Outside St. Mike's hospital, catching some air.

Caucasian woman, early 20s, wearing a blue bomber jacket, earmuffs and grey track pants, crouched in the stairwell, having a cigarette.

Nights of Rain and Stars, Maeve Binchy (McArthur & Company)

About page 149:

"There isn't usually dancing after a funeral here," Yorghis said.

"This isn't a usual funeral," Vonni said quietly.

She sat in the waiting room behind a group of men who had pulled their chairs into a semi-circle under the mounted television. Tiger had hit the green, again, and the men cheered. She looked hard at her magazine. Nothing was sinking in. She stood and rolled her neck, hiking her pants, pulling the bottom of her shirt over the top of her low riding jeans. She tied her scarf once more around her neck and crossed her arms to keep warm. She'd been told to sit here but that was thirty-five minutes ago.

She went into the hall, looking each way, hoping to catch glimpse of someone who could help her. Two paramedics rolled a gurney down the hall. They stopped at the end, gestured at one another, turned around, and came back.

A high school student in high-waisted khakis and a long sleeved tee walked in carrying a clipboard. The room stood, swarming him for details.

Yes, yes. It says here she's in recovery.
Yes, yes. It says here she's just about to go into surgery.
Yes, yes. It says here you can see him now.

She waited until the crowd had settled then approached, reading his nametag. "Trevor" asked the name of the patient, running a finger down the chart, the tip of his finger wrapped in a band-aid, its seam curling up. He paused, looking at the edge of her jawline flexing compulsively. Quietly, could he have her name, please? She gave it, straightening her posture until she stood taller than him. He excused himself, heading into the lobby where he broke into a half-walk, half-run towards the paramedics, whispering, "Security! Security!"

Keep Toronto Reading. February 1-28, 2007