by Liz Fichera
“Where’s my father? Where’d they take him?” Fred whispered behind her hand as her gaze darted about the room.
“Sit here.” I motioned to a set of yellow padded chairs off to the side of the door. Four other people were already seated in the mostly colorless waiting room, numbly turning magazine pages in their laps, awaiting their fates. Saturday-morning cartoons blared across a television mounted in the corner.
Fred nodded at me and then walked to a chair, but she didn’t sit. Instead, she paced in front of it while I walked to the admittance window.
A gray-haired woman with a pinched face behind wire-rimmed bifocals peered up at me through a round hole in the glass window. Her name tag said Rita. “May I help you?”
I gripped the end of the counter and leaned forward. “A man was just transported here from the Gila River Indian Reservation.” I lowered my voice. “He had a heart attack.”
“Name?”
“Hank Oday.”
Rita checked her clipboard. The tip of her pen brushed down the page before her wrinkled eyes rested on a name in the middle. She looked up, and her mouth twisted. “Are you family?”
I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder at Fred, chewing on her thumbnail. “No. Not exactly.”
“Your name?”
“Ryan Berenger. I’m here with Mr. Oday’s daughter, Fredricka Oday.” I nodded over my shoulder at Fred.
The tightness around her eyes softened. “Berenger? You’re Doctor Berenger’s son?”
I nodded.
A smile lifted her lips before she examined the clipboard again. “Well, I can tell you that they’ve currently got him sedated in the Coronary Care Unit. They’re locating a doctor now. He’ll need surgery.”
“Will he be…okay?” I whispered into the glass hole.
Rita’s smile faded. Her head tilted slightly as I waited. I’d seen that look before.
Then Mrs. Oday burst through the windowless metal door next to Admittance wearing an oversize green parka over her white nightgown. The door crashed against the rubber stopper at the bottom.
“Fred!” Her gaze bounced frantically about the room.
Fred ran into her mother’s arms.
I left Rita and followed behind Mrs. Oday.
“Your father,” she said, each word catching as the words struggled to leave her lips. “It’s not good. He needs some type of surgery.”
Fred grabbed her mother’s elbows. “Will he be all right?”
Mrs. Oday’s nostrils flared, and my stomach tightened. Her mouth pulled back in a kind of brave smile.
“Mother. Tell me,” Fred said as her shoulders began to shake. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, around both of them.
“He’s had a heart attack, Fred. A serious one.” She paused. “They’re trying to find a doctor now. Some kind of specialist…” Her voice trailed off as her whole body shook. What little composure she had from earlier vanished in an instant. “I don’t know, Fred. I don’t know.” She fell against Fred’s shoulder and buried her face, trying to muffle her sobs.
Fred hugged her. With her face peering over her shoulder, she looked up at me, and her eyes overflowed with more tears. The way her lower lip quivered made my chest ache in a way that it had never done before.
I swallowed back a lump building in my throat as I pulled out my cell phone from my front pocket. My thumb punched 1 on the speed dial. A few moments later, a woman answered. I turned away from Fred and her mother.
“Mom?” I said into the phone. I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. Then I said, “It’s me. I really need your help.”
Chapter 49
Fred
“SOMETIMES IT TAKES bad things to see the good,” Trevor said to me as we sat in the hospital waiting room.
I nodded numbly at my brother, unsure who he was trying to convince. Me? Or himself?
That bit of wisdom might make more sense tomorrow. Today, it was just a string of meaningless words when all I wanted was to see Dad again, alive.
I craved Dad’s reassuring hand squeezing mine. I wanted another afternoon with him as he worked under our perpetually creaky van with a couple of warm sodas beside us. I wanted him to tell me all over again how the Gila River once flowed free like its people. I wanted to hear his stories about how the Indian woman with hair as long as a river captured the moon and became the mother to the stars. I wanted, I wanted…
Most of all, I wanted Dad.
Trevor nodded back at me when he thought I was listening. He’d arrived at the E.R. soon after I’d reached him at Ruth’s on Ryan’s cell phone. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, rocking to hold himself together. If he recognized Ryan as the one who’d run him off the road, his face didn’t show it. Funny how none of that seemed important now.
Ryan sat on my other side, silent and watching the windowless door next to Admittance. Every time someone walked through the door, his back straightened like everyone else’s, anxious for news. I’d already told him to go home, but he’d refused, even as half the Rez filled the waiting room.
One of the paramedics was Kelly Oliver’s uncle. After we’d arrived at the emergency room, he’d placed a phone call home. That had led to another phone call, then another. Within an hour, someone had brought a cooler with sandwiches; another had brought a change of clothes for Mom. And in the middle of the fray sat George Trueblood, his eyes closed, mumbling to himself. Another blessing? If the hospital was bothered by the crowd, they didn’t say. All my family’s friends were here, even all my friends from school—Kelly, Yolanda, Sam, Peter, Martin and Vernon.
“I wish someone would tell us what’s happening,” I whispered to Ryan for the tenth time.
“Your mom said that they’d give us an update after the surgery,” he reminded me.
I looked up at the clock above the Admittance window. “But that was three hours ago.”
“It’s a delicate surgery.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I told you.” He lowered his voice. “My mom’s a doctor.”
“Where’s Mom?” Trevor said, lifting his head from his hands. He’d been drifting in and out of conversations with me since he’d arrived.
“She’s talking with one of the surgery nurses,” I said. “Back there.” Wherever back there was. There apparently was another waiting room outside of Surgery, but that room only allowed immediate family. For now, I needed to be surrounded by my friends.
I returned to watching the door next to the glass window. Every few minutes, the metal door clicked open as if it led to some kind of bank vault. Everyone in the waiting room swiveled toward the sound, tracking nurses and doctors dressed in green scrubs and hairnets who raced along the edges to another windowless door, their rubber soles squeaking on the linoleum. They rarely made eye contact with anyone in the waiting room either, not that it mattered. No one would dare stop them. It would be easier to halt a moving train.
But then, finally, one of them stopped, and my throat tightened.
A woman in green scrubs approached the edge of the waiting room. Short blond hair peeked from underneath her cap. Her eyes scanned the room as she pulled the white elastic mask away from her mouth with her right hand. It dangled loose around neck. She cleared her throat. “Oday family?” Her unwavering voice announced to everyone in the room that she had delivered news before, the kind that you were never totally prepared to hear.
The crowded room quieted. I felt everyone’s eyes resting on Trevor and me.
After hours of waiting for news, I wasn’t sure that I was ready for it.
The muscles in the woman’s cheeks barely moved in her unreadable face.
Tentatively, Trevor and I stood and stepped forward. I felt Ryan standing behind me, along with the weight of the crowd at our backs.
“That’s us,” I said to the woman, my voice straining to keep the cracks together. I folded my arms across my chest, bracing for the worst.
The woman lowered her voice. “Y
our mother asked me to talk to you.” Her eyes, blue as turquoise, flickered between Trevor and me. “We were unable to perform an angioplasty on your father. There was too much blockage.”
I listened numbly, waiting for the only words that mattered.
“So,” the woman continued, “I had to perform a coronary bypass—”
“Is he all right?” Trevor interrupted.
The woman’s thin lips pressed together. “He’s resting now. He’s heavily medicated.”
My temples began to pound harder. “Will my father get better?” My voice caught on the last word. “When can we take him home?”
The woman blinked. Then the corners of her lips turned up into a small, tired smile. “Yes, I think your father will be fine. With enough time and some bed rest—”
I gasped. Then I threw my arms around her neck. “Oh, thank you. Thank you!” I sobbed. I didn’t care that an ice-cold stethoscope jabbed my ribs. I felt a dozen warm hands on my head and back. Relieved sighs and nervous chuckles filled the air. The room felt suddenly lighter, the smells not as sharp. Laughter and voices sounded familiar and comforting again.
And I couldn’t stop crying. I cried against the woman’s neck, sinking against her. My tears soaked her shoulder.
“It’s going to be all right,” the woman said, stroking my head. “It’s all right,” she whispered.
“Thank you.” The words choked in the back of my throat and competed with my sobs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, still stroking her hair. “You’re very welcome, Fred.”
For an instant, my crying stopped. I sniffed.
Fred?
I unlocked my arms from around the woman and pulled back. I wiped my face, still soggy wet from tears, with the back of my hand. “Wait,” I said, blinking the cloudiness from my eyes. “You know me?”
The woman smiled, wider this time, revealing perfectly white teeth. Then she nodded over my shoulder. “Ryan?” she said. “Isn’t it about time you introduced us?”
Still blinking back tears, I turned to Ryan.
Ryan’s face flushed the deepest shade of red I’d ever seen when everyone in the waiting room stared back at him, even me. But then he swallowed and said, “Fred, I’d like you to meet my mom.” His voice was clear. “Doctor Meredith Berenger.”
Chapter 50
Ryan
MOM GUIDED FRED AND TREVOR TO their father’s recovery room, leaving me alone with half the Gila Indian Reservation in the Phoenix General Hospital waiting room. As soon as the heavy door shut behind them, the waiting room grew silent. Someone had turned off the television. Even the two babies had stopped crying in their mothers’ laps.
My throat turned dry almost immediately as I turned to face them. I could feel every black-eyed gaze sweeping over every inch of me. They probably didn’t think very much of me, especially after last Saturday night, and who could blame them?
I thought about walking to the safety of the cafeteria, making an excuse about needing another soda, another bag of potato chips—anything! Instead, I turned around and walked straight into the middle of the waiting room and found an empty chair. It felt like walking into the middle of a shooting range without a vest.
But before I sat down, Sam Tracy met me at the chair.
“Hey. Dude,” he said gruffly. He peered down his nose at me. Jeez, the guy was scary-looking, especially with his low-slung jeans and barrel chest as wide as a flat-screen TV.
My forehead began to pound. “Hey,” I said, wondering if I needed to ready myself for a punch to the gut. Or worse. Sam was flanked on one side by Peter. On the other, Kelly and Yolanda. I stuffed my clenched hands in my front pockets, expecting the worst.
But Sam’s tone softened. “I want to thank you for what you did for Mr. Oday.”
My chin pulled back. “Um. You do?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “That was pretty cool.”
I swallowed, speechless. So not what I expected.
The people crowded behind him began to nod and smile silently in my direction before returning to their seats and the cooler in the corner of the room. Someone reached up and turned the television back on.
“We heard about what you did. Everybody did,” Peter added. “Kelly’s cousin said you saved Mr. Oday’s life.”
I certainly wasn’t going to take credit for anything. It didn’t seem right. Instead of saying anything, I just shrugged my shoulders, my eyes darting between them. It was like they had more to share.
Then Sam extended his beefy hand. “Thanks, man.”
For a moment, I looked at Sam’s hand. I clasped it with mine. It felt good. “No problem.”
“Sorry about throwing you across the parking lot the other night,” he added.
I smirked at him. “Sorry about the punch to your jaw.”
“What punch?” Sam’s eyes widened with mock innocence. He chuckled. “Seriously, you clocked me good. Surprised me, even.” He rubbed his cheek, the tiniest glint of respect in his eyes.
Then Peter extended his hand. I shook his, too. Until today, apart from the fight with Sam, I’d probably never said more than two words to either of them.
Too soon, they turned around and left me with Yolanda and Kelly. From the pinched looks on their faces, I gathered we wouldn’t be shaking hands and making up anytime soon.
Kelly spoke. “First thing you should know is this—Fred is like a sister to us.”
“A little sister,” Yolanda added, nodding.
“We’re grateful for what you did, Ryan, but we’re still mad at you. You broke her heart, you know.”
“Mean fuck,” Yolanda said underneath her breath.
Kelly’s eyes rolled. “Watch your language, Yo.”
“I deserved that,” I said.
“Damn right you do,” Yolanda said to me.
Kelly sighed and rolled her eyes at Yolanda. She lowered her voice so that no one except me would hear. Then her eyes locked onto mine. “Anyway, we’re watching you. And if you hurt her again, we will hurt you.” Her eyes widened. “Clear?” Then she smiled sweetly, the dimple in her cheek belying her threat.
“Totally.” Not a single part of me doubted these girls. In truth, I probably feared them more than a hundred Sam Tracys. And I had no intention of ever hurting Fred Oday again.
But I wasn’t certain I had any chances left with her. I wasn’t sure I deserved her either.
Chapter 51
Fred
“I CAN TAKE her home,” Ryan said, his gaze bouncing between me and my brother with a new surge of energy. “I don’t mind.”
“I mind.” Trevor’s eyes narrowed at Ryan. “I’ll take her on my bike,” he said.
From the nervous flicker in Ryan’s eyes, the double meaning was not lost on him.
Ryan and Trevor stood chest to chest in the hospital waiting room. All of a sudden, the room lacked oxygen.
“Trevor,” I said, pulling back on his elbow. “Not now. It’s been a long day. Everyone’s tired.”
Trevor didn’t brush away my hand, but he still ignored me.
“You’re the dude from the freeway,” Trevor said. It wasn’t a question. “You and your genius buddy tried to run me off the road.”
Ryan’s jaw hardened, but he nodded, surprising me a little. “Yeah. That was me.”
“I recognized you earlier. Just couldn’t find the words at the time.”
“Whatever your words, I’m sure I deserve them,” Ryan said, but he didn’t back away. If anything, his body held steady, as if he was expecting punishment.
“Damn right.”
“I’m really sorry,” Ryan added. “It was stupid. I hope you can give me a second chance.”
“Trevor,” I blurted, feeling my cheeks flush. I looked around the room. Fortunately, it was mostly empty. The evening news blared on a television set that no one was watching. “Please,” I hissed at my brother. After everything Ryan’s mom had done for Dad, I felt bad that my brother had chosen this moment to
make a scene. “Can’t we hash this out some other time?”
But Ryan turned to me. “No, Fred. Your brother is right. I deserve anything that he’s got to say. Now’s as good a time as any.”
Trevor’s nostrils flared. “I just wanted you to know that I recognized you. I’d recognize you anywhere. I’d recognize your crazy friend, too.”
Ryan nodded. I held my breath. “I should have stopped Seth and I didn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what we did. Even though I wasn’t driving, I’m just as guilty.”
Trevor’s expression softened a fraction. “Look, I’m grateful for what your mom did for us, Berenger. But I’m still not happy with you.”
“I wouldn’t be either.”
“I’m not sure I want you hanging around my sister.”
“Trevor!” I blurted, more heat rushing up my neck.
Once again, Trevor ignored me. “And I’m still taking her home.”
Ryan looked from me to my brother again. I didn’t know what to say. It was like my brain froze, along with my mouth, from exhaustion and frustration. From surviving the longest day of my life. From being grateful for such a wonderful brother and at the same time wanting to scream at him for treating me like a child.
Finally, Ryan exhaled and said, “Okay,” and for that I was relieved.
*
When Trevor drove me home on the back of his motorcycle, the sky was moonless and still again. The air felt soft and welcoming after sitting inside the sterile waiting room all day.
I rested my head against his shoulder and closed my heavy eyelids as we raced down the freeway and back toward the Rez. It felt like weeks had passed since Dad’s heart attack, instead of twenty-four hours. Maybe that’s why breathing had become difficult. It was as if time had fast-forwarded and I was struggling to catch up.
Mom had stayed at the hospital, and Trevor and I had promised to return the next morning.
As I climbed off the back of Trevor’s motorcycle in front of the trailer, my legs felt like tree trunks, every muscle weighted by a list of things I needed to do:
Feed the dogs.
