A Curve in the Road

by Julianne MacLean

  Zack’s voice quavers. “You were there?”

  “Yes. I helped as much as I could, and I tried my best. We all did. There was nothing anyone could do.”

  I listen to the sound of my son crying, and soon we are crying together. I can’t stop the tears. They pour down my cheeks in a terrible flood of despair.

  “Did he say anything to you?” Zack asks when we collect ourselves. “Did he know he was dying?”

  I pull myself together and try to answer honestly. “No. He was unconscious by the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital. He never woke up after that.”

  I hear the doorbell ring in the background.

  “Someone’s here,” Zack says.

  “It’s Maureen,” I tell him. “I asked her to stop by. Go and let her in.”

  “No, Mom. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.”

  “Try to calm down, Zack. Take a slow, deep breath in. Good. Now another.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go let her in.”

  I listen as he gets up and answers the door. I hear Maureen’s loving voice, and I know that she is hugging my son. Jeremy’s there too. I listen to them talking, and I’m so thankful they’re all together.

  Zack returns to the phone. “Mom? I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t know what to do either, honey. I’m stuck here because they want to keep me overnight for observation, and the weather is too risky to venture out anyway. But Gram’s here, and she’s taking good care of me. I’ve asked Maureen to drive you here first thing in the morning when the roads are clear. You’ll have to miss some school.”

  He sniffles, and his voice shakes. “I still can’t believe this. How can he be gone? I’m never going to see him again?”

  The question squeezes at my heart. “You’ll see him . . . at the wake. We’ll have an open casket, and you’ll be able to say goodbye.”

  Zack breaks down completely. “Oh God . . . Mom . . . !”

  “I’m so sorry, Zack. I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t believe any of this either, but we’ll get through it together. It’s going to be rough for a while, but at least we have each other. Don’t forget that. You know how much I love you.”

  “I do, Mom.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But are you okay? You were in the accident too.”

  I sniff and rub under my nose. “I’m totally fine. Please don’t worry.”

  “Did they at least find Winston?” Zack asks.

  I shut my eyes. “Not yet, but they’re still looking. I’m sure they’ll find him soon.”

  But how can I say that when I don’t know for sure? After everything that’s happened tonight, I can’t help but fear the worst.

  Dr. Sanders walks in and sees me on the phone. He points to his own head, indicating that he wants to examine the gash above my hairline.

  I nod at him and say to Zack, “Listen, I have to hang up now. The doctor’s here. I’d like you to sleep at Jeremy’s tonight, and I’ll call you a little later, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom,” he says. “I love you. Please call back soon.”

  “I will, and I love you too, honey. More than anything.”

  We hang up, and Dr. Sanders approaches to ask me some questions about my head. He grows concerned when he learns I was just sick in the bathroom, and he makes sure I understand that I need to stay for overnight observation.

  “No one should be going anywhere in this storm anyway,” he adds, as if he knows how badly I want to go home and be with my son.

  I have no choice but to agree, and the nurses are kind enough to offer my mother a bed to sleep on.

  They are in the process of wheeling me out of the ER to a private room when I see my paramedic, Carrie, walking toward me with a look of concern. She’s talking on her cell phone, nodding her head, and somehow I know that she’s speaking to the first responder, Troy, and there’s news about Winston. My belly turns over with panic. For yet the hundredth time on this cursed night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Carrie approaches. “I’m so sorry about your husband, Abbie. I really am.” She walks beside my wheelchair and gives my shoulder a gentle rub.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I thought you might like to know that I have Troy on the phone. He found Winston.”

  I lay a hand over my heart. “Oh, thank goodness.”

  Then I realize that Carrie isn’t smiling, and I’m not sure how much more heartbreak I can handle. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

  The porter angles the wheelchair in front of the elevator door and pushes the button.

  “He’s alive,” Carrie tells me. “But you should talk to Troy.”

  She hands me the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Abbie?” Troy asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I heard about your husband. I’m so sorry.”

  I fight another onslaught of tears and reply shakily, “Thank you.”

  Troy pauses a few seconds. “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we found Winston.”

  “Where?” I ask, needing to know all the details but not wanting to hear the bad news just yet. I pray it’s not what I fear. I don’t know if I can take another hard blow at the moment.

  “Near the off-ramp on the way back to town. We think he might have tried to follow the ambulance, but he gave up and collapsed by the side of the road.”

  “Oh God.” I break down again. More tears stream down my cheeks because I can’t bear to think about how distraught and frightened Winston must have been as he chased after the ambulance. Did he think I’d abandoned him? Or that I was in trouble and needed him?

  “It’s lucky we found him,” Troy says. “We’d just about given up the search because the weather was getting worse. We were on our way back to town when we spotted him. He was lying under a streetlight.”

  I imagine my loyal dog, alone in the darkness and freezing rain, wanting only to protect me and thinking he’d failed.

  “Where is he now?” I ask desperately. “Is he with you? Is he okay?”

  The elevator bell dings, and the doors slide open. The porter pushes my chair forward, and my mother and Carrie both get on the elevator with us.

  “He’s in the truck with me,” Troy replies. “I have his head on my lap. His eyes are open, but he’s cold, and he’s weak.”

  “Put the phone next to his ear.” I want Winston to hear my voice. I wait a few seconds, and then I speak to him in a soothing, melodic tone. “Hey, Winston. What a good boy you are. They’re going to take good care of you, and I’ll come for you soon. I love you. Stay strong, okay?”

  My voice breaks on the last words, and Troy takes the phone back.

  “I just called one of the vets in town,” he says. “He has a clinic in his house, so he’s going to open up for us.”

  “Which clinic?” I ask.

  “It’s called Oceanview Animal Hospital. The vet’s name is Dr. Nathan Payne.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry—he’s good. And I’m off duty now, so I can stay at the clinic until I know more. I’ll keep you posted. Just keep your phone on, and tell Carrie to text me your number.”

  My heart aches, and I’m filled with regret for leaving Winston behind. I wish things were different and that I could be with him now.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” Troy says, “and I promise I won’t leave his side. Not for a second.”

  “Thank you so much, Troy.” My eyes fill with tears again, because I’m grateful for Troy’s help—and for everyone else who has come to my rescue in so many ways tonight. The police officers . . . the firefighters and paramedics . . . and the medical team that worked so hard to try and save Alan. I feel as if this town is full of heroes.

  The elevator doors slide open, and the porter pushes my chair onto the floor.

  Then I think of Zack.

  My son just lost his father. He can’t lose his dog too—a dog that’s more than just a pet to him. Alan brought Winston home for
Zack one day as a surprise when Zack was being bullied in the sixth grade. Winston was only a puppy then—nine weeks old—and he became Zack’s best friend, and mine too, in so many ways.

  Winston has to survive. Not just for me but also for Zack.

  I end the call and hand the phone to Carrie, who texts my number to Troy.

  “Shouldn’t you be off duty by now?” I ask Carrie, who is helping the porter get me settled. “I’ve been seen by the doctor, and I’m admitted. I’m pretty sure that means your work is done.”

  “Yes, but I’m waiting for Troy anyway,” she replies. “He’s supposed to give me a ride back to our place.”

  “Your place.” I give her a questioning look. “Are you and Troy together or something?”

  She holds her hand out to show me an engagement ring. “Yes. We’re getting married next July.”

  I’m happy for her. Truly I am, but her love story makes me think of Alan and the day he proposed. He took me to Cape Split, where we hiked up the mountain and picnicked on a grassy meadow overlooking the beautiful Bay of Fundy. It was a clear day, and we could see for miles across the blue, while the hiss and roar of the powerful tidal currents below us made it feel dangerous and exciting.

  “You’re my best friend,” he said, “and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have children with you and grow old together and never be apart. You’re the love of my life, Abbie. Will you marry me?”

  My grief returns with a vengeance, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel happiness again. Tonight, it seems impossible. It feels like this dark cloud of loss will hang over my head forever.

  “Congratulations,” I say to Carrie, fingering my own wedding and engagement rings.

  “Thanks.” She covers me with the blue sheet, and I can tell by her modest reply that she understands my pain and feels guilty for showing off her bling.

  “I’m happy for you,” I manage to say. “He seems like an amazing guy. Very caring.”

  There are two beds in the room, and my mother sets her purse down on the other one.

  “I’ll get some sheets for that,” Carrie says. “And I’ll make sure they bring two breakfast trays in the morning. You’ve both been through so much.”

  Again, I’m moved to tears by yet another act of kindness.

  My phone rings, and I scramble to pick it up. When I see that it’s Troy, my heart races.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Abbie?” He sounds out of breath.

  “Yes, it’s me. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I just want to let you know that I’m at the vet clinic now, and Dr. Payne just took Winston into the examination room.”

  “That’s great. But why are you so out of breath?”

  He takes a minute to answer. “The truck couldn’t make it up the hill. It was too icy. We kept sliding back down, so I had to get out and walk.”

  “You walked? What about Winston? Tell me you didn’t have to carry him up that icy hill.”

  “I did.”

  I struggle to comprehend this. “But he weighs over sixty pounds! I can’t believe you did that. I can’t thank you enough, Troy. You’ve earned a spot in heaven tonight.”

  He chuckles as if it were nothing, but it’s not nothing. Not to me. It’s everything.

  “Will you ask Dr. Payne to call me when he knows something?”

  “Of course.”

  We end the conversation, and I decide to call Zack right away. He’s lost so much tonight that he deserves to have some hope to hold on to.

  After that, I will finally contact Alan’s father, Lester, on the West Coast.

  Only then do I realize how much I’ve been dreading that phone call. It means that an already excruciating day is about to get worse.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As I pick up my phone to call Lester and deliver the news of his son’s death, I find myself thinking about how he handled a similar situation many years ago, when Alan’s mother passed away.

  Alan and his brother, Bruce, were both at school when it happened, and for some reason I’ll never understand, Lester didn’t pull them out of class. He simply left them to finish out the day while their mother was removed from her private room in the hospital and taken to the morgue.

  Hours later, Alan and Bruce rode the bus home from school and played street hockey with some of the neighborhood kids until the sun went down. Then they cooked Kraft Dinner for themselves because Lester didn’t come home for supper. According to Alan, this wasn’t unusual. Whenever their mother was in the hospital for treatments, they looked after themselves and didn’t bother to ask their dad when he was coming home. He worked odd hours, and there were no expectations that he would be there for them as a father.

  That night, Lester came home very late, completely bombed, and Alan never forgot that pivotal moment in his life. His father burst into his room without knocking, thrusting the door open with such force that a picture fell off the wall. Alan, who had just fallen asleep, nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Your mother’s gone,” Lester said. “She died early this morning. Funeral’s on Friday. She’s gettin’ cremated. Tell your brother.”

  Lester left the room, shut Alan’s door, and that was that. Alan was never given the opportunity to say goodbye to his mother, and from that day forward, he and Bruce weren’t permitted to talk about her or feel sorry for themselves. Neither of them dared to cry in front of Lester for fear of getting smacked or ridiculed. There was no love left in their house after she was gone, and Alan said that every day felt like a black hole. At least until he met me.

  And now I have to call this heartless man to tell him that his son has died. I hope that he responds differently this time.

  With a deep breath to prepare myself, I dial Lester’s number and wait for him to answer. His voice is deep and gruff when he picks up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lester. It’s Abbie.”

  “Abbie?” he barks. “Alan’s wife?”

  I’m not surprised that he doesn’t recognize my voice. We haven’t spoken in years. “Yes, it’s me. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Is anyone with you?”

  “No, I’m here on my own,” he replies. “Verna’s gone to the store. But whatever it is, just spit it out.”

  My heart pounds heavily, and I draw in a deep breath. “Okay. Well . . . Alan was in a car accident tonight, and . . .” I pause and clear my throat. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but it was serious, and he . . . he didn’t survive.”

  Lester says nothing for a moment. All I can hear is the thunderous pounding of my heart in my ears. “Are you still there?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  The conversation grinds to a painful halt, and I close my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right,” he replies testily. “I’m not the one who died in a car accident. So what happened?”

  I gather my thoughts and try to explain as clearly and gently as possible. “Alan was on his way to Lunenburg, and it was foggy and dark, and the roads were starting to freeze. He drifted across the center line.”

  Lester scoffs. “That little idiot. Was he drinking?”

  The question, combined with his hateful tone, catches me off guard. “Actually, he was . . . but why would you ask that?”

  “Because Alan never could hold his liquor. He was always a lightweight.”

  I take another deep breath and try to remain calm when all I want to do is tell my father-in-law to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.

  “So when’s the funeral?” Lester asks pointedly. “I suppose you’ll expect us to be there. Flights aren’t cheap, you know.”

  “I don’t expect anything from you, Lester. It’s up to you if you want to come. I’m not sure when the service will be, but I’ll certainly let you know.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell Verna and Bruce.”

  “Good. I have to go now. Goodbye.”

  Fighting against the rising tide of my anger, I end the call and
slam my phone down on the bed. Then I stare at the ceiling and listen to the tinny sound of ice pellets striking the windowpane.

  “How did he take it?” Mom asks.

  “Sickeningly well,” I reply. “Didn’t shed a single tear. You’d think I was calling to tell him that his roof needs replacing.”

  This comes as no surprise to my mother. She knew all about Alan’s difficult relationship with his father, who had always been mean-spirited and abusive.

  She pats my hand.

  “That’s Lester for you,” I add. “I don’t even know if he’s going to come to the funeral. I hate to say it, but I hope he stays away, because I don’t want to see him. Honestly, I don’t know if Alan would have even wanted him there.”

  I continue to lie on the bed, quietly seething over Lester’s emotionless response to his son’s death. I think about Alan and how he turned out to be such a good man despite having been raised by a terrible father.

  All I want is for Alan to walk into the room so I can pull him into my arms and hold him tight.

  Then Lester’s words hit me full force, and I remember that Alan was driving drunk and nearly killed the both of us. The husband I loved—since the first moment we met—suddenly feels like a stranger to me, and I don’t like the feeling. I don’t like it at all.

  For the next hour, Mom and I watch television in silence. Maybe it’s the pain medication or mere exhaustion, but I’m barely aware of what I’m looking at—a sitcom I’ve never seen before, with a laugh track that is strangely hypnotic. A nurse comes to check on us, then leaves again. Another nurse comes later. Ice pellets continue to beat against the window, relentlessly. Time passes slowly.

  I wish I could shut down my brain, but I can’t stop thinking about the trauma room and how I was forced to perform CPR on my husband and then watch Dr. Sanders call the time of death. I see Alan lying there, dead on the table, and I feel as if I’m awake in a nightmare that simply won’t end, as it carries me lightly into a memory of how we met.

  It was just the third day of medical school, when we were introduced to the dead body that would serve as our group’s cadaver for the year. The class had been warned in advance about the importance of behaving in a respectful manner, and the mood was solemn as we entered the lab, which smelled strongly of formaldehyde. I was nervous to begin with. We were also told that some of us might become nauseated or experience some other unexpected emotional response.