In the Middle of Nowhere (Willow's Journey #1)
Page 39
I had done such a convincing acting job the night before when I forced myself to relax, that when I rested my eyes for a split second, I had fallen asleep for the rest of the night. I awoke early the next morning feeling refreshed and energetic. Snow and frost covered my bedroom window, yet the soft glow of the winter’s sun streamed ambitiously through it.
I didn’t remember any of my dreams or even if I had had any. I just knew that I felt good and was hopeful that we’d be able to go to school the next day so I could finally be reintroduced to civilization.
I checked my cell phone. No word from Michael. I’d text him in a little while. I slowly opened my bedroom door and found the rest of the house quiet. Thank God my brother and mother were still sleeping. I was really hungry at this point, so I snuck downstairs, made myself a waffle and turned on the television.
Every local news station was reporting about the snowstorm, even calling it the blizzard of the century. They showed footage of the northeast and the record-breaking amounts of snow left behind. Like the rest of Maine, Pike’s Island was paralyzed by the sheer volume of the fluffy white stuff.
I could hear the plow outside on the road in front of our house. At least the snow had stopped falling and the town could start cleaning up. We should be able to go to school the next day, I figured.
My cell phone beeped and I quickly took it out of my pocket to read the text. I hoped it was from Michael, but it wasn’t. It was from Tessa.
“You alive?” she texted.
“Barely.”
“Snow sucks!”
“I know.”
“School tomorrow?” she asked.
“Probably.”
“Cool. Get’s me out of being in this insane asylum with my family.”
I chuckled at her text. I guessed no one enjoyed being stuck inside their house with their family. I heard my mother stirring upstairs. I panicked. “Gotta go. Text you later.”
I ran into the kitchen, put my empty plate in the sink and headed for my sanctuary so that I could avoid any and all contact with my mom for as long as possible.
• • •
Thankfully, I heard my mother go downstairs. She must have thought I was still sleeping. I had gotten under my covers just in case she decided to come and check on me.
I scanned Michael’s MyWeb and saw that nothing had changed. I called and texted him again and got no answer. I was really starting to worry. Michael would have gotten back to me by now, unless something was really wrong with him. He hadn’t sounded good the last time we spoke, which had been over twenty-four hours earlier.
I tried to look up his home phone number on the Internet, but it didn’t show any listing for Anthony Cooper, Michael’s father, in Portland or on the island. For whatever reason, their number was unlisted. I didn’t know what to do. What if he was really sick at home, or even worse, ended up in the hospital again? I didn’t know why I was imagining the worst. It was probably because he hadn’t gotten back to me and had wound up in the hospital so many times before.
Then I remembered that I had an old text that Michael had sent me a few weeks back when he was in the hospital, from his mom’s cell phone.
I quickly found the text and his mom’s number. I finally had a way to find out what was going on with Michael, but I was hesitant to text his mother. What would I say to her? Did she even know about me? I had to calm down and try to think of something to write because I was sick with worry.
I decided to keep it short and simple. I wrote: “Hi, I’m a friend of your son, Michael. I was just wondering how he is doing because I haven’t heard from him in a while. Thanks, Willow.”
I pressed the send button and felt better immediately. At least I now had some sort of connection to Michael. I just hoped that whatever I heard back was good news. Maybe Michael flushed his cell phone down the toilet and he completely forgot my number or he misplaced his laptop in a huge snow bank and, therefore, wasn’t able to send me an e-mail. I sat on my bed and waited, knowing this was just wishful thinking. But, either way, I had to think positively.
As the positive thoughts entered my brain, I got a text message. I looked at the number and saw it was from Michael’s mom. My heart dropped immediately. I was scared to read it, but didn’t have a choice. I opened it. It said: “Hi, Willow. Michael is in Maine Medical Center, not doing well. He wanted me to tell you this and that he is sorry he hasn’t called you. He will contact you if and when he can. Mrs. Cooper.”
Oh my God. What did she mean Michael wasn’t doing well? Was he so terribly sick that he wasn’t able to call or text me himself? He must be and I started to panic and freak out, especially because she wrote that he’d contact me “if he can.”
Should I write the mother back and ask her what she meant by that or ask for more specifics on how badly he was doing? No. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t even know her. I was sure Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t appreciate some little friend of her son’s bombarding her with text messages, as he lay ill in the hospital. Answering my questions was not her priority.
I got off my bed and paced. What should I do? I looked outside and saw that snow was everywhere. Even though the plow had come by, the road still looked covered by it. Maybe I could pay a taxi to drive me to the dock and I could take a ferry over to the hospital. At this point the taxi would have to be a monster truck with four-wheel drive. So much for that idea.
Another plan popped into my head, but I knew it would never happen. Never. I had avoided her like she was worse than the plague, so I couldn’t imagine that she would give me a lift to the dock, especially since I was grounded from everything in life but school. I figured even the desire to visit a seriously ill friend would not help grant me an early acquittal.
But I also realized that I had no other choice. I would break down and ask my mom for a ride, even though I was certain that hell had a better chance of experiencing our latest snowstorm than of her ever saying, “Yes.”
• • •
“Are you joking?” she asked as she sat on the sofa and stared up at me.
I shook my head and looked down. My mom’s response wasn’t as bad as I had thought. I expected at least a couple of expletives.
“You’re punished. And even if you weren’t, the roads are not drivable.”
“Yes they are, Mom. Look outside. The big plow just went by again. And you have four-wheel drive on the Jeep.”
My mom shook her head before I even finished. “No, Willow. Not happening.”
I got on the floor next to her and folded my hands. “Please, Mom. I’ll shovel the driveway myself so you can pull out. Please. I promise I won’t ask to go anywhere but the hospital today. Just today, Mom. Please?”
I looked at my mother pleadingly. I didn’t know what else to do. How could she deny me visiting my friend who was so sick? How could I convince her to let me see him especially since I wasn’t sure whether or not Michael was going to be okay? What if he was really bad off and sicker than I could imagine?
My mom didn’t answer me, only stared straight ahead at the television. I started to cry. I was overcome with sadness for a very sick boy whom I wasn’t able to talk to, for a very sick boy who wrote me a lovely poem and when he asked my opinion, I only told him it was “nice.”
“Stop crying, Willow, and stand up,” my mom demanded.
I couldn’t do either. I was frozen in place and sobbing, overcome with feelings of helplessness.
“Willow Ann Flynn! Stop crying this moment!” she yelled.
Slowly I got up from the floor, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and turned to my mother. I was more sad than mad when I asked her, “How can you deny me seeing Michael when he might very well die today?” I couldn’t believe I said it out loud. I guess deep down that is what I feared. What if Michael did die today?
“You don’t know for a fact that he is that sick, Willow.”
“Yeah, and I’ll never be able to find out unless I go,” I quietly answered as I wiped my nose.
/> My mother thought about it, actually contemplated it for a second and I could tell she was about to say, “No.”
I stopped her in her tracks when I managed, “I was never able to say good-bye to Daddy.” I lowered my head and began to cry again, slow desperate sobs this time. I couldn’t compose myself or catch my breath. My body heaved with sorrow. I hung onto a chair for support. I felt powerless with no other options. I didn’t want to miss the chance to tell Michael how much I cared about him, especially before it was too late.
I tried to control myself, but couldn’t until I heard my mother start to speak. All those poor sinners in hell must have been completely stunned as snow began to fall upon them when my mother looked at me and said, “Go and grab two shovels.”
CHAPTER
FORTY