into a padded chair. A TV on the wall above her softly chattered with Good Morning America. During the next fifteen minutes, visitors began lining up for passes and the waiting room filled with spouses, parents, and noisy children. As two women across from Ashleigh exchanged graphic details of their recent hysterectomies, a well-mannered, well-groomed eight-year-old boy sitting next to the women, placed his feet together on the floor, folded

Shaking off the alcohol buzz, he glanced at the wrecked lounge, waved down staff to clean up, then stepped outside into the cool night. His phone screen lit up—the number he'd been about to call before Mateo barged in. With a quiet scoff, he shut it off and hailed a cab. If he was right, Benjamin, Milada, and Helen would be waiting at the Varga estate. Fifteen minutes later, he pushed through the grand doors. There they were, lined up neatly on the couch—Benjamin, Milada, and Helen. Steven let out a low chuckle. 'Called it.'