I move my eyes over page five of the contract Martha, the agent, printed out for me. Linda sits in the chair next to me and scrolls through her phone. The agent folds her hands on her desk and is watching me read. That does not help my concentration. I re-read the same sentence for the third time. "Neither this Agreement, nor the rights of the parties hereunder, shall be assignable, and any purported assignment shall be null and void, except as follows." I don't care about this and I'm not sure I can consume the remaining four pages or understand what they mean.

"Can I take these home?" I ask. Linda set up the meeting with Martha, a reputable agent with twenty years of experience who reps TV chefs and cookbook authors. She emailed me back within an hour after I inquired about her services and mentioned that Linda referred me to her. "I need a bit of time to read through and I'll email you my questions."

"Sure, sure, it'll be just fine with me," Martha says. "Linda told me you are going to New York to negotiate your contract with Mo Ballerini on Monday next week. If you'd like my agency and me to represent you, it's best we sign this week and I can start the official communication with Mo's team and come with you to New York. It'll be vital for me to offer the advice and make sure you are treated fairly and professionally."

"Is that included in the fifteen percent commission you charge?"

"It is, and I will work with Mo on providing you with accommodations and tentative schedule for the time you spend there. My assistant can help with booking any trips if you'd like, but you are free to do all of that on your own, of course."

"You are better of with the assistant doing it," Linda says. "And on the off chance Mo can cover the trip, it'll be easiest to have it organized through them, so all you have to do it show up and talk." She is the firm and decisive Linda that leads the fundraising effort for the largest library in Chicago. Her professionalism and her friendship fill me with a notion that I can do it and that I'm not overreaching for letting myself think I can do this TV thing.

"I'll review it tonight and send you my questions by tomorrow morning." I take the printed papers and put them into my backpack.

"I'll email you a copy, just in case," says Martha. "And, please, please email, text or call me with any questions. I'm here for you and I aim to respond the same day. It's not a bother and you will see, I'm worth the money." She smiles at me, leans over her desk, and pats the top of my hand. I slide my hand from under hers and busy with straightening the contract papers. She pats Linda's hand as well and Linda returns the smile.

"I understand." I get up, zip up my backpack and head for the door. "Thank you for your time."

"Oh, we're leaving?" Linda is still sitting in her chair. She looks at me for a second. "Oh, we are leaving, I see." Linda gets up and slings her purse on her shoulder. It's so tiny, I don't know what could fit in there apart from credit cards and a phone. "I'll give you a call, Martha. Thank you so much for moving things around to see us. You are getting another star client, and I know a couple of ways you can thank me later."

Martha gets up as well, rounds her desk and hugs Linda. "We'll figure it out." She kisses Linda's cheek. I rush through the door, afraid I'll be next.

We walk to the elevator that will take us to the basement parking from this fifteenth floor.

"How do you know Martha? She seems to be very... friendly with you," I say.

"Oh, she's my mother's brother's ex wife."

"I thought you hated your parents."

"Most of the time. But Martha is a dear friend. She's now married to a wonderful man, Sal, and they have a daughter together, Laura, who's in high school and into poetry too. They're more of a family to me than my own has ever been."

This is complicated and the first time Linda has every mentioned them. But she has so many acquaintances and relatives it's hard to keep them straight. Navigating Linda's relationship trees requires a map with stings to show who's who to whom and I'm not in the mood for thinking that through right now. Linda's phone chimes and she is back to scrolling and reading the screen. We step into the elevator. I press the button and Linda grabs my elbow. I stiffen. We've discussed our relationships three times  and I know Linda is clear that we're friends, and that I'm no longer interested in any kind of physical intimacy. She might be falling into her old habits, and I need to remind her I'm dating Amelie, and—

"Ben." Her voice is low. "Check your phone. Now."

"I'll do it when we get to the car—"

"Now, Ben, you have to do it now." I don't recognize the stilted expression on her face, but I do what she says.

I get my phone out of my jacket pocket, take it off mute, and start looking through the messages. Amelie, Mom, Mike, and Angie sent me something. Thankfully Tall doesn't do texting, or there'd me several texts a day from him. There're voicemails from them as well. I open the one on top, it's from Mike.

Mike: When will you be at the hospital?

Angie: We're on our way to the hospital. If you get there first, find Amelie and stay with her.

Mom: I'm on a boat with your father and we will be docking in thirty minutes. We will go straight to the hospital then. Please keep us updated.

Amelie: tall's in the hospital northwestern memorial i'm in the waiting room. come asap.

"I have to go to Northwestern Memorial. Something happened to Tall," I tell Linda.

"I got a message from Amelie too. This must be serious. I'm coming with you and I'll pick up my car later."

"I'll call her on the way." But my attempt to reach Amelie fails. I call Angie next.

"Where are you?" Angie asks before I get a chance to say anything.

"Downtown," I say.

"When can you get here?" She assumes I know where here is and I do.

"It's a fifteen minute drive, plus parking. Can you tell me what happened? Where is Amelie? She's not replying."

"She's here. Tall lost consciousness when Amelie was visiting him and she called 911. They won't tell us anything, because we are not the next of kin. I told them you are and that you are coming."

"I'm not a relative"—Angie must know that— "I have the power of attorney and can make all the medical decisions for his care. Have them call me if it's urgent or if it's not, I will talk to them as soon I'm there."

We hang up, and I drive as fast as the Chicago speed limits allow.

"You can go faster, it's an emergency," says Linda.

I ignore her and focus on the road and the cars around me. It's gotten dark since we came in to talk to Martha and driving in the dark is not something I do well. I want to analyze the information I've received about Tall and his hospital visit so far, but I have to keep my attention on the highway in front of me.

My hands begin to shake. I'm scared and no matter how hard I'm not thinking about Tall, I know something bad happened and that's why none of the texts nor Angie on the call provided any details on his condition.

We park in the garage, and I run from it to the hospital. The main entrance is to one side, but they redirect us to the back of the building for the ER waiting room. I sprint and Linda can't keep up.

"You go, I'll find you." Her high heels are pretty but not good for running and running is what I do well.

I hold on to the straps of my backpack and speed through the hallways, dodging patients and staff, reading the signs on the walls and following the arrows to the ER.

I jump through the doors and the ER waiting room is in front of me. I look around it for Am, Angie, Mike, or Mom, but I see no familiar faces. I scan it again and for the third time. No. They're not here. I go to the nurse at the admission desk.

"I have a friend who was brought here by an ambulance. Patrick Kilpatrick. I need to see him and his doctor. I have the power of attorney for his care," I rattle off the words and stare at the hands of the nurse typing up a storm on the keyboard. She's looking at her computer screen. I can't see it. "Where is he?"

"Give me a second, Mr." She pauses. I know I'm supposed to give her my name.

"Ben."

"Mr. Ben. Hold on a second." She picks up her phone and says into the receiver, "I have a caretaker here for Mr. Killpatrick in 3487. Where would you like me to direct him? Aha. Yes, I understand. We'll wait for you here." She hags up and turns my way.

I stare at her green nail polish and her green scrubs with puppies.

"Mr. Ben," she says. "The doctor will come and get you. You can sit down over there." She points at the row of chairs near closed double doors.

I nod.

I sit down, but it's a horrible idea.

My blood is drumming in my ears, and I'm not at all able to keep still. I tap my fingers on my thighs, faster and faster. The running over here helped a bit, but it's not nearly enough to get me to a state where my mind whirls less.

Someone sits down on the chair next to me.

"What did I miss?" Linda asks.

"You didn't miss anything. The doctor is going to come and talk to me about Tall. I'm supposed to wait here."

"Oh, OK. Are you OK?"

"No. I will not be OK until I know what's going on with Tall."

"Mr. Ben?" The nurse calls me and points to a small dark-haired woman in a white lab coat my way. I get up and meet her in the middle of the walkway.

"What do you know about Tall's condition? What decision have you made? When can I see him?" She puts her hand on my elbow, and I jerk away. "I have the power of attorney and you can tell me everything."

"Young man," she says, "Ben. Can I call you that?" I nod in agreement. "I'd like you to follow me inside into a private room where we can have a conversation. Your wife can follow us as well." She smiles at Linda. "This way."

"She's not my—" Linda's hand finds mine and squeezes it.

"Just go with it," she whispers into my ear.

The pressure of her fingers on my hand takes my mind off the swirling questions about Tall. We follow the lady in the lab coat through the metal double doors, down a corridor, turn left, then right and into a fishbowl of a room with glass on one wall and several chairs grouped around a couple of coffee tables.

"Would you like to sit down?" She points at one of the chairs.

"No, I'd like to know what's going on."

"I have bad news for you, Ben. Patrick came in with a massive blood clot in his lungs."

Patrick. Who's Patrick? The woman's lips continue to move.

"We pushed the medication that helps dissolve it and had to resuscitate him again. He appeared to have stabilized but never regained consciousness when his heart stopped for the third time and all our efforts at resuscitation failed. His time of death was twenty seventeen pm. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Where is he? Can I see him?" Eyes still on her mouth. "What time is it?"

"It's"—she looks at her wrist—"a bit after nine now. I can show you to the room where your friends and family are waiting. We haven't told them anything because HIPAA laws prevent us form disclosing such information. You'll have to let them know, and we can take you to see him." The doctor's face is blank. She looks at the door and seems ready to leave the room as soon as it's possible. Linda is squeezing my hand.

I rub my forehead, my face, and I'm shaking all over. Tall is dead. This is some kind of misunderstanding. I've seen him yesterday. He was absolutely fine. We went for a walk around the block. He was absolutely fine. He was walking. He cann't be dead now. I have no more words. The shakes move through my body, and I'm freezing. Goosebumps cover my arms and run down my legs. Why is it so cold in here? I touch my face again and shaky breath leaves my mouth. I have no words.

"Could you take us to the rest of the group?" Linda speaks up. And tugs me behind her when the lady steps out of the room down more hallways and into a different identical fishbowl room with identical chairs and coffee tables, but it's not empty.

It has Mom, Dad, Amelie, Angie, and Mike. There's a smell of stale coffee in the air. Several Styrofoam cups cluster on the coffee table around which they are sitting. Mike stands up the moment he sees me and Linda come in.

"Finally," he says then address the lady in the while lab coat. "Can you tell us what's Tall's status now?"

"Ben's going to tell you everything, and I'll be at the nurses' station if you need me." She rushes out of the door.

"So what's his condition?" Mike asks me.

I hear his question.

I comprehend his question.

I know what the answer is.

Tall's dead.

That's what I'm supposed to tell them. I open my mouth.

Tall's dead is supposed to come out of it.

Nothing come out of my mouth.

I can't even close it.

I stand there with my mouth open, shivers running through me, and I can't speak. I physically can not say a word. I sit down on the only empty chair and bury my face in my hands. I press the heels of my palms into my open mouth, but no words come. I nod my head and wish I were in my bedroom away form these people, all people, able to let loose and allow the meltdown to take me.

"Tall is dead. He died at eight seventeen." I hear Linda's calm voice relay the information better that the lady in the white lab coat. "His heart stopped as a side effect of a pulmonary embolism." When Linda says the words, I finally get them.

Tall had a clot that got lodged in his lungs, then his heart stopped, and they could not restart it.

Tall is dead.

I get it now.

Someone sits down next to me and I smell mom's perfume. She takes my elbow and digs her fingers into my arm. My shakes grow stronger and my breaths—more ragged. I'm not crying or making any noises apart from those of the sharp inhales and exhales through my hands. The pressure of Mom's fingers gets lighter and harder. It's a slower rhythm than my breaths, and I try to match them.

4/1/2021

Finished another chapter right when it's time to go to bed, so here's an extra chapter for you. 

Deep breaths. I cried writing this one. And the one before. And the one after. It's going to get better. 

How are you feeling about it all?