The smell of institutional bleach mixed with stale soup always settled in the back of my throat the moment I stepped onto the fourth floor of St. Jude Hospital. On the bedside table in Room Four Hundred Seven, a plastic pitcher of ice water sweat onto a stack of unpaid tax notices with red ink.
Ben sat up in the high bed, adjusting the collar of his continue reading …
faded blue hospital gown. He had insisted on wearing his favorite black bow tie today, even though it sat crookedly against his collarbone, a sharp contrast to the pale skin of his throat.
The cold draft under the hospital room door made me shiver, but Ben did not seem to notice. He was looking out the small window that faced the gravel parking lot,continue reading
