Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  “Think your team can carry on without you for a few days?”

  Ryan’s stomach dropped. “Not really.” The project would come to a complete stop without him. They’d already fallen behind when winter decided to linger.

  “I think we were right. It doesn’t look serious, but I’m not sure you should jump right back into work,” Dr. Tambor said. “You might have to let your team do the heavy lifting for a couple of days.”

  “Are you saying I can’t be on the job site?”

  “I’m saying you need to be careful. And you need to rest. You were in an accident, son.” He sat on the stool beside Ryan’s bed. “I want you to follow up with your regular doctor in a week.”

  Ryan sighed. He was all for rest, but not right now, not when he still had so much to do and not enough time to do it. “You said I don’t have a concussion, right?”

  Dr. Tambor studied him from behind his thin-framed glasses. “Yes, your scans are clear, but it was a nasty spill. Still not something to take lightly. There’s a reason we kept you here overnight.”

  Ryan looked away. He’d been through combat—a bump on the head wasn’t going to sideline him.

  “You mentioned your head hurt. How is it now?”

  “It hurts.”

  “I’ll prescribe something for the pain.”

  “No.” Ryan stared at the ceiling. “I don’t need any drugs.”

  The doctor’s brows knit together. “You don’t have to be a tough guy here. It’s okay to admit you’re in pain and need something to relieve it.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Doc,” Ryan said. “If it gets worse, I’ll let you know.” He wouldn’t, of course, but the doctor didn’t want to hear that right now.

  “How about this: I’ll call in the prescription and you can use it or not use it. That way, it’s there if you need it.”

  Even still, he wouldn’t use it.

  “Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll get you out of here. I’ll send Elaine back in with the paperwork and you’ll be on your way. Your instructions are to rest and follow up with your doctor in a week. Got that?”

  Ryan nodded. “Got it.”

  “Good.” He stood. “Your friend is out of surgery and he’s in critical condition on the third floor. They say he’s stable for now, but he is in a coma. Doctors are hopeful, but it’s going to be touch and go here for a few days. He wasn’t as lucky as you, I’m afraid.”

  There was that word again. Lucky. His grandma Fred—short for Winnifred—would’ve told that doctor there was no such thing as luck. Only the hand of the Lord Almighty. She never did beat around the bush when it came to Jesus.

  Odd he was remembering that now. Grandma Fred had died when Ryan was eight. How he remembered her at all sometimes seemed a mystery.

  As the doctor left the room, Ryan heard a commotion from somewhere in the hallway. He recognized Hailey’s voice immediately.

  “Ryan Brooks? He was in an accident. Where is he?”

  She sounded hysterical. Seconds—literally, seconds—later, she opened the door to his room and rushed over to where he sat. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, Hailey. Calm down. Didn’t anyone tell you I was fine?”

  “Mrs. K. left me a message. She said you two had been in an accident and then she started crying. I can’t believe you didn’t call me yourself.”

  “I didn’t have my phone. I thought they’d let you know.”

  “I was out of town. I didn’t get the message until this morning.” Hailey’s eyes were big and full of tears. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Some stitches in my leg. Bump on my head. But I’m fine.”

  “What happened? Were you wearing a helmet? Was it your fault? Is Nate okay?” Hailey’s chin quivered and she pushed her sandy-blonde hair out of her face.

  “Which of those questions do you want me to answer first?” His head throbbed. He lay back on the bed and pressed his thumbs into his temples.

  “You’re not okay, are you?”

  “I just have a headache.” He closed his eyes for the briefest moment and saw the image of the blue pickup truck.

  Hailey took his hand. “What is it, Ryan? You have that look on your face.”

  “What look?” He met her eyes.

  She stilled. “The same look you had every time Dad got home from Scooter’s when we were kids.”

  He stared at his sister. He still remembered when she called him in Afghanistan to tell him she was pregnant. She couldn’t wait to get out of their house, to move in with her boyfriend, to escape from their dad.

  He should’ve known that little fairy tale was doomed from the start. He should’ve protected her.

  Hailey didn’t need to hear about the fears that raced through his mind as he tried to piece together the scene of the accident. She needed to believe that he’d recover and that their past wasn’t about to come back to haunt them.

  “It’s nothing; just shaken up, is all.”

  Her hug came out of nowhere and seemed almost involuntary. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

  He hugged her back, promised her everything would be fine—nothing was going to happen to him. But after yesterday, he was reminded that the promise was empty. He wasn’t in control at all.

  “I want to go check on Nate,” he told her. “Nobody has been down here since right after they brought us in. I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

  Hailey stared at him as if it were the last time she was going to see him.

  “I’m fine, Hailey.” But even as he said the words, his head throbbed.

  “It could’ve been so much worse.” Her eyes filled with tears, the kind that resulted from living the sort of life she had.

  She was right. It could’ve been. But his grandma had taught him well, even at such a young age—he knew luck had nothing to do with it.

  Thank you for protecting me. The silent prayer echoed through his mind as he gave Hailey one more reassuring hug.

  “How are you going to get home?” She wiped her cheeks dry.

  “I’ll have Jer or Noah take me. It’ll be fine.”

  The Kelley family had practically adopted Ryan and Hailey years ago. He didn’t like to think about the way the family had first come into his life, but it was proof something good could come from something bad.

  Frank had caught him trying to steal a sandwich at Summers, the cheese shop the Kelleys owned and operated. He’d gone in after school, riding his bike all the way from Newman. Frank must’ve known something wasn’t right as soon as he walked in. After all, Ryan was in middle school and he didn’t have a parent with him, and in retrospect, the man had probably learned to recognize a shoplifter.

  Ryan wasn’t a thief—he was just hungry.

  Ryan thought about that day often. Frank slid between Ryan and his clean getaway with a knowing look on his face. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “I’m from Newman. Just passing through.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Working.” It was a lie. His dad was probably already at Scooter’s, and by that time, he hadn’t seen his mom in years.

  “I see.” Frank eyed him suspiciously.

  Ryan swallowed, his mouth dry, his pulse racing with fear that he’d been caught.

  “You know, I’ve been looking for some help in the back.” Frank crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at the boy. “Easy stuff, really, some sorting, taking out the garbage, sweeping. Do you know how to do that stuff?”

  “I think so.”

  “There’s only one catch. I’d have to pay you in—” Frank waved his hands as he talked, as if the words he wanted needed to be wrangled in—“I’d have to pay you in sandwiches and chips, that sort of thing.”

  Ryan looked at the man, whose brow was raised in anticipation of his response. “That’d be okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. I’m going t
o go to the back room and get some paper so I can make you a list of chores. You can eat while you read over it. Be right back.”

  Picturing it now, Ryan realized Frank had given him time to put back what he’d tried to steal. Frank made him a turkey sandwich on bakery white bread with freshly made cheddar cheese—something he bragged about as he put the meal together. He let Ryan pick out a bag of chips and a drink, sat him down at the counter, and left him alone to eat. In return, Ryan spent the afternoon sweeping out the back room, taking out the garbage, and cleaning the windows of the small cheese shop.

  Ryan returned the next day and the next, diligently working on the list of chores in return for his only chance at dinner each day. When Frank noticed Ryan was saving half of his sandwich for his sister, he started giving him extra, making up reasons like “This bread baked too long in the oven” or “I need someone to try out this cheese.”

  Before long, Frank invited Ryan to youth group with Nate, then home for family dinners. As soon as Dottie found out what their home life was like, she treated both him and Hailey as if they were hers.

  Not much had changed, even after all this time. The Kelleys made them feel like family, like they had somewhere they belonged.

  “Okay, well, call me if that doesn’t pan out and you need a ride.” Hailey’s comment pulled him back to the present.

  “Will do.”

  She pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses from her purse. “You probably shouldn’t drive at least for a few days.”

  “I don’t have a concussion, Hailey. I’m fine.”

  “Still. You should be smart.”

  He would be smart. Smart enough to do what needed to be done so he didn’t let down the people who mattered most. But not right now. Now, he needed to check on Nate.

  When Ryan entered the hospital waiting room, it was even more crowded than he’d expected. That wasn’t surprising. Nate was the kind of guy everyone loved.

  Part of him wanted to go home—to stop thinking about the accident. He’d replayed it one too many times in his head already, and he still came up with that same feeling of dread.

  Dottie spotted him from the other side of the room and rushed over. Just looking at her made him feel like he was lying.

  But I don’t even really know what I saw. Not for sure. I shouldn’t say anything until I’m positive. Right?

  “You’re up.” She drew the attention of the entire room, and now they were all focused on him. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered him so much, but with his splitting headache and the flurry of questions racing through his mind, he didn’t like it. He wanted everyone to go back to whatever it was they were doing before he walked in.

  “We were down to see you a bit ago, and you were asleep. How are you feeling? Jer told me you had to get stitches.” Dottie stared at him with the kind of maternal concern he’d only experienced because of her. It made him feel like he was nine years old and sitting in the ER waiting to get a cast set after falling off the monkey bars at the playground.

  But when that had happened, his mother hadn’t been there to look at him this way. He’d been rushed to the hospital by one of his friends’ mothers—Mrs. Fowkes—and she mostly stayed on the phone, trying to track down his father.

  “Try Scooter’s,” he’d heard her say quietly into the receiver. “That’s where he is most evenings.”

  Everyone knew the truth about Martin Brooks.

  She’d hung up the phone and gazed at him with big, sad eyes, pitying him for the hand life had dealt him.

  “Any luck reaching the parents?” the nurse said when she reentered the room.

  “I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Fowkes said.

  “We really need to get this arm set.” The nurse turned to him. “Do you have any idea where your father might be?”

  He glanced at Mrs. Fowkes, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Try Scooter’s,” he said. “That’s where he is most evenings.”

  Mrs. Fowkes and the nurse wore matching expressions. They felt sorry for him—he could tell.

  That’s not how Dottie looked at him now. She was genuinely concerned for his well-being, as a mother would be for a son. She knew all about his parents, the way his mother had walked off when he and Hailey were little, leaving them with a man who had no business raising children. It had never mattered to Dottie. Not when she invited them over for Sunday dinner. Not when they showed up on her front porch in the middle of the night. Not when she made up beds in the living room and served them breakfast the next morning. And certainly not when she caught him smoking a cigarette behind her shed.

  She’d made it very clear her rules applied to him as well—and he’d never smoked a cigarette again.

  It was years she’d been doing these things for him and his sister, and never with an ounce of pity.

  He updated her on his injuries, and then she hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She pulled away and looked at him. “You should go see Nate. His sister’s back there, but she’s the only one and she’s more than used her allotted time.”

  “She has an allotted time?”

  Dottie whipped out a chart that allowed everyone fifteen minutes at a time but also ensured Nate wouldn’t be alone.

  Ryan didn’t pretend to get it; he’d known Dottie long enough to understand she had her own way of doing things. He didn’t think now was the time to ask questions.

  “I don’t want to intrude.” Ryan was happy to take a seat in the waiting room with the others. He’d already seen Nate’s accident up close. He didn’t need to be reminded that he’d walked away unscathed by comparison.

  Lucky.

  The foggy image of the truck’s taillights invaded his memory. He blinked, willing it away, but his head felt thick, almost like he didn’t get to decide what images his mind lingered on.

  “Are you okay?” Dottie put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. K.,” he said. “My head is just aching, is all.”

  “Well, go in, see Nate, and then head home and go to sleep for a while.” She frowned. “Or should you stay awake? What if the doctors are wrong and you do have a concussion? Maybe you should sleep at our house tonight.”

  He held up a hand—as if that could silence her.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You live by yourself. Who will call 911?”

  “I’ll be fine. I promise. And I can wait out here till it’s my turn to go see Nate.”

  “No, I insist,” Dottie said. “Go on back. Tell Lane her time is up. I wouldn’t mind spending some time with my daughter since I haven’t seen her in, I don’t know, over two years.”

  “Lane? I thought you meant Lindsay.”

  Dottie gave her head just one shake. “No. Lane. Hard to believe, right? Quite a blast from the past.”

  “It’s been a long time.” In spite of his throbbing head and the dread of seeing his friend lying helpless in a hospital bed, there was a slight tremor of excitement at the thought of encountering Lane Kelley again.

  He hadn’t seen her for years, but he’d thought about her often. How could he not? She’d been one of the few people who knew the truth about him and never seemed to care. He’d never been an outsider where Lane was concerned—maybe because in many ways, she felt like an outsider too. Even in her own family. Would she remember him the way he remembered her?

  Lane had been so different from the rest of them. From everyone he knew, really. She was quiet, always reading, and Ryan had been intimidated—but intrigued—by her.

  “I really don’t mind waiting,” Ryan said even as Dottie pushed him toward the door. Why did he suddenly feel nervous?

  “Go.”

  Ryan reached Nate’s room and stood outside for several long seconds. He didn’t want to go in. But this was Nate. The least Ryan could do was say a prayer for him.

  He pushed on the partially open door, surprised when it didn’t make a sound. Nate’s sister sat beside the bed, radiating apprehension. She
didn’t so much as stir, obviously unaware she was no longer alone. He should clear his throat or call out or something, but instead he watched her for a long minute.

  Lane.

  Nothing about her resembled the rest of the Kelley family, and nothing about her resembled the Lane Kelley he remembered.

  Even as a girl, she’d always been so serious—Dottie told him once he was just about the only person who could make “her serious girl” smile.

  Something about that singular comment had given him purpose at a time when he had none. He’d made it his daily goal to pull one great smile out of Lane Kelley. The days he succeeded, those were the days he lived for.

  She sat straight at the side of the bed, legs crossed, unmoving. He knew little about what had become of the Kelleys’ eldest daughter. She’d moved away for college while he was overseas and in the time since he’d returned, she hadn’t been back.

  He’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d likely never see her again, though he was happy to discover he’d been wrong.

  Looking at her now, he remembered how strong-willed she was. No wonder it had been years since she’d been back. He had a feeling she could carry her grudge forever.

  And honestly, part of him didn’t blame her.

  A buzzing sound jarred Lane back to life, and Ryan felt like a complete stalker for standing there as long as he had without alerting her to his presence. She reached down to her bag and pulled out her phone, then started tapping the screen. More buzzing. More tapping.

  He watched for several seconds, marveling at the way she seemed to disappear into another world. She leaned over to return the phone to her bag, and as she did, she must’ve caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. She turned, an accusatory expression on her face.

  “Who are you?”

  Why did he feel like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing? Because he’d been standing there for at least three minutes and hadn’t spoken a word. Creeper.

  “Hi, Lane.”

  She frowned, obviously trying to place him.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.” He glanced at Nate, guilt tingling the back of his neck.

  And you walked away again. How’s that fair?