Chapter 11
Later that afternoon, the harsh fluorescent lights of County General Hospital felt surprisingly comforting compared to the sterile hostility of the transit boardroom. Liam walked down the third-floor corridor carrying a small paper bag containing fresh fruit and a printout of the latest crowdfunding statistics, which had now crested twenty-five thousand dollars.
When he pushed open the door to Room 312, he found Arthur sitting up in bed, looking stronger than he had days prior. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he was holding a crossword puzzle book, though his pencil rested idly against the page.
"You look like a man who just survived a corporate firing squad," Arthur said with a faint, dry smile as Liam entered.
"Something like that," Liam replied, pulling up the chair and setting the bag on the bedside table. "Turns out the transit board is less intimidating when you bring a police officer and a television reporter to the meeting."
Arthur let out a raspy chuckle, shaking his head. "You didn't have to go to bat for me with the executives, Liam. I'm just a bus driver. I knew the risks when I signed on."
"You aren't just a bus driver, Arthur," Liam said, leaning forward. "You're part of a city that forgets how to talk to itself until someone hits the brakes. Look at this." He unfolded the paper printout, placing it across the blanket.
Arthur looked down at the numbers, his eyes widening. Twenty-five thousand four hundred dollars. Hundreds of names listed in tiny font—commuters, students, local merchants, even a few anonymous transit workers from neighboring depots.
"I can't accept this," Arthur whispered, his voice trembling. "It's too much. People have their own rent, their own struggles."
"They're giving it because you kept them safe," Liam countered gently. "It’s not charity, Arthur. It’s reciprocity. You carried them through snowstorms, traffic jams, and bad Mondays for twenty years. This is just their turn to hold the wheel for you."
Arthur stared at the paper, the lines of exhaustion and worry on his face softening into something resembling peace. For the first time since the night of the collapse, the rigid posture of a man bracing for perpetual defeat vanished, replaced by the posture of someone who realized he was no longer alone in the dark.
May you like
"The doctor said I might be discharged by the end of the week," Arthur murmured, looking toward the gray, rainy window. "They want me to do cardiac rehab. Six months of recovery before I can even think about returning to work. But... I don't know what I'll do if I can't drive anymore. It's all I've done since Elena passed."
"You'll figure it out," Liam said with a reassuring nod. "One street at a time."
