It was five o’clock and I thought about unlocking the doors, but the painting was still wet and I wasn’t ready for anyone to see it yet. The phone rang and for a glimmering moment I thought maybe it could be Paul, but as Fran’s voice came though the ear piece, I remembered I was supposed to be home so she could pick me up. “Sorry, I forgot. Can you pick me up here at Mocha Daze?”

A half an hour later I got into Fran’s car. We were heading for the hospital to see what was going on with Hillary. “Look at you!” Fran screamed, “You’re covered with paint. You’re ruining my car!”

“It’s dry, relax. Besides, wait till you see my mural. It’s like about survival of the fittest or something. I had no idea I had it in me.” Fran calmed down, merging through traffic. “It has all these life forms gasping for breath, most of them dying off and a few surviving, but scared as hell.”

“Sounds delightful,” Fran blurted.

“Really?”

“Sorry. I’m just thinking about Hillary, that’s all. I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch.”

“A part of me wishes she wasn’t doing this.”

Fran nodded in agreement. We were silent the rest of the ride into the hospital parking lot. People stared at me in my paint covered clothes and probably figured I was there for an emergency, but they were wrong. This was all planned because this is what Hillary wanted--- to be without her penis, to be a true girl.

Maxfield sat on a vinyl and metal couch in the third floor waiting area, his head in his hands. “Max,” Fran said. He looked up distressed. “What is it?” She asked.

“Something’s wrong, but they won’t tell us. I’ve asked several times but the nurse just keeps saying the doctor will be out to talk with me in a minute.”

“Maybe the doctor is just cleaning up or something.”

He nodded no. “She’s been out of surgery for awhile. Mike, Drew and Eric are downstairs in the Cafeteria. They sent Mike’s girlfriend Betsy home.”

I approached the nurse, thinking of Fran’s Betsy. Could it be? The world is small but not that small. The nurse’s eyes glanced up without a move of her head.

“I don’t know.”

Her short red hair matched her curt speech. I hated this woman immediately. “Well, you better find out. We want some report on what the hell is going on,” I blurted.

“Please don’t speak to me that way and keep your voice down. This is a hospital.”

“Yeah, well, when you respect your patients by informing their loved ones of their conditions, we’ll respect this as a hospital.”

Max stepped forward peacefully, “It’s killing me here not knowing what’s going on, please find out, I beg you.”

“Look, I’ve called the doctor several times. He won’t answer.”

Fran asked “But she’s definitely in recovery?”

The nurses eyes averted us all, “Yes, I believe so.”

I was about to pounce on her, but Max pulled me back, “That’s the doctor.”

We looked and watched the doctor with wired glasses head toward us. His manner was serious and unrelenting. He asked us to sit back down in the waiting room.

“I have some bad news.”

Maxfield couldn't wait, “Is she dead?”

“No,” the doctor answered immediately. “But she is in a coma. We’re doing some tests as we speak, but we’re quite sure it’s one she will not recover from. She’s had a major stroke. From what we’re not sure. It could be from a blood clot or from the anesthesia, we’re not sure.”

We all sat quietly while the doctor waited for us to regain some sort of consciousness. Fran spoke first, “What’s going to happen?”

“We’re going to wait for the results of the tests and then discuss the issue. No need to yet without having all the facts.”

He left us and we sat without crying. Max sneezed and Greg and I simultaneously said, “God bless you.”