Little Do We Know

by Tamara Ireland Stone

  Prom. Graduation. Road trip.

  Luke

  P.S. Sorry. I know that’s a bit long for Day 281. Feel free to paraphrase.

  He was in love with her. That was clear. I could hear it in his voice. I could feel it in the bend and flow of the words, and even the spaces between them, and it surprised me.

  And now he was dead, and my heart broke all over again, not for me and what I saw, but for Emory. Luke died in his car, in my front yard, under my streetlamp, in my dad’s arms. And Emory was right around the corner the entire time.

  I hated that I was the one who found him. I shouldn’t have been the last one to hold his hand. It should have been her.

  I opened the door and threw up all over the pavement.

  By 6:00 a.m., the doctor had come out to the waiting room three times with an update on what was happening with Luke. The first time, she told us they were working hard to repair a small tear in his spleen. She said it was too early to tell, but they were doing everything they could.

  The second time, she told us that Luke was fighting hard but that he’d lost a lot of blood. She held out a clipboard authorizing a transfusion, and Mr. Calletti signed it and passed it back to her. She warned us that even if he survived the surgery, until he woke up, they had no way of knowing if he’d have any permanent brain damage. “He went some time without oxygen,” she’d said carefully. “We don’t know how long that was.”

  The third time, she told us he was awake. Groggy. Medicated. But alive. He was able to speak. He seemed to have full motion in his body. His brain function appeared to be normal.

  Luke’s dad looked like he was about to cry. His mom smiled with her whole face. Addison hugged me, but I must have been in shock, because I couldn’t move or smile or feel a thing. That image of him, blue and lifeless, was still stuck in my head and I wasn’t sure I was going to get rid of it until I had something to replace it with. When I could see his face and touch his skin and kiss his lips and hear his voice, maybe then I’d believe he was going to be okay.

  Somewhere after 8:00 a.m., she returned. “You can take turns saying hello, but keep it short, okay?” Mr. and Mrs. Calletti stood.

  Mr. Calletti gestured to me. “Emory can go in, too.”

  “Is she family?” the doctor asked, looking at him sideways.

  “Yes, she is,” he said, and I felt tears well up in my eyes.

  But I didn’t let them fall. I was too happy to cry.

  “He’s lucky you found him when you did,” the nurse said as she checked Luke’s IV drip. “He almost died last night.”

  “I did.” Luke said it under his breath. The nurse didn’t hear him.

  I looked down at his bloodshot, sunken eyes and his face, bloated from all the medication he’d been given over the last seven hours. His dark curls were matted and stuck to the side of his head, and his lips were dry and cracked. A bag of yellow fluid hung on a rack behind his right shoulder, dripping down to a needle inserted into a vein on the back of his hand.

  “This will kick in quickly,” the nurse said to me. “I’ll go ahead and let you stay until he falls asleep, but keep it down. No one can know you’re in here.”

  I waited until she left the room, and then I sat on the bed. I took his needle-free hand in both of mine and smiled down at him. “Damn. You look like shit.”

  He smiled back. “I feel about twenty times worse than I look.” He tried to sit up, but then he winced, took a deep breath, and settled back into the pillows with his teeth still clenched.

  “Wait. Let me help you.” I leaned over him, carefully lifting his shoulders and adjusting his pillows until he said he was comfortable.

  And then I twisted my mouth up on one side and looked around the room to be sure we were still alone. “You ruined my surprise, you know.”

  I unzipped my sweatshirt halfway so he could see the black, low-cut lace camisole I was wearing underneath. It looked like it took all the effort he had in him to lift his arm off the bed, but he slowly moved his hand toward the zipper and tugged on it until my sweatshirt opened all the way. He took a piece of the fabric in between his thumb and forefinger. “I ruined our sleepover.”

  I leaned down to kiss him. He smelled sour, like medicine instead of peppermint. Not that I cared. “You didn’t ruin anything. There will be other nights.”

  “But no pancakes.”

  I let out a laugh. “I will make sure you have pancakes when you wake up.”

  “I like that you saved my life while wearing lingerie. That’s, like, superhero hot.”

  I almost corrected him. I started to. But then, I didn’t see the point. So Hannah found him first. I was there, too.

  I zipped my sweatshirt up and sat next to him on the bed again. “Do you feel like talking about it?”

  Right before his mom let me into his room, she warned me that he might still be in shock. That he probably wouldn’t want to talk. He needed to sleep and heal first, she’d said, and I’d agreed. But Luke had been in surgery for almost three hours, isolated in the ICU for another two, and he had a row of staples holding his stomach together. So, if he wanted to talk, I wasn’t about to stop him.

  He let out a long, heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I can’t remember much. The doctor said it will all come back to me over the next few days, but right now, it’s all just a bunch of random scenes and images that aren’t in order and don’t fit together.

  “I remember being at Shawn’s party. I talked with Ava. I remember telling Dominic that my side was killing me and that I thought I might need an X-ray; I figured maybe I had a hairline fracture on a rib or something. But even then, I didn’t think anything was wrong-wrong. I remember getting your text saying you were home from LA, and by then I was feeling really dizzy.”

  “Then why did you get in the car?”

  He gave me a sleepy smile. “You were waiting for me.” I could tell the drugs were kicking in. His face was starting to relax and it took more effort for him to speak. “I wanted to…wake up with you.”

  I probably should have scolded him for not going home right away, and for not asking his friends for help, and for not calling his mom. I should have looked him in the eye and told him he did the wrong thing—that he never should have gotten behind that wheel when he could barely stand—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “I don’t remember anything after that.” His eyelids fluttered a few times, and I could tell he was struggling to keep them open. “After that, I…I…” he stammered. “I don’t know how to explain it. I was in so much pain, and then suddenly, I wasn’t. It felt so…good.” I felt his hand begin to relax in mine. “I didn’t want…to leave the water.” He wasn’t making any sense. His words slurred together as his eyelids fell closed.

  I leaned in closer and smoothed his hair off his face. His curls were coarse and stiff, not soft like they usually were. “You’re okay now. You’ll be out of here soon, I promise.” I kissed his forehead. He tasted like salt. “And I’m afraid you’re stuck with me because I’m not leaving until you do.”

  The bag of yellow fluid was almost gone, and his whole body seemed to be melting into the bed. His head fell to one side, and he stopped struggling to keep his eyes open.

  I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, watching him. He looked so sweet, so peaceful, and all I wanted to do was climb in next to him and tuck my legs between his, but I was afraid to get too close. Besides, I was trying not to get kicked out, and I was pretty sure the hospital staff frowned upon co-sleeping with patients.

  There was an oversize chair upholstered in scratchy-looking green-and-yellow plaid fabric in the corner, and I walked over to it and flopped down hard. I curled myself up into a ball, tucked my legs inside my sweatshirt, and closed my eyes, hoping the nurse would take pity on me and let me stay for the rest of the day.

  I felt the fatigue everywhere—in my shaking hands, shallow breaths, and heavy limbs. I couldn’t wait to close my eyes, but I couldn’t put off the inevitable any l
onger.

  I typed out a text to Hannah. Thank you for finding Luke. He’s going to be okay now.

  Unlike all the other texts I’d started and deleted over the last two-plus months, that time, I pressed SEND. I waited, watching the screen for a response, but none came, so I let my head drop back into the chair, closed my eyes. I pictured Luke and me driving along the coast, windows down, music blaring, fingers intertwined. My mouth turned up at the corners as I drifted off.

  Everything felt warm. And bright. I reached around for the covers so I could pull them over my face and block out the sun, but I couldn’t find them. I closed my eyelids tighter and shifted position, away from the light. I took a long, deep inhale, and winced when the smell registered in my brain. Lemon. Ammonia. Something that smelled like BO and nasty socks. I peeled one eye open and realized I was still in Luke’s car.

  My neck was stiff and my back was tight, and I let out a groan as I twisted in place, looking around, trying to piece the night together. And then I remembered why my eyes felt red and puffy and my throat was sore and dry.

  I reached for my phone on the passenger seat. There were four messages from Mom, all sent in the middle of the night, but it was the one on top that caught my eye. It had arrived about a half hour earlier, at 6:43 a.m.:

  Emory: Thank you for finding Luke. He’s going to be okay now.

  I tucked my hair behind my ears and sat a little straighter. I stared at the phone. “No,” I whispered, not because I didn’t want it to be true, but because I didn’t think there was any way it could be. I read it again. And again. And again.

  He’s going to be okay now.

  I was about to type a reply to Emory, when my phone rang, and Mom’s picture appeared on the screen. I answered it right away.

  “Is it true?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Looks like it.” She laughed as she said it, as if she couldn’t believe her own words, and then she went straight into the details, talking fast, using words like blood transfusions and surgeries and staples, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t grasp it. All those details slipped through my mind like sand through my fingers.

  Luke wasn’t dead.

  He was alive.

  “I would have called you a few hours earlier, but it was so touch-and-go, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” she said. “But once they’d changed his status from critical to stable, I had to tell you.”

  “He’s okay?” I still didn’t believe her.

  “Emory’s with him now,” she said.

  As soon as I heard her name, I remembered reading that card Luke had written to her, and how my heart had shattered into a million pieces for her. “Tell her I’m on my way.”

  Mom said, “Hannah, wait—” but I hung up before I let her finish her sentence.

  I raced inside to give my dad the news, and I’d barely had time to change into jeans and a clean T-shirt before he was calling to me from the kitchen with two travel mugs, one filled with fresh coffee and the other with steaming hot tea.

  The hospital was only six blocks away, but we drove in silence while I rehearsed what I was going to say to Emory in my head.

  I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for what you overheard. For not defending you. For what I said. It didn’t come out right. Please. I can’t stand fighting with you anymore.

  Ten minutes later, Dad pulled into the hospital parking lot. He found an empty space near the front, and as soon as he killed the engine, I bolted from the car. Dad was right behind me.

  Inside, we found Mom sitting alone in the waiting room. She told us that Emory’s mom had gone home to get Emory some clean clothes, and Luke’s family just left, too, to get his things and pick up his car. Emory was still with Luke, but he was heavily medicated and probably wouldn’t be awake for a few more hours.

  “Can I see him?” I asked.

  “Family only,” Mom said. “They wouldn’t let me in, either.”

  “But they let Emory in?”

  Mom hesitated for a moment. “Luke’s parents said she was family.”

  “But I need to see him.” I didn’t need hours, I didn’t even need minutes, I needed one second—two, tops—to prove to myself that he was alive, and to replace the horrible image in my head with a new one that wouldn’t haunt me for the rest of my life. I had to see his chest rise and fall, and the color back in his cheeks, and his fingers relaxed instead of curled and cramped.

  And I needed to see Emory.

  “I have to talk to her.”

  “This isn’t the right time, Hannah.”

  My throat tightened. “Did Emory say that?”

  She didn’t seem to know how to reply. “No, but she’s focused on Luke right now. Please, just trust me. You and Emory have a lot to work out, and you will, but not here, not now.” She squeezed my hands a little harder. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready. Give her space.”

  “I’ve been giving her space. I don’t want to give her any more space. Emory needs me. Especially right now.”

  “She’ll come around,” Mom said.

  I wasn’t so sure about that, not anymore. I thought back to that day I came home from church and found Emory in my room, shaking and pacing the floor. She told me what happened, and I went straight to the living room to get my mom, even though Emory had begged me not to. My mom wasn’t there, but my dad was, so I brought him back to my room instead. When we got there, Emory was gone.

  “What was she upset about?” Dad had asked.

  I had no idea how to tell him. I started with, “This guy—” And that’s when he cut me off. “Again?” Dad rolled his eyes and said, “Look, I know she’s your BFF and all, but she’s changed. I’m not sure this friendship is in your best interest, you know?”

  And I said, “I know.”

  I didn’t defend her. I agreed with him.

  And Emory had heard the whole thing.

  And then I made it worse. She called me a fucking sheep. And I told her maybe my dad was right; maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore.

  “Did you hear me, Hannah?”

  My head snapped up, forcing me back to reality.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “I said, there’s a cute little chapel right around the corner.” She pointed toward a sterile-looking hallway. “Walk all the way to the end, then take a left and follow the signs. If you pass the courtyard, you’ve gone too far.”

  I didn’t move.

  “Go, sweetie.” She wrapped her arm around me and squeezed. “It will help.”

  Actually, it sounded nice. Familiar. I stood and walked away in a daze, following Mom’s instructions until I saw a sign that read INTERFAITH CHAPEL mounted to a white wooden door. I pulled the handle and stepped inside.

  It felt like leaving one world and entering a whole new one. The room was quiet and peaceful, a far cry from the high-pitched noise of screaming babies and the low drone of the newscast I’d left back in the waiting room. The walls were painted in light green, with framed photographs of nature scenes hanging on each one. The carpet was earth-toned, too, and soft under my feet, unlike that stark-white institutional flooring in the hallway. It smelled like lavender and vanilla.

  Three rows of dark wooden benches lined each side of a narrow aisle, and I followed the path to the front of the room, where there was a wide wooden ledge lined with tiny white candles.

  Between each candle, there were individual religious texts. A Holy Bible. The I Ching. The Quran. The Hebrew Bible. The Book of Mormon. The Tao Te Ching. The Guru Granth Sahib.The Kojiki. The Book of Rites. There was even a book of Zen meditations and another book of quotes from famous people. Each one had been placed on a piece of light blue silk, protecting and showcasing it, as if it were special and important.

  One by one, I lifted each book in my hands and took my time admiring it. I ran my fingertip over the covers, enjoying how the raised lettering felt against my skin before I opened it and thumbed through the thin pages. I studied the gold-tipped edges and the mystical-looking scripts,
and even though I couldn’t read the words, I thought the writing was beautiful.

  The last one I picked up was a book of Zen meditations. It was smaller than all the others, with a simple red cover. I turned the pages, skimming over them like I’d done with all the others. Right at the beginning, I spotted a page with the words The Beginner’s Mind. It described the benefits of daily meditation and included a bulleted list of instructions. Sit comfortably, it began.

  I looked around. I was completely alone. I walked to the first bench and sat. I wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but at least I felt safe. I figured if Mom or Dad happened to come in, I could mutter a quick amen and they wouldn’t think anything of it. I tried shifting into a different position, folding my legs underneath me like the illustration showed, but the bench was too narrow.

  I glanced around the room again. There was a spot on the floor right next to one of the candles that looked perfect, so I took the meditation book with me and sat with my legs folded. I opened the book in front of me and read.

  Notice the breath, it said. Don’t force it. Breathe normally. Notice each inhale. Notice each exhale.

  I began breathing, in and out, slowly, evenly.

  Thoughts will drift in, the text said. That’s okay. Notice each thought, and then let it go.

  My eyes fell shut. I breathed in and out. And I tried to let the thoughts drift in and out of my mind, but they were relentless. The harder I tried to notice them and let them go, the more seemed to come at me, multiplying before my eyes. And then there was one I couldn’t ignore: What if my mom comes in and sees me like this?

  I peeled one eye open and checked the door. It was closed, and I was still alone in the room. I skimmed the page, looking for advice.

  Get rid of any distractions. Silence your phone. Close your door. Set a timer and be sure nothing comes in between you and these ten minutes.

  I grabbed my phone and texted my mom:

  Hannah: You were right, this room is nice.