I’ve seen it too many times. Times I can’t bear to think about.
Times I’ve been dragged back to and forced to face since I first set foot in this hospital four hours ago.
“Kev! Kevin, over here.” I rush to reach him and he stops mid-stride, frantically searching my face for answers I don’t have.
All day I’ve held it together. I talked Zoe down from her ledge of worst-case scenarios twice, maybe three times. Told my parents it would be okay more times than I can count. I even managed to hug Maysie before we left, when she held on tight and started to cry. I kissed her sweet face and said we’d be back soon and everything would be fine. I’ve talked to Adam’s school. Talked to the attending physician. Talked to Beth and John and Paul, but I let my mother handle Peg. I’m even a little proud of myself for making it this far without morphing into a raving lunatic.
But right then, when Kevin’s haunted gaze lands on me, I’m done.
“Savannah.” He wraps me in his arms and breathes into my hair. And I hug him back and hang on with everything I’ve got left.
Then I take his hand and we walk toward Adam’s room.
Past my parents, huddled together, concern aging their tanned faces. Past Zoe, looking desperate to shoot out of her chair and hug her daddy but still too angry with him to do it. Past Brock, who just sits there, stalwart, yet a silent presence I am grateful for.
I doubt Kevin even sees him.
Inside the darkened room, a nurse fiddles with the IV tube attached to my son’s arm.
My son.
My handsome, talented, athletic son . . . who tried to take his own life today.
Kevin drops his bag, shrugs out of his wool coat, lets it slide to the floor, and steps over it. I pick it up from habit, fold it over a chair, and almost hold my breath as he stands over the bed and stares at our son in utter disbelief.
“Hey, kiddo. Dad’s here.” He reaches out to brush thick dark hair off Adam’s forehead.
All I can do is stand at the end of the bed, trembling. Kevin rubs his jaw and takes a few quick, short breaths. He sniffs, turns, and looks at me. And I see it then. See it in his eyes. What he can’t, won’t say, because it would be his undoing.
He is completely, utterly terrified.
I clasp my hands, bring them up to my mouth, and pull air into my lungs. Let out a slow breath and hold on to the footboard of the bed for support. The nurse leaves us, quietly closing the door behind her.
“What has the doctor said?” Kevin rasps out.
Silence wages war with unspoken accusations and questions I cannot do battle with right now. “They pumped his stomach as soon as he got here. They’ve sedated him. He’ll be groggy when he wakes up, but they wanted him to sleep tonight.” I’m repeating what I’ve told everyone already. “Beth saw the lights on all weekend but figured it was probably you. They had a family function so she didn’t go over until today. And she . . .”
I can’t continue. Can’t think about that scene. Beth found him. On the floor in his bedroom, music blaring. Pills everywhere. Pills from a bottle he could have bought over the counter or found in our medicine cabinet.
They don’t know how many he took, but the doctor said it was a good thing Beth found him when she did. I figure it’s better not to share that with Kevin.
“They’re not sure how long he was unconscious. If there’s brain damage.”
“What?” His eyes widen. Tears slip down his ashen cheeks.
“They’ll know more when . . . if . . . he wakes up.”
“When he wakes up.” He leans over the bed and looks into Adam’s face. I don’t know what Kevin is thinking, but I’ve got a pretty good idea what he’s feeling. “He’s breathing on his own, right? That’s good, right?”
“Yes. And he came around in the ambulance. They said he was still pretty out of it. But yes, the doctor seems to think we can hope for the best.”
He shifts, turns his head, and stares at me through wet eyes. “I can’t do this again, Savannah.”
God, help me.
Neither can I.
I can’t respond so I manage a shrug. “I’ll be out in the hall. My parents don’t need to be here. I’ll send them home. And Zoe.” I sniff, not sure if he’s listening. “There’s nothing we can do right now except wait.” And pray.
It’s like he doesn’t even hear me.
Outside, everyone wants news. I have none. “He’s the same. Sleeping. The nurse said his vitals are good.” Mom and Dad hug Zoe, and my father tips his head toward Adam’s room.
“He okay?” He means Kevin. I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be. My father is gracious.
“I don’t know.” I blow my nose and glance at Brock. “I think he’s just . . . in shock, maybe?” Shock. It’s the only word I can think of to describe the atmosphere of this day. The burst of heat that sliced through my soul with Beth’s phone call has boiled down to simmering coals, creating a fog I cannot see through.
Brock stands and walks the few steps needed to join us. “You should eat. Let me go grab some food.”
“No, I couldn’t.” The thought makes me nauseated.
“He’s right, honey. You need food.” My mother rubs my back, trying to comfort. “At least some soup or a sandwich. And water. You need to hydrate.”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” Anger strikes without warning. “I need my son to wake up! I need this to not . . . to not be happening! I need . . . Mama . . . I can’t do this!” I collapse into her arms with a wail that comes from some untapped place of grief inside and terrifies me.
“I know, sug. It’ll be okay. Sweet Jesus, let it be okay.” She hugs me hard and I stay in the safety of her embrace until I hear the door of Adam’s room open and close.
Kevin comes toward us, his eyes still wide and filled with disbelief. He’s on the verge of breaking, too, and his shaky sigh betrays him. That’s enough for Zoe.
“Daddy . . .” She launches herself at him and he folds her into his chest.
“Hey, baby.” Kevin steadies himself, stands back, and cups her face. “He’s going to be all right, Zo. Stay positive, okay? We need to stay strong.”
She wipes her tears, nods, and hugs him again.
Brock clears his throat and sways on his feet a little. I place a hand on his arm and notice a few beads of sweat on his brow. He’s not looking good.
Kevin lets Zoe go, shoves his fingers through his hair, and pins us with a scathing look that burns through me. “What is he doing here?”
“I . . .” Have no idea how to answer that.
Brock lifts a hand and shakes his head. “I’m here because Savannah needed someone. I didn’t want her driving or coming alone. And you were nowhere to be found.”
“Now you wait just a minute . . .” Kevin steps closer, eyes flashing dangerously.
“Calm down, son.” My father puts a hand on Kevin’s shoulder while Mom pulls Zoe away.
My stomach lurches and I shoot up a prayer for intervention. If God doesn’t send a sudden power outage or something, this is going to get ugly.
“Stop it, both of you.” The words come out in a hiss and I glare at Kevin, then Brock. He’s in no shape for this. He knows it as well as I do, but I can tell he’s not about to back down. “This is a hospital! Adam is lying in that room, so don’t you dare even think about starting anything, either of you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” Brock drawls, folding his arms across his chest. He narrows his eyes and takes two steps closer to Kevin. “Do you have any idea how frantic Savannah was today, not knowing where you were? You can get ticked all you like, but you ever put her through that again and I will plow my fist into your face before you see it coming. Got it?”
“You son of a—” Kevin lifts his arm and pulls back.
“Don’t!” I leap toward him and yank it back down with a sharp cry. “Stop it! Kevin, you can’t hit him!”
“Give me one good reason why.”
Brock sighs and steps away. “Because I have a tu
mor pressing on my brain. If you hit me, I’m likely to lose consciousness. I might even go into cardiac arrest. And quite frankly, I’d just as soon leave y’all the heck alone and go home. If that suits.”
Kevin stands there gaping while Brock walks away, picks up his jacket, and saunters toward the elevators. I run to catch him, the heels of my boots clicking against linoleum.
“Brock, wait.”
“Leave it, Savannah.” He pulls on his coat and gives a grim backward glance at my family. “I’m gonna head back to the airport. I want to be home when Maysie wakes up in the morning.”
“Okay.” There isn’t any use in trying to change his mind. And I don’t want to be worrying about the two of them lighting into each other every second. “Was that true, what you said, what would happen if he hit you?”
A grin slides across his face. “I have no idea, but it sounded good, huh?”
“Oh my gosh. You’re terrible.” My eyes fill again and I half laugh, half sob as he leans in and plants a kiss on my forehead.
“I acted like a jerk.” His eyes cloud over. “His son is . . .”
“Brock.” I shake my head. “Forget it. We’re all stressed.”
“Tell him I’m sorry anyway.” His concerned expression makes me want to cry all the more.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Call us with an update. Anytime. I should be back home around three, if there are no delays.”
“Go straight to bed. Don’t write.”
He rolls his eyes and zips up his leather jacket. “What are you, my mother?”
We share a smile and I’m all choked up. “Thank you. For getting me here. For . . .”
Brock nods, stares down at his beat-up cowboy boots, then lifts his head. “I’d do anything for you, lady. Just so you know.”
All I can do is nod. I do know.
And right now, it’s more than I can bear.
CHAPTER 24
“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.”
—ANNE LAMOTT
Nobody knows what to do next.
Kevin and I refuse to leave Adam’s room. We know too well what might happen if we did. I doze on and off while Kevin paces. Eventually he slumps into a chair and puts his head in his hands. And just sits.
I think he’s probably crying. I draw my knees to my chest, sink my teeth into my bottom lip, and watch his shoulders shaking. I’ve always envied his ability to hold in his emotions. To cry so quietly no one knows he’s doing it. How many times over the years has this happened? How many times has he released such torment, anguish, pain, and sorrow, and I’ve never known?
God, help him.
Help us both.
I don’t have energy for more than the brief prayers I keep repeating. Inside, my spirit is groaning. God knows, surely, what we need in this moment. Yet it is a challenge to trust and stand on faith. Tears trail a slow path down my cheeks as I sit in silence and wonder what the next few hours might bring. Wonder what to say to my son when he wakes. How to get him through this. How to get us all through it. And all I see when I close my eyes is Shelby’s small casket being lowered into the ground.
I’m not doing this again, God.
Old anger surfaces. We prayed for Shelby. Prayed harder than we ever had in our lives. And still . . .
“Ma . . .” A low groan comes from the bed and I’m out of my chair at once.
“Adam! Oh, baby.” I can barely speak through tears and relief, but I know I can’t give freedom to the sobs that scream to be let out. His eyes are bleary and filled with fear, and I don’t want to frighten him further. “It’s okay, sweetie.” I brush back his hair, feel his cool forehead, and lean in to kiss it. “You’re okay.”
“Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes. But we’re here. Everyone’s here.”
Kevin huddles close, slips an arm around my waist, and rests a hand on Adam’s head. “Hey, sport.” He blinks back tears and smiles.
“Dad.” Adam’s eyes fill and his bottom lip begins to quiver. “I’m sorry.” Once he starts crying, he can’t stop. Huge, heartbreaking sobs rip from him, rip through me, and pummel me with guilt. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I do something?
What kind of mother doesn’t know her son is on the verge of suicide?
What kind of mother . . .
Kevin maneuvers the side arm of the hospital bed down, sits, and scoops Adam into his embrace. Adam holds tight and cries harder.
It’s the final push that sends my emotions hurtling over the cliff into deep waters.
I spin away and stumble toward the chair Kevin vacated moments ago. Hold on to the arms and hang on with all the strength I have left. I let one sob out in a quick breath, then gulp the next back down. It’s hard to steady my breathing, to control the overwhelming need to give in to the tension I’ve bottled up since Beth’s phone call, but I have to. I have to be strong.
Take a breath, darlin’.
I imagine Brock’s voice. Imagine his arms around me in that moment as I fight for calm.
Okay.
I can do this.
The doctor checks on Adam and lets Zoe come in, and the three of us huddle around the bed. He’s looking better and we’re told he’s no longer in danger. He drifts in and out, but eventually opens his eyes again and asks Zoe to sing.
When they were little, every time Adam was scared, Zoe would go to his room, snuggle in bed with him, and sing. Usually songs from the latest Disney movie they’d seen. Sometimes she’d just make up her own.
Today, for some reason, she picks a hymn. “Amazing Grace.”
And it is perfect.
My throat hurts and my eyes burn by the time she’s done. Adam finally falls asleep and Kevin makes the hesitant suggestion that he drive us home.
Snow has turned to drizzle. Light drops dance in the glow of the headlights as we drive through darkened streets, the car splashing slowly through puddles. We are battle-weary warriors returning from the bloodstained field.
Kevin stares straight ahead, hands clenched around the wheel. He’s got the radio tuned to light jazz and keeps it low. Zoe huddles in the backseat, and I gaze out the window at the dark neighborhoods I know so well. Past the park where I pushed my kids on swings and watched them play. Houses where my friends sleep. Past the elementary school, yellow buses lined up in the parking lot. Past the church we attended as a family.
Before we stopped being one.
The car slides effortlessly into the driveway I haven’t seen in so long. We enter through the front door because the garage is too full of junk we haven’t decided what to do with. Inside, I inhale the familiar: wood polish and pine scents. Somebody has cleaned.
Kevin carries in my bag and his duffel, turns on the lights, and I look around. Nothing seems out of place, everything neat and tidy, just as I left it. My home. The place I loved so much for so long, and then couldn’t wait to get away from. I’m not so sure I want to be here now, now that I know what has happened. Now that I know the disturbing depths of my son’s emotions. Emotions he hid so well from us all.
“I’m going to my room.” Zoe hangs up her coat, swings her backpack over her shoulder, wipes her eyes, and hugs us both. I hug her tighter than I normally would.
“Try to sleep, sweetheart.” Kevin’s voice is hoarse as he folds her against him. She starts crying again, which sets me off. Him too.
“Wake me if . . .”
Kevin shakes his head and somehow smiles. “None of that. He’s going to be fine. You heard the doctor.” Zoe’s wide eyes lose their fear almost at once. “We’ll wake you when we hear something. They said to check in around nine. You need to rest. We all do.”
“I know.” She sniffs and smiles. “Are you going to stay here?” she asks him, then throws me a cautious glance.
He clears his throat and looks my way.
“Of course he is.” It seems the logical response, but the minute I say it, I h
ave second thoughts. “I mean, if you want. You don’t have to.”
Kevin almost rolls his eyes, then takes off his coat. I shrug out of mine and reach for his. Zoe trudges upstairs, her door closing softly.
And I lose what little control I had left.
My knees buckle, but Kevin has his arms around me before I hit the ground.
“Okay, take it easy. You’re okay.” He picks me up and releases his breath against the side of my face as he carries me through the living room. Gently he places me on the couch, wipes my tears, and stares at me through sad eyes. “Savannah.” Then he finally says what he’s thinking. “Do you want me to call Dr. Clarke?”
“For me or Adam?” It’s a loaded question, I suppose, but for some reason it makes him smile.
“I think Adam’s in good hands right now. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not. Not yet. But I will be. And I have to believe that for my son as well. A million scary thoughts race through my head, pushing and pulling and trying to find their way out, but none of them make the slightest bit of sense. “I thought . . . he . . . might . . .” I can’t say it.
“I know.” Kevin gives a shuddering sigh, his eyes glimmering. “But he’s okay, thank God. We didn’t lose him, Savannah. We’ll get him through this.”
“How?”
He moves down the couch away from me. Turns on the lamp on the side table and leans back into the deep cushions. “I don’t know.”
I don’t even remember what the doctor said now. It’s all a jumble of words and feelings and total helplessness. Today, as long as Adam remains stable, they’ll move him to a psychiatric ward. He’ll be evaluated and treated appropriately. He’ll probably have to stay for a week, maybe more. But I just want him to come home.
“They’ll call us if—”
“They will. But you saw him, Savannah. Sound asleep. He won’t know we’re gone.”
I take a few deep breaths and lace my fingers together. It’s then I realize I’m not wearing my rings. I took them off a few days ago when I was cleaning. Slowly I lift my head and lock eyes with my husband. He’s also staring at my hand.
Kevin blows out his breath and looks away. “Do you want tea? I don’t know if there’s any food, but I can look. And you should try to sleep a bit.”
Where Hope Begins Page 21
