Page 160 - In Five Years

“Bella,” I say. I gesture with my free arm, the one not holding my array of
folders, upward, to the room where Bella lies, chemicals being pumped into her.
“I just came from there.”
Dr. Shaw takes a step closer to me. He peers at my binder disapprovingly.

“Do you need some coffee?” he asks.
I found some crappy vending machine stuff earlier, but it’s wearing off

quickly.
“It kind of sucks here,” I say.
He holds a pointed finger out to me. “That’s because you do not know the
tricks. Follow me.”

We wind through the ground floor of the treatment center to the back and
down a hallway. At the end is a little atrium, with a Starbucks cart. I swear, it’s

like seeing Jesus. My eyes go wide. Dr. Shaw notices.
“I know, right?” he says. “It’s the best-kept hospital secret. Come on.”
He leads me to the cart where a woman in her mid-twenties with two French

braids smiles wide at him. “The usual?” she asks.
He turns to me. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a tea drinker. That’s why Irina
here has to know my order.”

“The hospital is big on coffee?” I ask.
“More manly,” he says, gesturing for me to step forward.
I order an Americano, and when our drinks are ready, Dr. Shaw takes a seat at

a little metal table. I join him.
“I don’t want to keep you,” I say. “I appreciate the coffee referral.”
“It’s good for me,” he says. He takes his lid off, letting the steam rise. “Do

you know surgeons are notorious for having the worst bedside manner?”
“Really,” I say. But I know.
“Yes. We’re monstrous. So every Wednesday I try and have coffee with a

commoner.”
He smiles. I laugh because I know the moment requires it.
“So how is Bella?” he asks. His pager beeps and he looks at it, setting it on

the table.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You’ve seen her more recently than I have.”
He looks confused; I keep talking.

“We had a fight. I’m not allowed upstairs.”