by Hazel Kelly
“That being said-” She reached forward and put my phone in the cup holder. “What I do believe is that the world is full of grace.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, shit happens,” she said. “But grace happens, too.”
“Well, I’d like to focus on the grace at the minute if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
“And I liked your civilized response to that question,” I said, glancing at her face. Her eye makeup was slightly smudged and she looked sexy as hell. And also like she would appreciate some caffeine.
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s something I’ve thought a lot about.”
“You and everybody else.”
She smiled. “Sometimes I think people must wonder about that more than sex.”
“I don’t.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t accusing you specifically.”
“But you might be right,” I said. “Also, your shirt is on inside out.”
She looked down and then at her shoulder, fingering the seam running across it. “Oops,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”
She slid down in her seat. “Eyes on the road.”
“You afraid I might see something I haven’t seen before?”
“Just give me some privacy, would you?”
“Okay, okay.” I smiled, knowing I shouldn’t be so immature, but I still felt like I got away with something when I saw a flash of her waist as she pulled her shirt over her head.
A second later, she sat up and smoothed her shirt and hair down. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What about you, then?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Do you pray?”
“Only when I want something.”
She smiled.
“And for the babies in Africa and the refugees in the Middle East.”
She furrowed her brow.
“Or that’s who I would pray for if I prayed.”
“Right.”
“But if God is why you took your shirt off just then, I swear I’ll pray to him every day until I die.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can save your breath. It wasn’t God that made me do that.”
“What was it then? Your free will?”
“No,” she said. “Fear of humiliation.”
“Why would you be humiliated?”
“Cause it’s bad enough that I look like shit, but I’m a little worried it might be painfully obvious that we were fooling around in the forest last night.”
“Don’t forget the boat and the lake.”
She let her head fall back against the headrest.
“And you don’t look like shit.”
She looked out the window.
“Do you drive?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Though I’m better when I’ve had some coffee.”
“I’m sure they’ll have plenty of coffee at the hospital,” I said. “Though they probably won’t have whatever triple ground fair trade Mocha with fat free foam and cherub farts that you usually drink.”
“Actually, I prefer expresso.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Cause you don’t have time to drink a whole cup?”
“No, cause I like it.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be testy. I’m just-”
She reached across the seat and put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
I exhaled. “Thanks.”
“And sometimes I do get the Grande, Quad, Nonfat, One-Pump, No-Whip, Mocha. Unless it’s really hot, and then I like to get a Venti Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato.”
“Sorry, what was I saying?”
“You asked if I could drive?”
“Oh right,” I said. “I was thinking of asking you to park the car so I can just run in.”
“Sure. No problem,” she said. “Good idea.”
I nodded.
“There it is up there,” she said, pointing towards a sign up ahead.
“Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure the children’s wing is on the left once you turn in.”
I squinted at her. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “One of my brothers had to come here once for a broken arm.”
I turned into the parking lot and whizzed past the front gates, ignoring the attendant on duty.
When I turned towards the children’s wing, I spied an empty parking space near the entrance and pulled in.
“I think this is a handicapped spot,” Addison said, crinkling her nose.
“Can you hand me the pass in the glove box?”
She popped the compartment open and pulled out the flimsy card.
I grabbed it, grateful she hadn’t made a joke about the box of condoms wedged in beside it. I was feeling like a shitty enough dad as it was. “It’s only for emergencies,” I said, feeling guilty like I always did when I used it. “My dad gave it to me.”
“What if a handicapped person shows up?”
I stuck the pass under the rear view mirror and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Are they my daughter?”
Chapter 6: Addison
I was so relieved I didn’t have to park the car, not just because I wasn’t caffeinated enough to operate machinery, but because I was distracted by the memory of the last time I came to this hospital, and it wasn’t a happy one.
It wasn’t just a broken arm my “brother” at the time had to come in for. It was for bruises, too, cause he “fell out of his treehouse.” In reality, though, his dad pushed him down the stairs when he tried to stop him from wailing on his mom for I can’t remember what. It happened so often.
At the hospital, the performance the couple put on, pretending to be worried about their baby, made me sick. When we got home, I said if they didn’t hand me over to child services, I’d tell everyone what really happened.
Stuff like that used to get me out of a lot of homes.
People might have the patience of saints when dealing with their own children, but foster kids don’t get those extra few times to push people’s buttons.
Plus, no one ever doubted my threats because I wasn’t very well behaved. In fact, I suspect most of my carers were relieved when I suggested they give me back.
Except Mrs. Collin’s. When I tried to act out with her, she used to stand up to me, send me to my room, and tell me to spend the night thinking about how I wanted to start over tomorrow. And eventually, after starting over tomorrow after tomorrow after tomorrow, I was able to get over my past and make myself over.
But as soon as I started up the path to the hospital, I remembered standing inside with my foster mom while she and her husband lied to the doctor’s about how their son broke his arm, and it triggered my gag reflex all over again.
But they were shitty people. Like so many parents are.
On the other hand, I could barely keep up with Wyatt as he ran inside. When I followed him around the corner, he was already at the counter with his hands on the desk.
“My daughter’s been admitted from Tanner Day Camp. Can you tell me where she is? She should be with a woman named Amber- no Ali- no Ashley. That’s it, Ashley, yeah.”
The little round faced nurse put her pudgy hands in the air. “Please calm down, sir.”
“Her name is Sophie Jones. She’s nine.”
I watched the woman rest a clipboard against her muffin top and lower her head to scan the chart. When she looked up, some of the color had drained from her face. “Right this way, Mr. Jones.”
Wyatt looked at me and I followed him, my clammy hands in tight fists.
When the round nurse pushed the door open, we were bombarded by beeping sounds.
Wyatt ran up to the end of a bed. “Sophie!”
There were four people in scrubs around her. Two of them were holding Sophie’s arms and legs down. Her face was covered by a small clear m
ask and her eyes were slightly opened but her pupils looked like loose marbles rolling around in her sockets.
“You shouldn’t be back here, sir,” the doctor at the head of the bed said.
“Is she okay?” Wyatt asked. “What’s happening?”
Suddenly, another high pitched beep chimed in louder than the others, and all the little girl’s limbs started shaking against the bed.
“She’s gone into a diabetic coma,” the head doctor said. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“Sophie!” Wyatt called, wrapping his hand around her tiny shin. “Can you hear me, honey? It’s Daddy. I’m here, baby. Hang in there!”
Sophie stopped shaking and her head rolled to the side.
I took a few steps closer.
Wyatt dropped his head, and I saw several tears fall onto the bed.
“You can’t be here, sir.” One of the doctors shot a look at the short nurse. “It would be better if you waited in the waiting room for the time being and let us update you on Sophie’s status.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said, wrapping his free hand around the metal frame at the edge of the bed.
The chubby nurse looked at me, her eyes pleading.
I stepped up and put my hands on Wyatt’s arm. “Come on, Wyatt. Let’s give the doctors space so they can help her.”
He clenched his jaw but kept his eyes on her face, which was dwarfed by the big hospital pillow.
The short nurse urged me on with a nod.
“We’ll have a coffee,” I said. “And they’ll come out to update us soon.”
Wyatt straightened up, shaking his shoulders back and shrugging my hands off him. He squeezed the metal frame so hard I thought he was going to rip it off. Then he wiped his palms on his jeans and lifted his eyes to the doctor’s faces. “Please,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Please do everything you can.”
They nodded at him and turned their attention immediately back to Sophie.
Wyatt looked at her one more time before turning around and walking away.
The nurse and I followed him out the door and back down the hall.
When we got back to the waiting room, he sat down and leaned forward to put his head in his hands.
I turned to the nurse. “Is there somewhere I can get some coffee?”
“There’s a cafeteria on the fourth floor,” she said, reaching in her pocket. “Here.” She handed me two little stubs of paper. “These will get you some free coffees.”
I pursed my lips. I was hoping for bigger graces than that. “Thanks,” I said, taking the coupons from her. “Please let us know as soon as you have news about Sophie.”
“Certainly,” she said.
I walked over to the empty seat beside Wyatt. Then I sat down and leaned forward. “How about I go get us some coffees?”
“Excuse me,” a new voice said.
I followed the toned legs in front of me up to the face of a girl who couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
“Are you Mr. and Mrs. Jones by any chance?”
“Just Mr.,” I said, pointing to Wyatt.
“I’m Ashley, Sophie’s camp counselor.”
Wyatt leaned back to look at her and put his hands on his knees.
She raised her eyebrows. “I just wanted to introduce myself and say if there’s anything I can-”
“Thanks for coming here with her,” he said.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Can you tell me exactly what happened?” Wyatt asked, gesturing for the girl to sit down next to him.
“Sure,” she said, sitting on the edge of the thinly padded chair. “There’s not much to tell though.”
I put a hand high on Wyatt’s tense back, which felt as solid as a tree.
Ashley pursed her lips. “She woke me up this morning and she was swearing and acting crazy.”
I raised my eyebrows.
Ashley’s knees fell together. “And she told me the first day of camp if she ever acted crazy it was cause of her diabetes and that I should call for help.”
“So then what?” Wyatt asked.
“So I called my camp supervisor.”
He nodded.
“But by the time the ambulance got there she was passing out.”
“Passing out?” Wyatt asked.
“Like kind of going in and out of lucidity,” Ashley said, moving her hands like she was fanning herself in slow motion.
“Was she scared?” Wyatt asked.
“No,” Ashely said, shaking her head. “She was brave.”
Wyatt exhaled for so long I thought he might actually deflate until he was flat on the chair.
“What did she have to eat last night?” he asked.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” I said, rising from my chair. “So you guys can talk.”
Wyatt looked up at me and reached for my hand.
“Do you want one Ashley?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “And maybe a muffin or something to eat. I’ll pay you back.”
“No problem,” I said.
Wyatt squeezed my hand hard enough that I felt the pressure in my heart.
“Thanks,” he said.
I nodded and squeezed his hand back. “Of course.”
Chapter 7: Wyatt
“I really don’t think she could have done anything differently,” Ashley said. “She was very diligent about it.”
“I know,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “She’s a good kid.”
“And tough,” Ashley added, turning an empty paper cup in her hands. “Especially for her size.”
I looked at her. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “She was the only girl in my group who wasn’t afraid of the snakes when-”
“What snakes?”
“Oh, we have a wildlife guy come in with some animals. It’s all very safe.”
“And she wasn’t afraid?”
Ashley shook her head. “Not one bit. Though when she put it around her neck and started impersonating Britney Spears, I had to cut her off.”
I felt a flush of warmth in my cheeks. I had a hunch that I shouldn’t have let her watch those videos, but if she wanted to pretend she was a popstar, who was I to stop her? It’s not like she’d ever tried to dress skimpy. She just liked the music. I even gave her an old headset with a thin microphone jutting off the ear piece so she could pretend she was performing for a packed stadium.
Maybe I was wrong to let her do that. I figured if it got her dancing in front of the TV instead of sitting on her butt like a bump on a log it was a good thing. But maybe I’d done her a disservice. Maybe she was too bold for her own good. Maybe I’d been a shitty dad and if she came through this okay, I’d have to make a change.
God if she would just pull through.
At least I hadn’t taught her to be afraid of anything. Like popstars. Or snakes apparently. She must have loved that! What a little badass!
Maybe I was right to let her go to camp after all.
And this was just an unfortunate accident.
It had nothing to do with what kind of father I was. She could’ve gone low at home with me or with a babysitter or during the school year. I couldn’t blame myself for this.
Hell, I couldn’t do much of anything at all.
In fact, I’d never felt so useless and ineffective. My daughter was fifty feet away hooked up to oxygen, fluids, a piss bag, and who knows what else, and I was sitting here talking to Ashley.
And as lovely as it was that she was still talking, graciously letting me participate with nods and facial expressions that may not even have been relevant to whatever the heck she was saying, I wished I was listening to the sound of Sophie’s breathing. Or her heartbeat.
Was someone checking her heartbeat?
I sighed.
Of course, as I couldn’t listen to Sophie, I was eager for Addison to return.
Ashley was lovely and everything, and I’m sure if I was seventeen again, we would’ve had a lot
to talk about. Unfortunately, I was a little too distracted by the fact that my daughter might be seizuring in the next room to ask her about her summer job, her college plans, and what she loved most about being a camp counselor.
Which was weird cause I could usually have a conversation with anyone- especially women- and keep them happy and chatting for ages, but I just didn’t have the capacity to engage her at the moment.
Frankly, I wished I’d never let go of Addison’s hand.
I should’ve sent Ashley for the coffees.
Then I would be sitting here quietly with Addison whose presence made staying strong feel important. Then again, I couldn’t ask her to stay. Just because Austin embarrassed me by acting like I couldn’t be left alone didn’t mean she was obligated to sit here with me and… wasn’t she supposed to be relaxing this week anyway?
No, I definitely couldn’t ask her to stay. That would be ridiculous.
We’d been on two very basic- albeit incredibly gratifying- dates. If the circumstances hadn’t been exceptional, I never even would’ve told her I had a daughter. Not because I didn’t cherish Sophie, but because of how much I did.
I wasn’t going to introduce her to just anyone. Sure, I sometimes wondered what it would be like if I found someone special, someone that would be good for both of us, but most of the women I met were a long way off mommy material- or even girlfriend material.
But this wasn’t real.
This was a disaster in which my daughter’s life was at stake and- seeing as how Addison already knew my real name and happened to be with me when I got the call- I didn’t see the harm in her being here. As my friend. At least as far as Sophie was concerned, though she had bigger problems to worry about at the minute than who the redhead with dad was.
Praying crossed my mind again, though it would be more accurate to call what I was doing deliberately directed wishing. I was mostly making promises I’d never be able to keep like, if she’s okay I’ll never let her eat fast food again and I’ll make sure she always does her homework before she plays piano and I’ll never leave her side for as long as I live.
But if there was a God, surely he knew they were all complete lies that I could never possibly deliver on. Not to mention the fact that they were irrelevant to the current crisis.
