Chapter 5
The first thing Michael said when he walked in was, "Sarah, I'm sorry for your loss."
He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, and his operating room badge was dangling from his wrist, like he hadn't had time to take it off yet.
He really looked like someone who'd just heard the bad news and rushed straight here.
"Andrew passed away so suddenly. Don't be too upset. I'll take care of everything. Just focus on resting," he added.
"Sit down," I said, gesturing toward the couch.
He hesitated for a moment before sitting down.
"Sarah, Alan has briefed me on the situation. Andrew's heart failure triggered multi-organ failure. His baseline condition was already fragile, so as difficult as it is, from a medical perspective..."
"Medical perspective?"
"From a medical perspective, it was something we could have seen coming."
I looked at him.
"What if he'd had that surgery eleven days ago?
His hands tightened on his knees.
"Sarah, I already explained that to you."
"Yeah, you did." I nodded.
The silence hung between us.
The air hung heavy for a few seconds.
He let out a relieved sigh and took my hand. "You get to decide how Andrew's funeral goes. I'll do whatever you need. And don't worry about the money."
"Okay."
"There's one more thing," he said, pausing. "Next month, there's a recognition event at the hospital. After Benjamin retires, there might be a new arrangement for the director position."
"What about you?"
"If nothing goes wrong, it should be me."
He tried to keep his voice steady, but I could catch that spark of anticipation in his eyes.
Getting promoted to director.
He'd been eyeing that spot for three years.
He continued, "The hospital wants the family to be there for the event. If you're feeling up to it..."
"Sure." My answer was so quick, it actually threw him for a moment.
"You...you're not mad at me anymore?"
"Andrew's gone. Being angry won't change anything."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then stood up and pulled me into his arms.
"Sarah, you've been through so much these past few years. I promise I'll make it up to you."
I buried my face in his shirt.
He smelled like disinfectant.
After six years of marriage, he always smelled like that.
But from today on, whenever I caught a whiff of it, all I'd think of was Andrew's ashes.
After he left that day, I called Victor Clark.
"Victor, you once told me that if I ever needed someone to speak up for me, I could come to you," I said.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Can you come to the recognition event?"
There was a three-second pause on the other end.
"Ms. Summers, are you sure about this?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"Do you have anything else besides the materials I gave you?"
"Yeah." I glanced at the closet.
"A voice recorder. Andrew left it for me."
Victor let out a heavy sigh on the other end. "Alright. I'll be waiting for you at the venue on the day of the recognition event."
After hanging up, I took the file bag out of the closet.
The voice recorder lay right on top.
I traced it over and over, as if I were holding Andrew's hand.
I said, "Andrew, I promised you I'd see the sea for you. I will.
"But before that, there are some things I need to take care of first."
The night before the recognition event, Michael came home for a bit.
He'd been busy lately, prepping his report for the director promotion, wining and dining with the hospital leaders, and sometimes, replying to Emily's messages.
I didn't say anything.
These days, I kept things calm, cooking, doing laundry, cleaning the house.
Playing the part of the perfect wife, someone who'd lost her brother but acted like she was fine.
For a while, Michael actually thought I'd really moved on.
"Sarah, wear that navy blue dress to the recognition event tomorrow. There'll be reporters taking pictures, so you look good in the photos," he said.
"Okay," I replied.
"I'll take you to get your hair done in a bit."
"No, that's okay."
He glanced at me but didn't insist.
He walked over to the living room couch, sat down, and reached for the remote on the coffee table to turn on the TV.
Just then, his hand froze.
Something was sitting on the coffee table.
It was a small white urn.
A slip of paper with "Andrew Summers" written on it was taped to the top.
Michael's face changed in an instant.
"What... what's this?" he asked.
"Andrew's ashes," I replied.
"You put his ashes right here?"
"What's wrong with keeping it at home? He came over more than a hundred times, and that couch across from us was his favorite place to sit."
He stared at the urn. His lips moved twice, like he was about to say something but stopped himself.
"Sarah, this isn't right."
"What's not right about it?"
"This is the living room. People might come by tomorrow to pick me up for the event. What will people think if they see this?"
I looked up at him. "If you have a problem with it, you can leave."
He raised his voice. "Sarah.
"What do you want from me? I'm already doing everything I can to take care of everything for Andrew. You can't keep going on like this."
His phone rang. He glanced down. It was Emily calling.
"Go ahead, answer it," I said.
He didn't answer. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, but the ringtone kept going.
Ten seconds ticked by. Then twenty. He finally picked up and stepped out onto the balcony.
The glass door closed behind him, shutting out his voice.
But I didn't need to hear it.
Everything I needed to hear was on that voice recorder.
I was not the one who needed to listen to it.
It was for the people sitting in the venue tomorrow.
My phone buzzed.
Victor sent me a message. [Ready.]
I deleted the message.
I picked up the urn from the table and gently wiped the dust off its surface.
By the time he came back from the balcony, I was already sitting on the couch.
His expression was a bit softer than before. After his call with Emily, he seemed a little more relaxed.
"Sarah, tomorrow's event is really important. Come with me and sit in the front row. Let everyone at the hospital see we're going strong," he said.
"Okay," I replied.
"Don't bring the urn with you."
"I won't do it."
He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the subject.
Before leaving, he stopped at the door and gave me one last look.
"Sarah, once I'm director, things will finally turn around for us," he said.
The door closed behind him.
I sat on the couch and took the file bag out of my bag.
Inside were the voice recorder, screenshots of the system modification logs, the donor heart allocation flowchart, and the violation records Victor had compiled over the past three years.
I laid them out one by one on the coffee table.
Tomorrow was the hospital-wide recognition event.
The day Michael finally became director.
And the day his family was torn apart.
My phone screen lit up.
Emily sent me a message. [Sarah, see you at the event tomorrow. Michael said I can sit in the third row. I'm so excited.]
I replied with a single word. [Okay.]
Then I set my phone down and took one last look at Andrew's urn.
I whispered, "Andrew.
"Tomorrow, I'll ask him for you. How much money he got for that donor heart."