Helen uttered some words under her breath but knelt down to calm thechild, she spoke in a patronizing tone, "Hello sweetie, what are youdoing here? Where's your mama? Where's your mama?"Patricia struggled to speak between the breaths between sobs, anymeaningful language was practically incomprehensible amongst thesniveling cries.Helen examined the child and scooped her up, she couldn't help butrecognize the child, but she couldn't remember where from, or who's babythe child was.Gently she rocked back and forth soothing the little girl into a calm,she hushed the child as she searched her thoughts for trying to rememberwhere she had seen this child before.From Patricia's view point she was dangerously high, and looking down atthe dizzying height of her mothers shoulder was scary business, insteadshe buried her head into her mothers chest and gripped her tightly."Mommy, it's me, Patwisha," the child said.Helen pulled away she held her at arm's length and looked at her,stunned more so as. You’ve been a prick since waking up from surgery yesterday morning because she wasn’t here. I’m about to strangle you with the damn morphine line.’ Abigail’s heart tightened. He’d been through surgery while she’d been cruising around town absorbing the scenery? Guilt had her tripping forward, her eyes traveling over him. The silly hospital gown hung down around his elbows probably from the tussle between him and the guitarist. It put on display all of his upper body. His long hair was a mess around his shoulders and his jaw stubble was now more of a beard. Her whole body clenched at the sight of him. Rafael stepped away when she approached. She looked intently for any signs of bandages to show where he’d been cut. Her eyes watered at the thought of his beautiful skin being marred by a scalpel. The bandage he’d had around his head was gone and he had a few stitches near the corner of one brow. Abigail reached for the grayish blue hospital gown with the dark blue polka dots, intending.
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