by Cecelia Earl
I move to open my car door, but then Jax's hand is grasping mine. I suck in a breath and hold it, hoping he can't hear my sudden racing heart. A lot of good my calming window exercise did me now.
"Thanks. For coming with me." He smiles. And when he does that, my heart slows way down and practically sings a lullaby. I’m relieved he’s calmed some, that he is glad, after all, he brought me along.
"Pleasure," I say.
"Is all mine." He rubs the top of my hand with his thumb absentmindedly, then squeezes before letting go.
Once we reach the family center, he gives me a tight-lipped nod before bounding down the hall toward the elevators, leaving me to execute my to-do list plans.
First, I need to locate my family, and they seem nowhere to be found. Half our room seems missing, too. What did I miss while being away all of an hour and a half? If things change this quickly, I'll never be able to leave for a day, or days, at a time.
I follow in Jax's footsteps and head up four floors. My family isn't by my dad, and he's not there either. They took him for another test. Sue tells me my family went to get something to eat. Am I imagining it or did she try out a smile on me?
I don't see Jax. He must be in by his dad.
"Did you have a good run?" Mom asks when I find only her and Brady in the dining area.
"Mmmhmmm."
Brady pulls out his phone and motions to it. I raise my eyebrows, pull out mine and read the screen. You went with some random guy? I almost told Mom. What are you thinking?
I tighten my lips and narrow my eyes. I text: YMCA. Run on the treadmill. HOT SHOWER.
He rolls his eyes but goes back to eating his sandwich.
"Did you guys go back to the buffet?"
They nod with their mouths full.
I walk off and find food of my own. While eating it, I ask Brady his plans for the week, and share my own. I'll head back, work, get new clothes for me and Mom, go to school one day, be back for at least two days, if not the week, head back Friday, Saturday, Sunday for work.
Mom nods. I ask if she wants to go home for a day to shower and pack her own things. She looks horrified by my suggestion, as if I said she should cut off an arm. "I won't leave your dad. Speaking of, the receptionist gave me the room for one more night, but since the others left and it's just us, she won't reserve it beyond tonight."
"Then where will we sleep?"
"She said there's another private, yet smaller room, she may be able to give me to stay in."
"Us, too?" Brady agreed to stay until I return Monday night and to come back the following weekend while I'm away.
"Enough for two sleepers."
We eat the rest of the meal in silence and then return to the family center to wait for the phone to tell us Dad's test is done.
It's not long before he's returned and we head up to sit by him, to count the numbers on the screens, to feel in Sue's way. We sit there, not looking at each other or talking much, until it's dinner time. We head down to eat, return to Dad, and sit some more. Mom bought a journal, so she's writing away at ten o'clock when Brady and I decide to head to our room.
"I'll be down soon. In an hour or so," she says.
In the elevator, Brady says, "This sucks."
"Yup."
"I mean, did you know Dad was this sick?"
"Not this sick, but the last couple of months is when the sucking started. We told you."
"Not really. You told me he'd been to the doctor, that he needed to start dialysis."
"Uh, yeah. That's sucky and sick. What more did you want?"
He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in the wake of his fingers. "I don't know. I should have come home more."
Though I've thought that tons in the past few years, I kind of feel bad for him now. I suppose he was trying to do his best as a college student—even if that meant more on the social end than academic—but that's not any different than my being out of the house most days from sunrise to past sunset with school work, committee work, and jobs to make money for myself, not trusting my parents to have enough to support my school plans.
When I pass the room I spent "doing homework in" the night before, there's one of Jax's funny faces, drawn on a piece of paper from a hospital pad again, taped to the door. The same eyes with high jovial eyebrows. This time the mouth has buck teeth instead of a waggly tongue. I hurry past to brush my teeth and put comfortable clothes on for bedtime. After stashing my toiletry items by Brady (who is reading what looks like a textbook!) I open the door to go in by Jax.
"Well, hello there," he says, sitting up from the same place he slept in last night. "What? No studying?"
"Finished this afternoon. I assume that silly guy on the door was meant for me?"
He nods and ducks his head to whisper, "Our secret code."
I smile. It's a big, wide, goofy smile. I can feel it spread across my face. Tension evaporates when I'm near Jax. He's like nobody I've ever known. I'm careful. He's carefree in a childish way, like he knows how to enjoy life. Live for the moment. I've never been good at that, able to do it. I'm a planner. Being stuck in here, with nothing to plan for, I need this. Need Jax's way.
I'm ready to settle in, to learn more about Jax, but before I take a seat on the cushioned chair across from him, he stops me with a hand on my arm.
He has something else in mind.
17
without question
He grabs my hand and pulls me up.
"Follow me."
I do. Past the blue-lidded lady, down the hall, and into the elevator.
"What are—"
"Shh—" He stops my next words with a finger to my lips. He’s quite the impulsive, touchy-feely sort of guy. It’s unnerving. It’s . . . invigorating. The elevator doors slide shut behind my back. His touch is electric, and the spark on my lips has ignited a heat that's creeping through my cheeks, slipping down my neck, down. I look up. He's looking down. With his—wow, the blueness—eyes on mine and his finger lingering, my breath catches in my throat. "No questions," he whispers. Then he swallows.
Someone coughs behind Jax. Jax drops his hand as if my lips have burned him and sticks it in his back jeans pocket and leans against the elevator wall as far from me as he can get in this tight space. There's a chance I'm imagining his chest heaving as I regain my own air supply.
An older gentleman holding tight to an IV post and wearing nothing but a hospital gown coughs again. This time it's a real cough, without the notification of an onlooker warning tone. Not that anything was about to happen. Had I wanted something to happen? No. Had Jax?
I slide over and the man gets out when the elevator doors open, and Jax and I remain with two floors to go. Alone.
I open my mouth to try asking what we're doing again, but he's in front of me.
"I said, no questions." He grins. "Surprises."
"Not really a huge fan."
"Figures, but you're going to learn to like them." The doors open. "We're here."
Okay, not a big deal. We're down by the cafeteria. Only he grabs my hand again, and we're off, skimming down a hallway that leads away from food, not that I'm hungry, but I've never been this way, and it's darker. Off-limitser. Emptier. He slows to reach behind a trash can that's in a nookish area in a wall and pulls up a recyclable grocery bag by its handles.
"What’s—"
"Zip," he says.
"Zip?"
"Ze lips. Zip ’em tight." He points a stern finger at me. "No. Questions."
We round a couple of corners. This place is like a maze, though it'd take more than a blindfold, spinning me round and round, and dozens of corners to confuse me. Not easily done.
Speaking of blindfolds . . . We stop, dead center in a dim, deserted hallway, so dark I can't see beyond thirty feet. He turns me and ties a bandana around my eyes.
"Are you kidding?"
His shifts and his lips touch my ear. "Stop. Asking. Questions." He laughs, a warm and rumbly sound. "Live a l
ittle."
His chin skims the top of my head until his lips are touching my other ear. "I take that back. Live a lot."
I stand there, blind, listening to him do who knows what about twenty feet away. Then, his hands are at the back of my head and he's untying the bandana.
"Volay!"
"Huh?"
"French for 'There'!"
I laugh. "It's voila."
He grins. "Just checking. See? You're okay. A little surprise won't do permanent damage."
I roll my eyes and spot a V-shaped configuration of empty plastic milk bottles, the kind they sell in the cafeteria buffet coolers with lunch.
He hands me an orange. "Ready to bowl?"
"For real?"
"Sounded like that ended with a question mark. Go."
"Did you drink that all today?"
He draws a question mark in the air between us.
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling at the same time. The orange is soft and would probably taste pretty good. "I haven’t had an orange in a while. I’m considering peeling it."
He sighs a friendly sigh. "Roll it on the ground. The goal: knock down as many of the milk bottles as you can, preferably all of them."
"I know how to bowl." I add under my breath, "I’ve just never done it."
I bite my bottom lip, size up the distance. Aim for the lead milk bottle. Roll.
I miss by a mile. "Man!" I recall telling him how I don't fail. And. I. Don't.
He hands me a second orange.
"No sympathy," I tell him, handing it back.
Now he rolls his eyes. "You get two balls in bowling. It's the rules. If you get this, it's called a spare."
"Oh." I bend over this time, less conscious of the fact he's standing behind me, possibly looking at my ass. I'll totally check his out when it's his turn, and I'm looking forward to it. Right after I get me a spare. Aiming is easier from this angle. I rotate my arm at the shoulder, draw it back, glide it forward. The orange rolls straight. Into. The. Lead. Milk bottle which in turn knocks down the others! I jump into the air. "Spare!" I spin and throw my arms up. "I did it."
He's there then, so naturally I throw my extended arms around his neck and hug away. He laughs and the deep rumble in his chest knocks sense into me so I back up and try to act nonchalant. Nope. Didn't just throw myself at him. "So, your turn."
He gives me a sideways glance as he puts the milk containers back into place and grabs the oranges. "You really don't fail at anything, do you?"
"Don't hold that against me." I'm struck by how much I mean that. I can't remember a time I didn't want to rub my successes in someone's face, didn't want them to feel somewhat awed by my persistence, my work ethic, my achievements. When someone shrinks a little in my presence, I feel a power that fuels me to move on to conquer my next goal, my next hurdle. I like to intimidate others, but also to motivate them to try harder, to compete. I'm vain, yet not mean, at least, I hope not. But now, that I see how he might take me as I have always been, I worry. I bite my lip, wondering how he sees me. I want to be softer, to be concerned. I want him to think I'm caring. I want to be caring. I don’t want to be hard-hearted like my mom or brash like my aunt.
He says nothing but takes his turn. His ass does not disappoint. He's tall, not as crazy tall as Chase, wearing blue jeans and a black tee shirt that creeps up when he leans over to roll the orange. I miss his roll, and he turns to wink when he catches my eyes nowhere near the results of his turn.
"Oh, good job! What's that called?"
"Strike."
"Yay, you! My turn to pick up the milk."
"Yay me is right." He winks. Again.
Shocked, not sure if he's thinking what I think he's thinking, I move quickly all self-conscious. When I chance a peek at him, he's laughing with crossed arms.
I miss again, both times.
And I don't even care.
He knocks down three, and then two.
Who knows how much time passes before his phone chimes and he pulls it out to read the screen. His face that I'd forgotten could look clouded, darkens. Everything lowers, his eyebrows, eyes, the corners of his lips. My heart and stomach drop, too. Hating to see him look so sad and lost, remembering why we're both here. Suddenly I want to know his story. Up until this point, he was a distraction, but now I see the depth that's there. A past, a tragic present, an unknown future. I want to cry for him.
I suddenly feel so attached to him, so desperate for his company. He’s holding me together, allowing me to escape.
It's selfish to allow myself this reprieve, this hideaway from reality. It's only been two days, but I can't imagine Jax not being here, in this new world I've been thrust into. It's as if we were meant to be here for each other, as if there had never been a question about how we'd meet up, save each other. The universe had this grand plan, and I'm all for it.
As if I'd never had a question about how lost I could become when my world started unraveling, fraying. When every plan I'd written in permanent ink had somehow gotten tossed in with a load of wash and a cup of bleach.
"I've got to go," he says. "Thanks for the game." Before I can stoop to help, he's got everything stowed away in his bag and it's slung over his back. Without a backward glance, he’s gone.
I’d felt as if I could ask Jax anything at all, without protest. Minus the brief no questions rule. But now, with this suddenly bleak, empty hallway, and a solitary walk through a maze, up an elevator shaft, and into a family center where two people who don't know anything about living sit staring and not speaking to one another, I’m lost. Possibly for the first time.
I'd known nothing about living.
And I was just starting to learn.
18
run my voice down
The transplant team has nothing new to say to us Friday morning. Dad's been off the dialysis but will go back on tomorrow for a few hours. They're waiting to see progress. He became disoriented because the toxins had become so built up in his body since his kidneys weren't flushing them out properly—or at all. His blood pressure had been up, but it’s stabilizing. He'd had a bladder infection, which may have been a cause of his elevated temp, but he's receiving antibiotics through one of the tubes. They're hoping he'll be off the oxygen soon, too.
Mom and Brady go to breakfast, but I'm not hungry so I stay and watch my favorite nurse, Paul get ready to leave and Sue get set up for her day.
"How do you do it?" I ask Paul. He looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Work where it's like an emergency nonstop. I imagine you lose a lot of patients."
He continues to look at me, presses his lips together, nods. "I'm assuming you don't mean how I do the medical stuff. You mean the stressful stuff, the sad stuff. I pray about it, do the best I can, pray God will help us all do the best we can, pray God will help the families and patients. Trust in Him."
"So that . . ." I touch at my neck where his cross lays. "Helps?"
"My crucifix?" He takes it out like he's showing it to me. "Yeah, I suppose. It reminds me, maybe reminds family members like you when they see it."
"Reminds us of what?"
"That we're not alone." He's finished with what he's been doing, so Sue's standing at the doorway giving him the eye. "Take care of yourself," he says to me. "I’ll say an extra prayer for you today. Make sure you eat, okay?"
I nod. "Thanks." Not sure if that's what one says when someone says they'll pray for you. Wonder if I'll feel differently having a prayer said for me. Who will even hear it?
He leaves and with him goes the positive, compassionate vibe. Left in its place is chilly, stuffy air. Where Paul is inviting of conversation, Sue goes out of her way not to make eye contact, like she's afraid if she does, I'll start in on her too. She's probably not the praying sort.
I take her not-so-subtle hint and make my way to the cafeteria, hungry or not. There's no place else to go. I don't know where Jax hides during the daytime hours. Maybe he's a vampire. Cue wry laughing. Okay, so I'm waaaay overtir
ed. I decide to backtrack and peek inside his dad's room to see if he's there, but when I do, the room is empty. Even his dad is not there. My stomach heaves. What if that text he got said that his dad's time was up? What if this stalled clock we're telling time by stops forever? I keep thinking it's stopped moving forward temporarily, but what if we're forced to start a new life without a huge piece of our old one? What if time starts ticking and tocking on a completely different clock?
For the first time, I realize how this could end, not only for Jax, but for me and my family.
Our dads might die.
Terrified, and filled with an urge to dry heave, I run back by my dad, regardless of Sue's glares. I pull a chair up next to him and hold his hand through the bed rail. I talk myself hoarse in case he can hear me. I remind him of my favorite memories with him from childhood, the time we built a snow city in the front yard that day on my birthday when there'd been a blizzard and school had been canceled. I force a giggle while telling him about how every time he thought I was fooled by his magic tricks, I was playing him. I tell him that I cherished the week in third grade when we worked on my report on Germany, even though we fought the whole time about the placement of the title and the flag and all the facts. I'd never have gotten through elementary school without him, or have done so well in high school. He taught me everything about organization and planning, how to succeed.
Even when Dad lives through this ordeal, my days living at home like a child are numbered. Some of the routines we've always held may never happen again. Waking up in the middle of the night and bumping into each other in the kitchen when we're up for a drink of water. Sharing the comics over breakfast. Shouting good night from our beds until one of us finally gave up and resorted to sleeping.
