Waiting

“This waiting is driving me crazy.”

“Be patient, Cornelius. The surgery’s taking a long time.”

Agnes looked over at Victoria. She seemed to be managing Norman’s accident well – but then she noticed her hands so tightly wound around the chair arms, the knuckles had turned white.

For herself, Agnes couldn’t sit in the waiting room any longer. Too much white on the walls, and every time she sat down, her legs became restless. She paced the hallway outside the room and pretended to look at the black and white photographs of Philadelphia – mostly the Schuylkill River. A nice city to photograph, but why the Schuylkill River? Why not Fairmount Park, the Delaware, Independence Hall, Rittenhouse Square?

And what was Norman doing in West Philadelphia when the attack occurred? Shouldn’t he have been in Old City, having dinner with his client? They were five miles apart and he had no car.

She went back to pacing the waiting room, and looked at the old photographs of the Schuylkill River again. When she sneezed, a little spray went on the one by Boater’s Row.