Her Own Room
By David Gialanella
Posted on
The man stood at the window. The sun was melting crimson onto the tree line, but instead he pecked at his phone with furrowed brow.
The woman sat in a chair, overaggressive springs prodding upward beneath the vinyl. Her soles fused to the floor, tacky and gleaming with disinfectant. She rested her arm on the bedrail and stroked the girl, who was upright and looking far away.
“Mommy?” the girl said.
“Yes, honey,” Sueanne said, paging through the magazine in her lap. ‘Nine tips to a shapelier bottom.’
“What did the doctor say?”
“When?”
“Before. Just before, when he was in the hallway with you and Daddy.”
“Haley honey, I’ve told you, you need to rest and let the grownups worry about doctor things. It’ll only make you feel worse to worry.” …
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