As Mason had suspected, the elevator’s phone
was out of order. “Vandals,” he said softly.
“What the fuck business is it of yours!”
Parker whirled on Mason.
“No, uh, I said vandals, plural.” He
swallowed. “Kids, they frequently vandalize the equipment in the
elevators.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, bud. You must think I’m
a real asshole.”
Mason didn’t say anything.
“I’m nervous. Hospitals, I don’t like them. I
don’t normally fly into a rage with people I don’t know.”
“It’s okay.” Inwardly Mason winced. He knew
Parker hadn’t recognized him, but somehow having it spoken out loud
made it hurt worse. People only ever saw the chair, never the guy
sitting in it.
Despite the passage of time, Parker had lost
little of his physical, manly presence. Mason’s gaze fell to his
lap, to the suit pants covering his withered, stick-like legs. He
closed his eyes, not wanting to think about how differently fate
had treated him and Parker.
“Uh, will someone be coming, do you think?”