Another voice:
"Poor guy."
Marcus hated the second comment more.
Pity had its own hierarchy.
He unplugged the floor machine.
Coiled the cable.
Finished the remaining section.
At 7:28, Denise Porter, the Meridian site supervisor, found him in the service hallway.
"Marcus."
He looked up.
Denise was fifty-six and had been managing building crews for nearly twenty years.
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about the report."
"I'm not."
"She was in a mood."
Marcus pushed the cart toward the supply room.
"Doesn't change the floor."
Denise sighed.
"That's not the point."
"I know."
She lowered her voice.
"She talks to people like that too often."
Marcus shrugged.
"I've been talked to worse."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No."
He parked the cart.
"But my shift ends at two."
Denise looked at him.
"Lily's appointment?"
"Two forty-five."
"Heart?"
"Routine."
"Good."
Marcus changed the subject because he did not want Victoria Ashford following him into the rest of his day.
He had more important things.
At two-oh-six, Marcus clocked out.
He changed from work shoes into sneakers, grabbed his backpack, and caught the bus toward Lily's school.
She came running when she saw him.
"Daddy!"
Marcus crouched just in time.
She hit him at full speed.
"How was school?"
"Good."
"Specific."
"We did fractions."
"Still good?"
"Terrible."
"More believable."
Lily grinned.
She had Sarah's eyes.
Deep brown.
Watchful.
She also had Sarah's habit of squinting slightly whenever she suspected Marcus was joking.
"Doctor today?"
"Doctor today."
"I don't want a shot."
"No shots planned."
"You said that last time."
"Last time nobody told me about the flu clinic."
"Doctors are sneaky."
"Terrifying."
She held his hand all the way to the bus.
Lily had been born with a small ventricular septal defect, a tiny opening between the lower chambers of her heart.
Many such defects closed naturally.
Hers had become smaller but remained visible on imaging.
It caused a soft murmur and little else.
She did not have monthly appointments as Marcus sometimes feared she would during infancy.
Now she saw pediatric cardiology every six months.
No medication.
No activity restriction.
Just monitoring.
Marcus still dreaded every visit.
Sarah's illness had permanently changed his relationship with hospitals.
A doctor could smile and still destroy your life in the next sentence.
St. Vincent's Children's Hospital occupied three floors of a larger medical complex.
Marcus and Lily arrived at 2:38.
She checked in.
They read a book about a dragon who hated vegetables.
At 3:16, nurse practitioner Elena Ruiz called:
"Lily Webb?"
Lily whispered:
"That's me."
Marcus stood.
"Strong identification skills."
The checkup went well.
Weight slightly up.
Oxygen saturation normal.
Blood pressure good.
The cardiologist listened carefully, reviewed the echocardiogram, and smiled.
"No meaningful change."
Marcus exhaled.
"That's good?"
"That's good."
Lily raised her hand.
"Can I have ice cream?"
The doctor laughed.